Stand-In Groom bob-1

by Kaye Dacus

  She jogged back downstairs, retrieved it, and went up to the apartment on the third floor where, as she expected, the door was unlocked. In the dark kitchen, she found a grease pencil in a junk drawer, wrote a note on the lid of the top Styrofoam box, and put them both in Jenn’s refrigerator.

  Back in her own apartment, she turned on the computer in the guest bedroom, started the music media software, and filled the apartment with the dulcet tones of crooners such as Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Bing Crosby, Kay Starr, and her favorite of all, Dean Martin.

  Singing along with Dean’s “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head,” she returned to the kitchen and retrieved her mail from the floor where Jenn or Meredith had slid it under her back door.

  She’d be surprised if George Laurence was any younger than forty.

  Astonished by the wayward thought, warmth washed over her at the memory of the intensity of his gaze earlier.

  Since her broken engagement ten years ago, every time she’d felt the least attracted to a man, her internal alarms had gone off. She trusted the instincts born of experience to keep her from being hurt again. But the entire time she’d stood there talking to George Laurence, all she’d felt was a profound sense of interest in getting to know him better.

  God, what are You trying to tell me? Is he the one? Is this finally the answer to my prayer for a husband?

  No answer came to her over the soft warbling of Frank Sinatra crooning “The Coffee Song.” The fact that her mind had instantly jumped to wondering if George Laurence was her future husband did bother her a bit. After everything she’d been through, the desire to maintain her independence—as a person and as a professional— kept her working eighteen to twenty hours nearly every day. Yet deep down, she just wanted to fall in love with someone and experience his falling in love with her in return. Not wanting anything from her, just loving her.

  George Laurence seemed like the kind of man who had everything together. His expensive suit and shoes, grooming, and impeccable manners stood as proof of an established man comfortable with himself and those around him. So many of the men she’d gone out with at her cousins’ behest were still trying to “find” themselves, even into their late thirties or early forties, and wanted to be with a woman who would have a stabilizing influence on them.

  Anne, however, didn’t want that kind of turmoil in her life. She wanted a man who knew what he wanted out of life, a man comfortable with himself, and with simple tastes—classic music and movies, dining out—who didn’t mind the hours she put into her business.

  Her phone chirped the Pink Panther theme. She unclipped it, flipped it open, and pressed it to her ear. “I wondered when you were going to call.”

  Meredith laughed. “I didn’t figure you’d be home any earlier than now, but if you were still on your date and having a good time, you wouldn’t answer. So?”

  She filled her cousin in on the evening, and by the time she got to seeing Forbes, she heard Meredith’s SUV pull up the driveway. Although she trusted her completely, something kept Anne from telling her about how she felt when she met George Laurence. Anne wasn’t sure herself what her feelings meant. She needed time to pray…and time to get to know him better.

  “Do you want to come up for a few minutes?” Anne asked, crossing to the kitchen window that overlooked the carport.

  “You working tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just for a minute, then—Jenn sent some peach cobbler for you.”

  Anne opened the door and closed the phone. Meredith Guidry’s strawberry blond head came into sight in the dim stairwell. Anne met her on the landing and accepted a plastic tub of the still-warm dessert while leaning forward to kiss Meredith’s cheek.

  “Did y’all have fun tonight?” She ushered Meredith into the kitchen.

  “Turned out to be just Jenn, Jason, Rafe, and me. Seems it was a big night to have other plans. How much work do you have left to do tonight?”

  “A few hours. What was Rafe’s big announcement?” Anne closed the door and leaned against the kitchen cabinet. Meredith, Forbes, and Jenn’s younger brother piloted the private jets owned by their parents’ commercial real estate and investment corporation.

  “He took a job with Charter Air as a senior pilot or something like that. He said he wanted to do more flying and less paperwork— Daddy had him working in the capital ventures office when he wasn’t flying. Since Mama and Daddy aren’t traveling as much, they decided to sell off the two company jets and sign a contract with this charter service.”

  Anne’s stomach churned at the thought of flying.

  “Of course, that means Rafe will be gone a lot more now,” Meredith continued. “Most of his flights will be single-day round-trips, but occasionally he’ll be gone overnight. He’s going to get to fly bigger planes, too. Not the big commercial planes, but the kind that carry about thirty passengers—”

  Bile rose in the back of Anne’s throat, and clamminess spread over her skin. That was the same size plane…

  “Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of— here.” Meredith pulled over one of the tall, ladder-back chairs from the table. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.”

  Anne sank into the chair, drew a few deep breaths, and tried to smile. “I’m okay. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that kind of reaction just from someone talking about planes.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Meredith crossed the kitchen, took a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with water from the refrigerator door, and handed it to Anne.

  Anne sipped it and pressed the cold glass to her forehead. “I guess I’m just tired. You’d think after twenty-seven years and thousands of hours of therapy, I’d be over the fear.”

  Meredith gave her a sympathetic smile and rested her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  Patting Meredith’s hand, Anne set the glass on the table and rose, her knees not too weak to support her. “I know you are. If you talk to Rafe before Sunday, tell him congrats from me.”

  “I will. Good night, Anne.”

  “Sweet dreams, Mere.”

  Shutting the door behind her cousin, Anne took a few more deep breaths and tried to put the images and sensations from a lifetime ago out of her head. The best way was to concentrate on something else.

  Work.

  For the next two hours, she focused on entering data into the software her cousin Jason had written for her to help with organizing seating arrangements at events, then moved on to making lists of everything that needed to happen in the next forty-eight hours— not just for the wedding on Saturday, but for weddings coming up in the next few weeks as well.

  Why was George Laurence in town, and why was Forbes being so secretive about it?

  She shook her head and returned her attention to the half-finished checklist on her computer screen—and saw she’d typed George Laurence’s name. She deleted it and continued working, only to have the memory of their brief encounter pop up when least expected.

  At 2:00 a.m., she finished the last list, saved everything, e-mailed the files to herself at work, and shut down her computer. When she finally climbed into bed, she grabbed her burgundy fabric–covered prayer journal and fountain pen filled with purple ink from the nightstand:

  June 1—Lord, I know there’s a reason why You had me meet George Laurence tonight. I’ve never felt this way about any other man I’ve only just met. Could he be the one You’ve had me waiting on for so long? I don’t know what Forbes meant by “not available,” but I do intend to find out. You showed me tonight that I need to take that first step on my road to my own happy ending. Thank You, Lord, for the confirmation I’ve made the right decision.

  She set the journal aside and pulled out her worn, black leather Bible, flipping it open to where the ribbon held her place from this morning. She’d read the twenty-seventh Psalm many times in her life, but this night, the last two verses stuck in her mind: I would have despaired unless I had
believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; yes, wait for the Lord.

  She closed her eyes and cleared her mind. “Lord, I’ve been waiting for a very long time. Please let this be the answer to my prayer. Let George Laurence be the one.”

  Chapter 3

  The bell on the front door of Anne’s office jingled at 9:50 Monday morning. She looked up from Saturday night’s invoices, which she’d been entering into her expenses spreadsheet. Her heart thudded. Dressed in a dark gray suit, a white button-down, and a colorful tie, George Laurence cut a dashing figure. More slender than she’d remembered from last Thursday, but with broad shoulders that suggested he worked out.

  She saved the Excel document and went around the desk to greet him. What was he doing here? Had he gotten her office address from Forbes? Had his “not available” status changed over the weekend? And who was the young woman—“Courtney? Courtney Landry?”

  The beautiful brunette stepped forward and extended both hands. “Miss Anne! I was so afraid you wouldn’t recognize me.”

  Anne clasped the girl’s hands, and they exchanged kisses on the cheek. “How could I not? Your sister Brittany’s wedding was only last summer. You’d just graduated from high school, if I remember. Did you enjoy your first year of college? UCLA, right?”

  Courtney’s perfect, homecoming-queen features glowed. “Right. It was awesome. I loved it. It seems like a long time since you used to come over and babysit and tutor me in—well, everything.” She squeezed Anne’s hands. “I set up the appointment for today because I want you to plan my wedding. There isn’t anyone else in the world I trust more than you to pull it together exactly the way I imagine—like, even better, I’m sure.”

  “Your—” Anne’s heart dropped into her left big toe. She glanced over Courtney’s shoulder at George Laurence, who stood in profile looking at photos of previous events on her wall. The name Landry was all that had downloaded from the request form on her Web site for ten o’clock Monday morning—now. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you—that you and he—” She swallowed hard. “Congratulations, Courtney. Why don’t we sit down and discuss your ideas.”

  She couldn’t meet George Laurence’s gaze as she waited for him and Courtney to be seated on the Chippendale-style sofa under the picture window. “Can I get anything for either of you? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

  Courtney shook her head as she sat. George also declined. He lowered himself onto the love seat a good six inches from Courtney.

  Odd. Without exception, every couple who’d sat across from her in their initial consultation couldn’t keep from touching each other— holding hands, his arm around her, her hand on his knee, some kind of contact. George Laurence, however, was as stiff as Courtney was animated when she started talking about her ideas for a grand outdoor wedding at a plantation home down on River Road. Could be a cultural difference. She’d never had a British client before.

  Thursday night, she’d been so sure he was “the one.” How could God have put that attraction in her if He hadn’t meant for her to be with this man? She had to stop thinking about him. Focus on the wedding. His wedding. She swallowed hard and realized the girl had stopped talking. “That sounds lovely. Have you determined a budget yet?”

  Courtney cast a furtive glance at George, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink. “Um, there really isn’t, like, a set limit on what we can spend.”

  Anne frowned. “I’m not certain I understand what you mean.” She looked at George, but his bland expression betrayed nothing.

  “I mean, Cl—” Courtney broke into a coughing fit, bringing a delicate hand up to cover her mouth.

  Anne leaped up and went around to the small refrigerator hidden in the base of one of her built-in cabinets. She took two bottles of water back with her and handed one to Courtney. George waved off the one she offered him as he pressed the blue silk handkerchief from his coat pocket into Courtney’s hand. The expression on his face showed more fatherly concern than romantic interest.

  Yes, that was part of it. Part of what bothered her. The age difference. George Laurence had to be older than Anne herself, while Courtney wasn’t quite twenty. What was he thinking, marrying a girl half his age?

  “I’m so sorry,” Courtney said after taking a swig of the water. “Must be allergies or something.” She looked at George before taking a deep breath and continuing. “Anyway, what I was saying is that my fiancé, well, I don’t even know how to say this without sounding, like, stuck up, but he has, y’know, a lot of money.”

  Anne couldn’t look at him. Why was he leaving this all up to Courtney? Why couldn’t he come out and say it himself?

  “He told me I could have anything I wanted, no matter what the cost.” Courtney’s eyes took on a dreamy quality. “Miss Anne, do you think it would be wrong of me to get married in a pink dress? I saw a picture in one of the magazines—I should have brought it with me—some actress or singer who just got married wore a green dress because green is, like, her favorite color. My favorite color is pink, and I’ve always dreamed of getting married in a pink dress like the one Princess Aurora wore at the end of Sleeping Beauty, y’know?”

  Pink? Anne still tried to fathom the idea of a budgetless wedding. “I’m positive we can find the perfect dress for you.” She turned to George, sitting so erect his back hardly touched the sofa cushion, hands clasped in his lap. “I realize you’ve told Courtney she can have whatever she wants no matter the cost, but can you give me a ballpark figure so I can start working up a plan of action?”

  “I’ve—it’s just as she said: whatever she wants, no matter the cost.”

  Really? Anne bit the inside of her cheek to keep her grin intact. Going to play that way, huh? Well, his “no matter the cost” would be put to the test as soon as she could sit down at the computer and start working up a plan based on everything Courtney said she wanted. No calling in favors from childhood friends on this wedding. If he really meant what he said, all of her vendors— all of them—would be rewarded for every discount, freebie, or no-charge delivery they’d ever given her. And for the first time, she might actually get her full fee, on time.

  She picked up her planner. “Let’s talk dates.”

  “Third Saturday in October,” Courtney said. “That’s the date we’ve chosen. Oh, but we want to have an engagement party the Friday after the Fourth of July.”

  Five weeks for the engagement party and four and a half months for the wedding. If she truly had unlimited financial resources, no problem. Anne had planned to take the weekend after the Fourth off, but for a commission this size…

  “Let’s see. That would be Friday, July seventh….” She marked the date in July, then flipped to October. Nothing else on her calendar for that week. “Both dates look good.” She closed the planner. “Now here’s what we do next: I’ll work up a proposal, complete with a budget, based on what you’ve told me, as well as a contract. If I can get an e-mail address, I can send both to you for review before our next meeting. Can you come in at three o’clock Thursday?”

  George pulled out a touch-screen PDA and tapped away at the surface with a stylus. “Thursday afternoon looks clear.” He clipped the thing onto his belt and reached into his shirt pocket, withdrawing a business card.

  Anne took the card, hoping to get some idea of who this guy was. Against a plain white background, all she saw was GEORGE F. LAURENCE in the middle with his mobile number—a New York area code—at the bottom left and an e-mail address at his own dot-com on the right. Aha. If he had his own Web site, she could look it up and find out more about him.

  Standing, she gave each of them one of her cards. “If you think of anything else you’d like me to figure into the plan, please call.”

  Courtney came around the coffee table to hug her again. “Thank you, Miss Anne. I know I’m going to have so much fun working with you.”

  “I’m delighted to have
the opportunity.” She walked arm in arm with Courtney to the door. “I’m serious. Call me if you think of anything. I’m available all hours, not just when I’m in the office.”

  “Thanks.” Courtney grinned.

  Anne turned and extended her hand to George. “Mr. Laurence, it was nice to see you again.”

  He shook hands with firm brevity. “Ms. Hawthorne.” He bowed his head slightly and opened the door for Courtney.

  She kept her smile pasted on until they were past her front windows, then spun on her not-too-high heels and crossed to her computer. If he had his own dot-com e-mail address, he must have a Web site. She opened a new Internet window and entered the address. The high-speed cable connection paused for a moment; then an error message popped up on the screen: WARNING! YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO ACCESS THIS PAGE. She tried refreshing the page, but the same warning came up. So she did a Google search for his name. Lots of genealogy sites with George Laurences listed, but nothing that seemed to point toward the man who’d just shattered her girlish hopes and dreams of the past several days.

  She slumped forward until her forehead touched the screen. “God, why are You doing this to me? Why did he have to turn out to be some kind of eccentric millionaire who’s into much younger women? Why couldn’t he have turned out to be a nice, simple British guy who likes old movies and Dean Martin?”

  * * *

  “I don’t think this plan is going to work.” George turned down the volume of the Rat Pack & Friends satellite radio station and adjusted the hands-free earpiece of his mobile phone.

  “What happened?” Digital static crackled through Forbes Guidry’s voice.

  “She thinks I’m some sort of debaucher of young women.”

  “What?”

  George had to smile at the astonishment in Forbes’s voice. “She didn’t say it in so many words, but I could tell from her expression when she first realized why we were there.”