The Wedding Planner

by Millie Criswell

  Leaning back against the seat, her little chest puffed up in pride, Megan turned on a pleased-as-punch smile and began to sing along with the radio.

  A SHORT TIME LATER, bear in hand, they arrived at the nursing home. Louise had just finished eating her lunch and was staring out the window when they entered.

  “Hi, Mom! I’ve brought you a special visitor.”

  Turning at the sound of Meredith’s voice, Louise’s eyes widened with surprise and pleasure at the sight of the small child holding a large, gaily wrapped box. “So I see.” She shuffled forward slowly, her slippers flapping determinedly against the linoleum as she did, a questioning look on her face. The cautious child took a step back.

  “This is Megan Tremayne, Mom. Megan’s spending the day with me. We’re going to make some of your famous chocolate chip cookies later.”

  “Hello, Megan.” Seating herself on the edge of the bed, Louise breathed in deeply, as if she’d just run a marathon, instead of crossing the small confines of her room. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “We brung you a present. Meredith said you was sick, so we thought we should bring something to cheer you up. Mommy always said that sick people needed cheering up.”

  Louise and Meredith exchanged sad, knowing looks, then the older woman smiled softly and held out her hands. “Your mommy was right, honey. Come sit up on the bed by me, so you can help me open my present.”

  All traces of shyness gone, the child’s eyes lit, the thought of opening presents too difficult to resist, as Louise knew it would be. “Really!” She didn’t need a second invitation. “Hope you like it. It’s not as nice as mine, but it’s pretty nice.”

  They worked on the wrapping together, then the child lifted the lid, allowing Louise to tear back the white tissue paper. The sight of the teddy bear brought tears to the older woman’s eyes. “Why…why, it’s wonderful! Thank you so much, Megan. I haven’t had a stuffed bear since I was a child.”

  Megan looked up at her cohort and grinned. “See, I told ya she’d like it.”

  “So you did, squirt.” Meredith explained to her mother, “Megan thought since she had Murphy to keep her company, you might like to have a bear to keep you company, too.” Louise’s gaze traveled over the brown, fuzzy bear, and then she hugged it to her chest. The longing in her eyes brought a lump to Meredith’s throat. It was obvious her mother missed far more than good health.

  “Bears are good for hugging,” the child pronounced, and Louise leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  “Thank you so much, honey. The bear’s a very thoughtful gift. I’ll treasure it always.”

  “Whatcha gonna name it? Your bear gots to have a name.”

  “Well, I don’t know.” She looked at her daughter. “What do you think, Meredith?”

  “You could call it Morgan after my uncle,” Megan suggested, not waiting for her to answer, bouncing up and down at the idea, and not noticing how Louise had suddenly stiffened. “My bear’s named Murphy. They could be twins—Murphy and Morgan.”

  Meredith helped her mother into bed, hoping she wouldn’t say anything unkind about Megan’s uncle. “I think we should let my mom call her bear whatever she wants, don’t you, sweetie?”

  Megan shrugged. “Okay. So wadda you wanna call it?”

  Louise stared at the child’s innocent face, then at the bear, who seemed to be looking back at her with an expectant expression. “I guess Morgan’s as good a name as any,” she conceded, making her daughter’s eyes widen in surprise.

  “Mom, really—”

  Louise shook her head to forestall the objection. “I’ve always considered some of the Morgans to be overbearing and bearly tolerable, so Morgan it will be.” The corners of the woman’s mouth twitched.

  Glancing at the little girl to see if she’d been paying attention to her mother’s caustic remarks, Meredith was relieved to find Megan thoroughly entranced by the television set and was suddenly grateful to the big purple dinosaur, who she normally could not abide.

  Louise smiled affectionately at her daughter. “Thanks, Merry. I do love it. Warts and all.”

  “I’M GONNA BE POCAHONTAS when I grow up,” Megan declared, stuffing another chocolate chip cookie into her mouth, then washing it down with a big drink of cold milk. “I think she’s pretty, and smart, too.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her arm, leaving a gooey chocolate stain on her sleeve that made Meredith wince. Mrs. Fishburn would not be pleased.

  With two clicks of the remote, she shut off the VCR and television set and smiled, remembering how determined she’d been as a child to become Tinker Bell after watching the Disney production of Peter Pan. But no matter how hard she’d flapped her arms, the wings her mother had fashioned out of coat hangers and gold netting, and the sparkling glitter that had substituted for fairy dust, hadn’t been enough to propel her into the air.

  Children needed their dreams.

  So did grown women.

  “Let’s make more popcorn,” Megan suggested, and Meredith stifled a groan, clutching her stomach in response. They’d already consumed three large bowls. One more would likely land her in the ER with a stomach pump for a companion.

  “I don’t think so, squirt.” They’d spent the last two hours watching the Disney movie and stuffing themselves with popcorn, cookies and pizza. Meredith was pretty darn certain that if she put one more morsel of anything into her mouth, she was going to puke. As it was, she’d probably gained five pounds for her piggish efforts.

  “This sure has been fun. Can I come over again? Maybe we can watch The Lion King next time.”

  “Of course, sweetie. But next time I think we need to pace ourselves better on all the junk food. I’m as stuffed as Murphy.”

  The child yawned, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sleepy. When’s Uncle Adam coming to get me?”

  Good question. Meredith had been wondering the same thing. Unfortunately, she had no answer to give Megan. According to what the housekeeper had said, Adam was to stop by after the golf tournament. It was now nine o’clock, and there’d been no sign of him, no phone call to say he’d be late. Of course, he was probably too busy hobnobbing with all his society friends to remember a small detail like his niece.

  “He should be here soon, squirt. In the meantime, you can lie down on my bed and go to sleep.”

  “But I ain’t gots no pj’s.”

  “I’ve got something that can pass for a nightie. Follow me.” She led her into the bedroom, handing the child a bright green T-shirt that read: So Many Books, So Little Time. Donita Lawrence, owner of Bell, Book and Candle, had gifted her with it, because Meredith was one of her best customers.

  Well, it was easy to be a good book customer when you did more reading than dating, Meredith thought with a sigh.

  Megan climbed onto the bed, and Harrison, who’d been dogging the little girl’s heels all day, jumped up right next to her, unwilling to let his new best buddy out of his sight.

  “I wish Barnaby could sleep with me, but Uncle Adam won’t let him.” She patted the dog’s head affectionately, and the hound looked as if he was actually smiling, he was so in love with the child.

  “But you’ve got Murphy to keep you company, sweetie.”

  “I know. But when my feets get cold, it’d be nice to have someone warm to snuggle with.”

  Meredith knew the feeling only too well. She’d been wearing socks to bed longer than she cared to think about.

  RINGING THE DOORBELL, Adam glanced impatiently at his Rolex and frowned. He was late. He hated being late. And though he knew Meredith would probably be upset that he’d saddled her with Megan all these extra hours, it couldn’t be helped.

  Harry Whatley, the private investigator he’d hired to locate Curtis Tremayne, had shown up at the club just as he’d been about to leave. Unfortunately, the information the man had brought with him had been disappointing.

  There were no new leads on the fugitive. The only encouraging news the investigator had offered was that America
’s Most Wanted had finally agreed to profile Tremayne in a couple of weeks. Adam hoped that broadcast would be the break they needed to locate his sister’s murderer.

  The door opened, and Adam pasted on a guilty smile. As he suspected, Meredith didn’t look pleased. Her arms were folded across her chest, her foot tapping out a staccato rhythm. She didn’t look pleased, but she sure looked adorable in her baggy blue-and-gold sweatshirt and tight leggings.

  He brought forth a red heart-shaped box from behind his back. “Sorry I’m late. I had a very important appointment.”

  At the sight of the candy, Meredith almost turned the color of split-pea soup. No one had given her candy in a very long time, so she tried not to be too unpleasant, though she knew the gesture was meant to salve the man’s guilty conscience over being late. “Thanks. Hope you don’t mind if I save it for later. I’m rather full at the moment.”

  He was about to say something else, but she didn’t give him the opportunity. “I should be mad at you, anyway.” But darn it was hard to be mad at a man who looked as good as Adam did in khakis and a navy-blue knit polo that delineated his well-formed pecs and biceps. The man probably had no idea whatsoever that he was a hunk.

  Adam had the grace to look embarrassed as he entered the small house, which was attractively decorated, if sparsely furnished. “As I said before, I’m sorry. I guess I should have called.”

  “That would have been thoughtful.” Something Adam was not. “You may as well come in and sit down. Megan’s asleep, so there’s no need for you to rush off, unless you want to, that is.” She hoped he didn’t. Meredith didn’t stop to ask why, but Adam was growing on her like a fungus. She definitely had an itch that needed scratching.

  Buy some fungicide, dummy. It’s a lot less complicated than what you’re contemplating.

  He took a seat on the sofa that had once graced Louise and Henry Baxter’s living room. It was orange-and-brown tweed—hideous really—and Meredith was suddenly self-conscious of her hand-me-down furnishings. “I’ve put most of my money into decorating the store, so—” She shrugged off the lame explanation.

  Adam thought the house was quite homey, something his had never been, for all its opulence and cherished antiques. But then, it took more than furnishings to make a house a home: it took a loving family.

  “I think your house reflects your personality.”

  “Simple, dull, tasteless?” she supplied with a grin, making him smile.

  “I was going to say energetic, innovative and charming. I think it’s warm and welcoming.”

  She looked about, but all she saw was old furniture, braided rugs with dog stains from when Harrison had been a pup and a television set that had probably witnessed the debut of Milton Berle. “Thanks. I’ve tried to liven it up a bit with throw pillows, candles and a few not-yet-dead plants.” Outside, her flower garden flourished. Houseplants, however, were not her thing. Randall was always accusing her of committing planticide.

  “Would you like a drink? Actually,” she amended, “I have beer or wine. I’m not into the hard stuff. Most of my male acquaintances don’t drink brandy.” Most of her male acquaintances were pretty much nonexistent at the moment, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

  Randall and his friend, David, came over on occasion, usually when she was in the throes of PMS and feeling sorry for herself. Randall—bless him!—always brought chocolate.

  No brandy! Lilah would have been horrified, Adam thought with a smile, liking the idea that Meredith was so different from his mother. “I’ll have a beer.”

  “You probably want a glass, right?”

  “If you’ve got one.” He smiled as she hurried off to her kitchen to fetch his drink. That she was nervous was obvious. The why of it, however, wasn’t as clear.

  While Meredith was occupied in the kitchen, Adam took time to ponder the strange birthday gift he’d received from Peter.

  The gold-plated magnifying glass had taken him totally by surprise. He’d never been a stamp collector or a butterfly enthusiast, and Peter knew it. But odder still was the CD that had accompanied it, recorded by some singer he’d never heard of before.

  It was a country music song. Adam hated country music, with all its twanging guitars and sappy lyrics about unrequited love. But he had to admit that the tune about looking for love in all the wrong places was kind of catchy. He’d found himself humming it on his way over tonight. But catchy or not, Adam still didn’t understand why Peter had bought him such a bizarre gift.

  “Damn!” Meredith cursed as the beer she poured too quickly headed up and spilled over the rim of the glass. Mopping up the mess with a paper towel, she hoped Adam wouldn’t notice that he was drinking his brew out of a water goblet instead of a beer mug.

  Sitting down next to him, she felt suddenly awkward and at a loss for words. Though she’d been to his home a dozen times or more for a dozen different reasons, it seemed different somehow having him on her own turf—on her lumpy sofa.

  That he didn’t belong there was obvious. The differences between them were glaring, like beer instead of brandy, popcorn instead of paté. Filet mignon to her hamburger.

  Face it, Meredith, the man oozes class, while you merely sweat poverty.

  “Is this beer from a microbrewery? I don’t recognize the label, but I like it.”

  She nodded, relieved, betting that he didn’t drink beer as a rule. He was probably used to Dom Perignon or Tattingers. She served both at wedding receptions, but she couldn’t afford to imbibe the expensive bubbly herself. “I think so. Randall brought it over the last time he was here. You remember Randall, my assistant?”

  He nodded absently. “I hope Megan wasn’t any trouble. All she talked about all week was coming over here to spend the day with you.” He’d envied the child that. He would much rather have spent the day in Meredith and Megan’s company than knocking a small white ball into a tin cup. But Morgans had always hosted the benefit golf tournament at the club, and his attendance and participation had been expected.

  With money comes responsibility. His father’s daily lectures had pounded that edict and others into his brain. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, boy. Don’t choke on it. Morgans lead—they don’t follow. No one respects a weakling. Be proud of your name, and don’t ever dishonor it.

  Adam was relieved that his father hadn’t been alive to witness Allison’s death and the resulting scandal that had accompanied the horror. The old man would have been far more concerned about the Morgan name and reputation than about the great loss they’d all suffered. Adam suspected the adverse publicity was the reason Lilah hadn’t come home for the funeral.

  Tucking her legs beneath her, Meredith’s eyes sparkled like dew-kissed shamrocks. “Megan’s wonderful. I haven’t had so much fun in years. She and Harrison got along famously.”

  About to take another sip of beer, Adam paused, mouth to rim. “Harrison was here tonight?”

  “He still is. In my bedroom. Shall I—”

  “Your bedroom!” The vein in his neck started throbbing. Meredith had a man in her bedroom, and she was entertaining another in her living room! Why was he so surprised? “Perhaps I’d better go.” He made a move to leave, but she placed her hand on his arm, her eyes filling with confusion.

  “Why would you want to leave? Although Harrison adores me, he really loves men. I know he’ll be excited to meet you.”

  Adam fought the urge to bolt, but he didn’t want to appear rude, and he certainly didn’t want to appear jealous. Not that he had any reason to be. He and Meredith were merely business associates. She didn’t mean anything to him. She was a means to an end, a pleasant diversion. If she had ten men in her bedroom, even twenty, he couldn’t care less.

  So why was his temple ready to burst? Why was his heart feeling twisted and torn?

  Indigestion.

  That was it. The food at the club had never been any good. He would recommend that the chef be fired immediately.

 
Rubbing his hand over his heart to lessen the discomfort, he replied, “That’s nice.”

  Meredith whistled, then watched horrified when a moment later the huge dog came loping into the room, heading straight for Adam.

  “Harrison, no!”

  But it was too late.

  The dog jumped up on the startled man, causing Adam to dump the remainder of his beer onto his lap.

  “Harrison!” Without thinking, Meredith reached for a napkin and began patting up the beer. “I’m sorry. He’s just overly friendly.”

  Harrison did his best to look contrite.

  The touch of Meredith’s hand on his crotch made Adam gasp, and he grasped her hand, trying to think of other things, but there was no way to prevent his very obvious reaction.

  As Adam grew hard beneath her palm, Meredith pulled back as if burned, her cheeks flaming to the color of sun-ripened cherries. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “No harm done,” he said quickly, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t know Harrison was a dog. I thought he—Never mind.” God, he sounded like an ass! He was an ass, he amended.

  Forgetting all about being embarrassed, Meredith burst out laughing. “You thought Harrison was—” She grabbed her sides, laughing harder. “No wonder you sounded so pe…peculiar on the phone that time we spoke.”

  Her laughter was infectious, and he finally chuckled. “I’m relieved you’re not in the habit of castrating all your male visitors. What was the expression you used? Pruning?”

  “Stop! You’re going to make me wet myself.”

  God, she was beautiful. Full of life. Warm and totally adorable. And Adam couldn’t prevent himself from drawing her into his arms and kissing the smile right off her face.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mr. Morgan!”

  “Miss Baxter?”

  Eyes wide, lips swollen, tongue tingling, Meredith acted on pure impulse and wrapped her arms about Adam’s neck, knocking him flat on his back and covering him with her body. He responded by thrusting his tongue into her mouth and deepening the kiss.

  Anchoring her hands in his thick hair, she pressed her aching nipples into his chest, her groin into the hard shaft positioned between her thighs, and moved provocatively, trying to assuage the overwhelming need swamping her. Pleasure mingled with surprise; the touch of Adam’s lips had sent her spiraling out of control.