The Best-Made Plans

by Leigh Michaels

  She remembered a snippet of conversation — one she had paid little attention to at the time — and turned purposefully toward the groom’s side of the church. Penn looked startled when she dropped into the seat beside him and demanded, “I need a favor.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I’ve absolutely got to have someone who knows cameras – right now.”

  He glanced around the church. “A bit late to be hiring, don’t you think?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Babies and car crashes are acts of God, Penn, not my fault.”

  “What makes you think I could step in?”

  “You used to play around with a camera, and you were talking to Jill last Sunday as if you still knew a little about it. And didn’t you say you’ve been doing picture postcards?”

  “That was for fun. I’m not exactly professional — not at the sort of thing you’ve got in mind.”

  “Have you got any better ideas?”

  He was silent.

  “I’ll tell you what to shoot, for heaven’s sake!” She put a hand on his sleeve; her nails tapped anxiously against the gray linen. “Look, Penn, I’ll kneel and beg if you want. I need you desperately.”

  “Why, Kaitlyn—” His palm came down softly over the back of her hand.

  The warm pressure had a certain comforting appeal. She finished recklessly, “You can name your price.”

  Penn smiled. “Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll have to carefully consider my fees, of course, since I’ve never done this before. Is it all right if I let you know after the wedding’s over?”

  “Damn it, Penn—”

  His eyebrows went up slightly.

  The silence in the church had given way to whispers and murmurs and buzzes of speculation, and the bride’s mother was sitting rigidly in the front pew, her chin up in a challenge that didn’t bode well for anyone who crossed her. Compared to the prospect of facing Mrs. Hart, Kaitlyn thought, a little financial blackmail from Penn was hardly even a threat.

  Kaitlyn sighed. “Absolutely,” she said with resignation. “Think it over and give me your price. In the meantime, can we go to work?”

  CHAPTER 4

  For Kaitlyn, the entire wedding ceremony was no more than a blur; she heard hardly a word of it. She moved mechanically around the church, trying to direct Penn but ending up simply following at his heels. After the first five minutes of hissing orders — orders he seemed not to hear — Kaitlyn gave up and sat in a back corner of the church and tried to keep from chewing all her nails down to the quick. He seemed to know what he was doing, she told herself. At least he hadn’t dropped the camera yet, and he hadn’t fallen over the balcony rail.

  The final chords of the recessional were still ringing out when the newly-married couple paused at the back of the church for a kiss to be immortalized on film. Then Karl said, “What the hell happened to hold everything up? And why are you running around here with a camera, Penn?”

  Sabrina, reminded of the change of plans, stopped smiling and glared at Penn. “This had better work out,” she said ominously.

  He shrugged. “Just don’t try to hold me responsible if you frown and break the camera.”

  Kaitlyn couldn’t help wondering if that was a threat to sabotage the pictures. She started to protest, until from the corner of her eyes she saw Mrs. Hart bearing down on her.

  She stopped worrying about Penn and said, “Quick! Into the limousine, or your guests will want to gather right here and congratulate you, and you’ll never get to the reception.”

  Karl didn’t even look around; he carefully tucked his bride into the limousine. Kaitlyn almost pushed Penn toward her car, which was parked in a reserved spot nearby so she could get out with no difficulty. He took one look at her face and said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll drive. It wouldn’t be appropriate to have you squealing tires in front of a church.” He took the keys out of her hand.

  She didn’t argue about it; with the level of concentration she was capable of at the moment, if she was driving they’d probably end up in Arkansas.

  Come to think of it, that wasn’t such a bad idea. Anywhere but Springhill.

  “I hate to mention it, but haven’t we missed something?” Penn asked. “Such as the formal family photos at the church?”

  Kaitlyn shook her head. She eyed the leather camera bag he’d shoved into the seat between them, and then let her head fall back against the leather upholstery with a sigh. “Sabrina’s mother thinks they’re stiff and nasty, so you’re just to shoot a few groups at the reception.”

  “What a shame. That means I can’t in good conscience charge you as much as I otherwise would.”

  Kaitlyn sat up slowly. “If you had any conscience at all, Penn, you’d do it as your wedding gift.”

  He smiled, and his dark eyes danced with silvery lights. “Trying to change the rules, Kitten? I thought you said I could name my price.”

  A traffic light glared red, and he brought the car to a smooth stop. Kaitlyn tapped her fingers nervously on the upholstery, and Penn reached for her hand. “I see you finally got your engagement ring.”

  His fingers were warm, and he took an uncomfortably long time studying the ring, turning it to watch the long rays of evening sunlight splinter through the depths of the diamond.

  “The traffic light has changed,” she pointed out.

  “So what? The limousine’s behind us.” But Penn put her hand down and turned his attention back to the street. “That’s quite a rock,” he said, a block or so later. “It’s a little on the yellowish side to be perfect, perhaps, but—”

  “Don’t tell me. You’ve graded diamonds in Amsterdam, too.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. It wouldn’t be a bad job, though.”

  In the Harts’ driveway, he left the engine running and grabbed for the camera bag as the limousine pulled up behind them. Kaitlyn sighed, slid across into the driver’s seat, and moved the car to the back of the house.

  At least there was one advantage in hanging around with Penn. For a full minute there, she’d forgotten all about her anxiety over the photographs, because of the urge to hit him over the head with whatever large and heavy object came to hand.

  The reception was no improvement. In the midst of the champagne toasts, Penn told her, with the air of a man who has just hit the jackpot, “I’ve got it! The only reason for bridesmaids at these affairs is to dress them up like dumplings so the bride will look lovely by comparison. Right?”

  “Dammit, Penn—” Then she swallowed hard, and forced herself to smile. There was no advantage in getting into an argument with the man over a half dozen buttercup-yellow dresses. He was right, as a matter of fact; two of Sabrina’s bridesmaids did look like dumplings.

  And a bit later, when the orchestra began to play at poolside and Marcus asked her to dance, Penn looked stricken. But he said bravely, “Go ahead, Kitten. Have a little fun. I think I can handle the overwhelming responsibility by myself for a while.”

  Marcus must have seen the frustration in her eyes as she surveyed the two of them. “Never mind,” he said crisply, and moved off toward the bar.

  Kaitlyn wheeled around, hands planted on hips. “Dammit, Penn—”

  “Kitten, I’m beginning to think that’s my name. All three syllables of it.”

  “—it’s not unreasonable for Marcus to want to dance with me at a party!”

  “That’s true. Does he always head for a drink when he’s disappointed? I’d be worried about that, if I were you.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but moved off capably to capture a few more images of the dancing crowd.

  “You’re no help,” Kaitlyn muttered.

  Mrs. Hart appeared beside her. Her smile was sweet, but her voice cut like a razor. “That’s precisely what I was thinking about you, Miss Ross. I’m sure you understand why I won’t be paying the rest of your fee until after we’ve seen the photographs.”

  Kaitlyn shrugged miserably, but she couldn’t blame the w
oman for being unhappy. A year’s planning and thousands of dollars spent to make a perfect wedding — and sheer bad luck at the end. No wonder Mrs. Hart was looking for someone to blame.

  She shivered and went to check on the dinner service.

  The evening dragged more than any other she had ever experienced, but finally it was all over. The last champagne toast had been drunk, and the newly married couple was ferried off in the long white limousine, and the guests drifted away. “You can go now, Penn,” Kaitlyn told him. “Just leave the film and the cameras with me, and I’ll get them back to Jill.”

  “I can’t. Remember? You practically kidnapped me from the church and dragged me out here in the wilds, far from anywhere, so now it’s up to you to take care of me.” He gave her a cheerful grin and snagged the last boiled shrimp from a tray that the caterer was removing. “I’ve been debating the pay scale for my work tonight, by the way.”

  That sounded like trouble, and Kaitlyn tried to forestall it. “If you don’t know what to charge, I’ll check it out with Jill and pay you the usual rates.”

  “What happened to naming my own price?”

  Kaitlyn watched a guest who was sagging against the now-closed bar and wondered if it was going to be necessary to remove him. “What about doing it for the love of your friends?”

  “I’m not sure exactly what you have in mind, but it sounds as if it could be intriguing.”

  “I meant your friendship with Karl,” she said, a little more sharply than she’d intended.

  Penn’s eyebrows rose. “And leave you out of it altogether? Oh, I couldn’t do that, Kitten. Don’t worry; I’ll let you know as soon as I come up with an idea.”

  “I’ll be holding my breath,” Kaitlyn muttered.

  “Really? Don’t let Marcus see you doing it — he might wonder if we’re up to something kinky. He’s watching us intently from the corner, by the way, like a jealous husband.” He swiped a couple of Swedish meatballs from the hors d’oeuvre bar and smiled at her as warmly as if she’d just uttered the most tantalizing remark ever spoken. “Where are you going on your honeymoon?”

  “I haven’t the vaguest idea.”

  “Oh? You mean you’re actually leaving that part to Marcus? Perhaps I should give him some suggestions.”

  “The Sahara Desert, I suppose,” Kaitlyn said, remembering what she’d overheard him recommend to Karl.

  He sounded shocked. “Of course not, Kitten. For you and Marcus, it will have to be something really special.”

  *****

  Kaitlyn was tired enough to sleep around the clock, and she might have done so if it hadn’t been for a persistent dream in which bits of photographic paper bearing brightly-colored images of a headless bride and groom swirled about her face like hornets. The attack jolted her awake, and she found herself cowering in the middle of her bed, her arms raised protectively. She crawled out from the tangled sheets. It might be scarcely seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, but there was no sense in trying to go back to sleep after that.

  She put Schnoodle out into the garden and made herself a pot of coffee. She was sitting on the terrace with her head in her hands, trying to figure out how long it would be before she knew for sure whether they had managed to salvage anything from last night’s fiasco, when she heard a cheerful whistle coming around the corner of the house. Even if she hadn’t recognized it, one look at Schnoodle turning tight ecstatic circles in the middle of Audrey’s favorite flower bed would have been enough to identify the whistler. She groaned.

  Penn said unsympathetically, “You look as if you could use a good headache remedy.” He put a tool kit down in the path just inside the garden gate and bent over to pet the dog.

  “I could, now that you’re here,” she muttered. “It’s too early to fix the gate, you know. You’ll wake the neighbors.”

  He pulled a chair around and straddled it. Schnoodle draped himself over Penn’s foot and started happily licking his bare ankle. “That was good champagne last night,” Penn said, “but no matter what the vintage, if you drink too much of it—”

  “I am not suffering from an overdose of champagne. I never drink alcohol while I’m managing a party.” She sat up. “And you’re the one who’s responsible for this, anyway. I’ve been having nightmares about your pictures.”

  “Is that all the thanks I get for helping you out of a jam? Is there any more coffee?”

  “Why?”

  “If you’re not going to let me work, at least let me drink coffee.”

  “Why would you want to work? It’s barely dawn.”

  “I’ve gotten used to keeping early hours.”

  “Oh? Why? Have you been in some Third World country that doesn’t have electric lights yet? The coffee’s in the kitchen.”

  He peeled the dog off his foot and vanished through the back door. Schnoodle flopped down beside the empty chair, looking glum.

  The instant Penn returned with a mug in one hand and the coffeepot in the other, Kaitlyn said, “You see, I keep having this awful suspicion that you may have aimed the camera wrong and only got the bodies.”

  Penn filled his mug, inhaled the fragrance of coffee and sighed with satisfaction. “Now why would I do something like that?”

  “Because for all I know, you’re more experienced with a submachine gun than a camera these days.”

  Penn shook his head. “No, no. I just meant that Sabrina doesn’t have such a great body. She’s far too skinny, so of course I wouldn’t—” He stopped with his cup raised almost to his lips and looked at her with concern. “You’re a terrible example for Schnoodle, Kitten. Does Marcus know you growl in the mornings?”

  “I only do it when I have to deal with you.”

  “In that case, I won’t warn him. I don’t see why you’re so worried, though. However good those pictures look, they’re doomed to end up in bits on Sabrina’s living room floor someday.”

  “You don’t think that marriage will last?”

  “It sounds to me as if she got so caught up in planning the wedding that the marriage didn’t matter anymore.”

  “That’s a twist,” Kaitlyn mused. “Penn Caldwell sounding almost like a romantic. It’s true there’s often a letdown after all the excitement is over, but that doesn’t—”

  Penn shook his head. “Karl and Sabrina are in for more than just a letdown. But we’re not responsible for the whole marriage, thank heaven — only the pictures. Your contract does cover things like this, doesn’t it? I mean, if a tornado takes the roof off a church just as the bride starts down the aisle, it’s not your fault, so—”

  She shuddered. “Penn, please don’t. I’ve got another wedding next weekend, and it’s the height of tornado season.”

  “Sorry.” He didn’t sound it.

  “Anyway, I like my job. Most of the time, at least. Not every bride is like Sabrina, not every mother is like hers and not every wedding is like yesterday’s.”

  “Just the big ones.”

  “They tend to be more troublesome, yes. They also pay well.”

  He refilled his cup and leaned back in his chair. “So are you going to hire a coordinator for your big splash or take care of all the arrangements yourself?”

  “I’ll do it myself. There really isn’t anyone else I could trust, and I’d probably end up doing all the work, anyway.”

  He shrugged. “I was just wondering how you’ll handle the actual wedding day. Surely you can’t be running about like a sergeant-major in a Gilbert and Sullivan production and still have time to think about the vows, Kitten.”

  “If you’re implying that I should be having second thoughts about marrying Marcus—”

  Penn looked shocked. “Heaven forbid. That never even crossed my mind.”

  “Well, you can relax. I won’t need to give my vows a lot of thought that day, because I know exactly what I’m doing. He’s a wonderful man and—”

  “And you love him very much,” Penn said piously, over the rim of his cup.

&nb
sp; Kaitlyn felt a brief and completely unreasonable urge to shove both the cup and his almost-sincere look down his throat. Then she remembered that nothing required her to sit there and listen to him, and she pushed her chair away and gathered her mug and the coffeepot into one hand. “I’m going back to bed,” she said and started for the door. “Have fun fixing the gate.”

  “You’re going to sleep through the best part of the day?” Penn scoffed. “Oh, you mean you’re still worn out from yesterday’s excitement.” He shook his head sadly. “Perhaps someone should warn Marcus.”

  She bit her tongue, but it didn’t help; she turned back to look at him, and the words seemed to tumble out unbidden. “Warn him? Why?”

  Penn smiled. “Because if yesterday left you exhausted, what will your own big bash do? Kitten, darling, after getting through a day like the one you must be planning, you certainly aren’t going to have enough energy left for the wedding night.” He actually smiled as he said it. “Poor Marcus.”

  This time she made it inside the house. And she let the screen door bang, heedless of the neighbors. It made her feel a little better.

  *****

  She was terrible on the golf course that afternoon. Her nerves were frazzled and her coordination was shot, and on the tenth hole she picked up her ball and declared that she’d just ride the rest of the way. It didn’t help that Marcus’s business associates — two senior executives from TurfMaster’s parent company — were treating her like the proverbial little woman, talking over her head as if she wasn’t bright enough to know the fairway from the green. By the time they’d finished eighteen holes she was relieved just to be off the course and back in the clubhouse. But the lounge wasn’t the quiet retreat she’d been hoping for. There must have been two dozen people gathered around Jill’s husband, who saw Kaitlyn and waved an instant-print photograph in the air. She made an excuse to the men and went over to see it.