The Perfect Wedding. Arlene JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
are you? Are you Mommy’s girl? Are you Daddy’s girl? Or are you Uncle’s girl?”
Uncle’s? Layne shook her head. Well, he certainly seemed to adore the child. He couldn’t be too bad and care that deeply for his baby. She liked him immensely at that moment, and it took all her self-control not to join in the play. She was really a pretty baby and so sweet-tempered. Dedrah was very blessed in many ways.
Once again envy assailed Layne. One day, she thought. Please, Lord, let it happen for me one day. It isn’t too late. Twenty-nine isn’t too old. She tried not to think that thirty was just around the corner and that it had been years, literally, since she’d had a real date. She tried not to think, too, how often during the early years, when she’d worked so hard to establish her business, her family had warned her that this was going to happen. “You don’t want to spend your life alone,” her mother had said. “That shop won’t kiss you goodnight or give you babies.” Involuntarily Layne’s eyes went to Rod Corley.
Was this his first marriage? she wondered. It seemed so. He was pretty long in the tooth to be starting off, but she noticed that he’d chosen a very young woman with whom to begin. She only hoped Dedrah was up to a man as intense as Rod Corley seemed to be, not that any of it was her business. Weddings were her business, and it was time she got back to it.
Layne put an end to the play by walking to the table and picking up the notebook. Behind her, Rod handed over the baby to Dedrah, who immediately took up the cooing.
“You’re Mommy’s darlin’, aren’t you? Mommy’s sweet, sweet baby.”
Layne carried the book to Rod. Evidently he was the one who would be doing the planning, provided any planning was done. “I suggest you take this home and look it over very carefully,” she said, “then speak frankly with the bride. If you still want a formal wedding after that, get back to me.”
He stood, and for the first time she realized how very tall he was, a good six inches taller than her five feet and seven inches. He was tall and built like a brick wall, rather imposing taken as a whole, and she took a step backward.
He reached for the notebook as if fearing she would deny it to him, and his hand grazed her wrist. She jerked back, releasing the book abruptly, and he grabbed it in midair.
“Ex-excuse me,” she mumbled, wondering what on earth had gotten into her.
“My fault,” he replied softly, his aura enveloping her like a cloud, fogging her brain.
“Ah, as I—I said…” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “You can get back to me anytime that suits you.”
He nodded and gripped the notebook. “Thank you for your time,” he said, and his voice sounded oddly deep and bell-like to her ears, as if he had to pull the words up out of the pit of his belly. It made her uneasy. Everything about this man made her uneasy. She managed a smile and turned away, fixing her attention on Dedrah.
“Goodbye. You have a lovely baby.”
“Thanks.” Dedrah kissed the baby, smiled and walked into the front showroom and out the door, as if she couldn’t wait to be shed of the place, while Rod Corley just stood there like a great lump, hat in one hand, notebook in the other, radiating a kind of danger Layne could sense but not identify.
“Mr. Corley,” she said, swallowing, “was there something else?”
He looked down at the notebook and up again almost shyly. “You’re very nice,” he said, adding, “I’m no good when someone cries, and Dedrah’s had a pretty tough time of it. I appreciate your kindness.”
A strange sensation swept over her, as if a wisp of tulle had brushed the skin all over her body at once. She swallowed convulsively. “I—I understand.”
“I thought so,” he said quietly. “She’s really a timid little thing, too young, but a good mother for all that, and very brave to do it like she has. I want her to have the best.”
Layne folded her arms almost defensively. “I see.”
“Good.” His smile warmed her and dissipated the fog, leaving her with a sense of well-being. “Thanks again.” He turned and moved away, but she found she couldn’t let him go without speaking her mind.
“Mr. Corley,” she called, and he stopped, turning back to face her. Layne licked her lips, then raised her chin. “You’d better have a frank talk with Miss March. In fact, if you like, I could suggest a minister who would gladly counsel the two of you.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s not necessary.”
She gulped. “Well, you’re obviously at odds about this wedding.”
He cocked his head as if wondering why she would say such a thing, then looked at the notebook in his hand. “I don’t think so,” he said, “but we’ll talk.” He tipped his hat. “So long, Miss Harington.”
Layne followed him silently into the front showroom and watched as he opened the door, the chimes pealing, and walked through it. She watched through the glass as he went down the steps and turned onto the sidewalk. He was a good-looking man, but not the type she would have expected to attract or be attracted to the timid, childlike Dedrah. Something wasn’t right here, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She studied his fluid motions and straight posture as he strode around the front end of a brandnew pickup truck, climbed into the cab and settled himself behind the wheel. He spoke to Dedrah, who was strapping Heather into a car seat between them, but whether the girl replied or not, Layne couldn’t tell. Still speaking, he started the engine, put the transmission in gear and twisted to spread his long arm across the back of the seat as he steered the truck out into the street. Layne turned away from the window before he started the truck forward and drove away.
They won’t come back, she told herself. Dedrah said he was a good man, trying to do what he thought best. For some reason, Layne could almost believe that now. Maybe it was the way he had played with the baby or what Dedrah had said about being in love, as if that defined her very existence. Rod Corley seemed the sort of man in whom a woman could lose herself. He would speak to Dedrah about the wedding, find that she didn’t want to make a production of it and elope. Or maybe they wouldn’t marry at all. Maybe he would look at Dedrah and know that they were a mismatch and such a mismatch was doomed to failure anyway. He could always be Heather’s father without marrying her mother. Why compound one mistake with another? She shook her head, trying to derail the train of her thoughts, but it was a curious thing, a man like that with a girl like that, when he could probably have his choice of the women around here.
She remembered the soft warmth of those grayblue eyes and the rumbling depth of his voice when he had thanked her for her kindness, and a curious sensation swept her again. Yes, a man like that could have almost any woman on whom he set his sights. He must love Dedrah with an allconsuming passion that had overwhelmed his better judgment. All-consuming passion? She laughed at herself, glad her two full-time employees were taking an extended break. Outside, a vehicle pulled into a parking space in front of the shop, and Layne welcomed the intrusion into her thoughts. She had work to do. Moving quickly, she rehung the dress she had draped over the portable rack, pushed it into the fitting room, closed the doors and was replacing the chairs at the table when the chimes sounded and a valued customer swept in with her second daughter.
“Mrs. Ogilvy,” Layne said, striding forward. “Jennifer. Did we decide on the ribbons?”
“And the shoes!” Mrs. Ogilvy announced proudly, as if they’d made great strides.
Layne suppressed a smile and invited them both to the table. “I’ll just get my books,” she said, moving toward the desk in the far corner behind the potted ferns.
Only 2001 more details to go, she mused silently.
No, Rod Corley wouldn’t be back. He’d take a good look at that planner she’d given him, listen to Dedrah and opt for a simpler process. Either way, she couldn’t believe they’d be back. She was almost sorry about that, for she’d