CHAPTER FOUR

      GRACIE GLANCED at Lincoln, then back to the closed dressing room door. “We’re waiting,” she called pleasantly, although she was tapping her foot.

      “Maybe I should go in and give him a hand,” Lincoln offered with a grin.

      Gracie gave him a withering look, then rapped on the door of the dressing room. “Come on out, Steve.”

      There was no response for several seconds, then, “I’d rather not.”

      Gracie rolled her eyes. “Steve, stop messing around—we’re running out of time here.”

      Shuffling noises sounded, then the door swung open slowly. Gracie gasped.

      “Oh…my…gawd,” Lincoln murmured.

      Excerpt for the surly look on his face and the bagginess of the oversize bejeweled white jumpsuit, Gracie would swear she was looking at the King of rock ’n’ roll himself. From the lofty wig and long sideburns to the large gold-tone sunglasses with dark lenses, he looked every inch the beloved performer. Her heartbeat actually accelerated. “You look…wow.”

      His mouth tightened. “I look like an idiot.”

      “You look like a cash cow,” Lincoln declared, then clapped his hands. “Chop, chop—you’ve got twenty minutes to learn to moo.”

      Gracie could feel Steve’s panic, and her heart went out to him. To keep him from losing his nerve completely, she put her hand on his arm. “Relax. It’s like being in a play.”

      “More like a musical,” Lincoln said over his shoulder, walking ahead.

      “It’ll be fun,” she said quickly. “Everyone will love you.” At his surprised glance, she swallowed hard. “The customers, I mean. The customers will love you.” She smiled. “And I appreciate you being such a good sport.”

      She guided him toward the chapel, chattering to distract him. “You’ll greet the customers in the lobby, then we’ll reconvene in the chapel.”

      They walked into the smaller chapel and with a practiced eye, she glanced around to make sure the chairs, flowers and equipment were in the proper place. Gracie pointed to the tripod in the back. “You’ll position the video camera and make sure it’s on. At the front, Lincoln will start the ceremony and when the wedding march begins, you’ll walk the bride down the aisle and give her away.”

      “Um, this is all new to me,” Steve said.

      “I know, but we’ll get through it.”

      “No. I mean I’ve never seen a wedding before.”

      Her eyebrows went up. “Never?”

      “Just on TV, and I try to avoid that whenever possible.”

      She pursed her lips—the guy was a bona fide wedding-phobe. Suddenly, the opening strains of the wedding march sounded over the speakers. Gracie jerked her head around to see Lincoln working the audio controls and wearing a mischievous grin.

      “Show him,” he said, moving his arm in a rolling motion. “Walk down the aisle together.”

      Gracie narrowed her eyes at him, but conceded the wisdom in a practice run. Suddenly nervous for no good reason, she smiled up at Steve. “Okay—pretend I’m the bride.”

      One of his dark eyebrows shot up, inadvertently making him look even more like the King. She walked to the back of the chapel and stared down the white cloth runner spread over the red carpet leading to the white arch at the front. It really was rather ominous what a simple trip down the aisle represented in Western culture—a journey to a new place. With her heart thumping, she tucked her hand into the crook of Steve’s elbow.

      “Walk slowly and let the bride set the pace,” she murmured, then began walking, pausing with the completion of each step. His stride was longer and he stumbled a bit to stay abreast. She, meanwhile, was ultraconscious of the muscles in his arm beneath her fingers, and the occasional brushing of their hips until they found a rhythm.

      “You’ve done this before,” Steve said, breaking into her thoughts.

      “Many times,” she admitted.

      “For real?” he asked.

      A couple of seconds passed before she realized what he was asking, and she was the one who stumbled this time. “Oh—no, never for real. I mean…I’ve never been married.”

      He didn’t respond and by that time, thank heavens, they were at the end of the aisle.

      Lincoln shot her a triumphant smile before cutting the music. “Then I’ll begin the ceremony, talk about the sanctity of marriage, blah, bah, blah. Then I’ll ask who gives this bride, and Steve, you’ll say in your best Elvis voice, “It’s now or never. I give this woman in marriage.” Lincoln spoke in his own impersonator voice, which was bad.

      Next to her, Steve shifted from foot to foot and looked up at the ceiling.

      “Well, let’s hear it,” Lincoln prompted.

      Gracie glanced sideways, holding her breath.

      Steve cleared his throat and thrust his head forward like a rooster, and cleared his throat again. “It’s now—” He stopped, then sighed and started again, ducking his head in an attempt to inject more bass into his voice. “It’s now…or never.”

      Gracie winced inwardly. He was worse than Lincoln.

      “You need to add a warble,” Lincoln said flatly, then demonstrated. “It’s n-o-o-w or n-e-e-ver. Try again.”

      She could feel the resistance rolling off Steve in waves—this exercise went against his every instinct, which she thought was odd for a creative person like a photographer. Maybe Lincoln was right—maybe Steve Mulcahy was on the skids and desperate for a job.

      “Just try to have fun,” she whispered.

      “It’s n-now or n-never,” he murmured.

      “That’s not warbling,” Lincoln said. “That’s stuttering.”

      “It’s fine,” Gracie said quickly. “Just don’t forget to add ‘I give this bride in marriage.’At that point you can return to the camera.”

      “Then I’ll finish the ceremony,” Lincoln continued. “Yada, yada, yada, then I pronounce the couple man and wife, and you sing them out.”

      Gracie led him to the back of the chapel and pointed to a small television screen. “The words will scroll across. Lincoln, will you cue up the song?”

      Steve wanted to fall through the floor. For the first time in his law enforcement career, he was tempted to blow his own cover—there were some things that a man simply should not have to endure. As “I’m All Shook Up” began to play, perspiration broke on his brow beneath the ridiculous wig. It was bad enough that he looked like a fool, but that he looked like a fool in front of Gracie Sergeant….

      It shouldn’t matter, he told himself.