A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart
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on cue.
The smile that broke across Luke’s face when Robert kissed his wife sent shivers coursing down Maggie’s spine.
Reverend Mason introduced Mr. and Mrs. Robert St. John to the congregation, then the organ music swelled and the recessional took place, the smiling bride and groom leading the way back down the aisle. When Luke and the maid of honor went by where Maggie stood, he met her gaze for a brief moment and a frisson of heat swirled throughout her.
How on earth, Maggie thought, very aware of her racing heart, was she going to survive her dance with Luke? A promise was a promise, but…If she was just so busy tending to those details, details, details and managed to keep some distance between her and Luke, the dance might never take place. It would take some fancy footwork on her part and she’d have to stay on red alert as to where Luke was at all times, but she could pull this off.
“Good plan,” she said under her breath. “Maggie, you’re brilliant.”
The reception was being held at one of the exclusive country clubs in Phoenix. A dinner buffet greeted the guests and the huge ballroom was filled with a multitude of round tables each topped with a mint-green or yellow tablecloth and contrasting color candle burning in a glass cylinder in the center. A ten-piece band would play quietly during the meal, then change to Ginger’s choice of dance music after the champagne toasts had been made and the four-tier cake had been cut and served by the army of waiters.
As everything continued to go like clockwork, Maggie began to relax and a wave of utter fatigue swept over her. She sat on a folding chair in a dim corner of the room, nibbling on a small plate of food, and nodded in approval at the final outcome of her months of labor.
She’d done it, she thought. Roses and Wishes had hopefully now wiggled its way into the high-society scene of Phoenix. She’d seen the business cards she’d propped next to the candleholder on each table being slipped into purses and given to men to place in their pockets. Fantastic.
Maggie frowned as she recalled the conversation with her mother regarding whether Maggie truly wanted to continue to plan weddings for bride after bride while knowing she herself would never have that title. Well, she wasn’t going to dwell on that now, for heaven’s sake. She intended to bask in her glory tonight of a job well done for Ginger and Robert St. John.
Maggie placed her plate on the tray of a passing waiter, then smiled as Ginger and Robert took the floor for the first dance.
How lovely, she thought. They looked so happy, had eyes only for each other as they moved around the gleaming expanse. They danced so well together and—
Maggie suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair.
Dancing, she thought frantically. Other couples were now joining the bride and groom to enjoy the terrific music and so many people were dancing, for heaven’s sake. Where was Luke? She had to keep careful track of Luke.
There he was dancing with Ginger. Now he’d shifted to his mother. Fine. My, my, he was poetry in motion, so graceful for a man of his size. Oops. He’d bowed slightly and given his mother’s hand to his father and—no, no, no—he was headed toward her secret little corner, was working his way through the crowd on the dance floor. She was out of there.
Maggie jumped to her feet and hurried to the head table, where she gave instructions for the top layer of the cake to be boxed up so it could be frozen and brought out again on Ginger and Robert’s first anniversary celebration.
“Give it to the mother of the bride,” Maggie told a waiter. “She agreed to take care of it tonight.”
“You told us that at the meeting we had last week,” the waiter said, frowning. “I’ve got it covered, Maggie.”
“Of course you do,” Maggie said, patting him on the arm. “I’m sorry for nagging.” She looked quickly into the distance and saw Luke advancing. “How’s the supply of champagne holding up?”
“Fine,” the waiter said, rolling his eyes. “Trust me. Everything is going great. Isn’t there something else you should be doing?”
“Right.” Maggie pointed one finger in the air. “I do believe I’ll visit the powder room.”
“Good idea,” the man said drily. “Don’t feel you have to check back here.”
“Keep up the great work,” Maggie said, then rushed away.
When Maggie entered the powder room, she absently registered the fact that it was bigger than her entire living space at home. There was a huge sitting area with love seats, easy chairs and coffee tables holding attractive baskets of artificial flowers.
Beyond all of that were the stalls, a long mirror surrounded by makeup bulbs and a vanity with eight or ten sinks. The noise level was high as women stood two deep in front of the mirror, touching up their postdinner lipstick, one row peering over the shoulders of the other as they chatted and laughed, a good time obviously being had by all.
There was no point in staying in here with this crowd, Maggie thought, shaking her head. The noise was enough to give her a headache and, besides, her purse was locked in a cabinet in the kitchen, so she had nothing to repair her lipstick with.
Well, there was no problem really about leaving the powder room, because even if Luke had figured out where she had been headed, he wouldn’t do anything as crass as to plant himself outside the door of the women’s restroom. People with money were very big on proper social decorum, and that maneuver definitely wouldn’t go down well here.
Nodding in satisfaction that she was so far doing a dandy job of keeping a safe distance between herself and Luke, Maggie opened the door and walked out into the hallway beyond.
And walked smack-dab into the solid, unmoving body of Luke St. John.
Chapter Four
Maggie gasped and staggered slightly, causing Luke to grip her upper arms to steady her.
“Well,” he said, not releasing his hold on her, “fancy meeting you here, Maggie.”
“Luke,” she said, looking quickly to each side, “you can’t hang around outside the women’s restroom. It’s not…couth, not nice at all. Your mother would be mortified.”
“My mother isn’t here,” he said, frowning. “You are. Ever since the music began you’ve been bouncing around the room out there like a Ping-Pong ball. I have the distinct impression that you don’t intend to keep your promise to dance with me. Talk about mortifying a mother. How would yours feel if she knew her daughter hadn’t kept her word?”
Maggie opened her mouth to say something in her defense, only to realize she was guilty as charged.
“How about,” she said, narrowing her eyes in concentration, “I had details, details, details to check on?”
“Nope,” Luke said. “Everything is going like a finetuned machine. I’m betting that there’s nothing left to check on.”
“Oh.” Maggie paused. “Well, then, try this. I needed to freshen my lipstick, like all the others in the powder room are doing.”
“I might buy that,” Luke said, nodding, “except where is your tube of lipstick? No purse, no lipstick.”
“Oh.”
“Maggie,” Luke said, his voice gentling, “don’t you want to dance with me?”
“Yes, I do. It’s just that I—”
“Good. That’s settled then.” Luke released her arms and grasped one of her hands with one of his. “Let’s go.”
“But…”
The door to the powder room opened and three young women emerged, stopping before they bumped into Luke and Maggie.
“Well, Luke St. John,” one of the women said, smiling coyly, “what on earth are you doing skulking around