The Wedding Planner

by Millie Criswell

  “I believe you wanted to discuss the media coverage with me, Peter. I think we may have a problem with the chimpanzee angle.” She met his grin with one of her own.

  If anger could have produced steam, Adam would have blown it out through his ears. He was doing a darn good impersonation of Old Faithful about to erupt. Even the sight of the infuriating woman’s too-tight skirt, hugging her impossibly firm, taut—

  “Adam!” Peter called out for the second time. “Your phone’s ringing. Do you want me to answer it?”

  With a shake of his head, Adam cursed himself for allowing the wedding planner to interfere with his concentration, then picked up the receiver and was quickly absorbed in a multitude of work-related problems.

  While Adam conducted business matters, Meredith and Peter discussed the various media strategies they wanted to implement. Peter suggested that they begin their campaign with local newspapers, radio and television stations, then work their way up to the national broadcasters, which made perfect sense to Meredith, who admittedly didn’t know a press release from a grocery list.

  They’d just finished their discussion when Adam’s niece and nephew wandered into the room. In the space of a heartbeat, Meredith became enraptured.

  The Tremayne children were adorable. To his credit, Adam had shielded them from the media circus surrounding his sister’s murder, so this was the first time she’d had the opportunity to observe them.

  At eight, Andrew appeared to be a typical boy. His uncombed hair looked like a bomb had recently exploded in it, the right knee of his pants was torn—Morgan was sure to disapprove of that—and his shoelaces were untied and trailing on the floor. The engaging grin he flashed made Meredith suspect the child would grow up to be a heartbreaker, just like his uncle was purported to be.

  Two years younger, Megan was on the shy side and hid behind her brother during Peter’s introduction. Her two front teeth were missing, but that didn’t detract from her dimpled smile when she chose to show it. A bedraggled teddy bear named Murphy was hugged tightly to her chest. The bear, Peter explained, had been a gift from her mother shortly before the woman’s tragic death.

  The attorney ruffled the boy’s dark hair. “How’s it going, sport?” Kneeling in front of Megan, he held out his arms. “Don’t I get a kiss from my favorite girl?”

  Meredith watched Peter quickly win over the little girl, who not only gave him a kiss but a hug as well. She noted with interest that no similar affection was bestowed upon her uncle, whose tone of voice had risen several octaves while he continued to berate one of his plant managers, making the child shrink further in response.

  A few moments later Peter’s beeper went off, calling him back to his office, and Meredith was left to fend for herself with the children, which didn’t bother her in the least. She adored kids and hoped one day to have some of her own.

  Engaging them in conversation, she soon had Megan and Andrew revealing all sorts of details about themselves, like how Megan hated brussels sprouts, how Andrew had broken his arm last year by falling out of a tree, and how their dog Barnaby was not allowed in the house because he tinkled on the carpet.

  The children, laughing aloud at some of the silly jokes Meredith told, were completely at ease in her presence; the effortless, friendly exchange between them was not lost on Adam, who had a very difficult time communicating with his niece and nephew.

  He was a man who talked to CEOs of major corporations, political figures and civic-minded leaders on a regular basis, but became tongue-tied and ill-at-ease when he had to converse with his dead sister’s children.

  Noting that Meredith had no such problem, Adam’s previous pique was all but forgotten, replaced instead with intriguing thoughts and possibilities, and he heard himself saying, “Why don’t you stay for lunch, Miss Baxter, so we can continue our discussion of the wedding.”

  Though startled by the invitation, Meredith’s stomach, which had been rumbling like a cement mixer at the most inopportune moments, made up her mind for her, as did the two children, who were tugging her hands and begging her to stay.

  “Please say you’ll have lunch with us, Miss Baxter,” Andrew implored, his sister bobbing her head in agreement. “You don’t have to worry about the food. Mrs. Fishburn made it before she left, not Uncle Adam.”

  For once Adam didn’t admonish his niece and nephew about butting into grown-up affairs that were none of their concern.

  Meredith’s heart went out to the two lost little souls. She couldn’t imagine being so young and having to deal with the death of someone who comprised your whole world, and having to face the fact that your father, the man you were supposed to love and look up to, had been accused of killing your mother and was gone now, too.

  “All right,” she said, realizing her heart had suddenly jumped to her throat. “I’d love to.”

  OVER A DELICIOUS MEAL of chicken salad, fresh fruit and nut bread, Meredith and Adam discussed various locations where the wedding and reception could be held, finally deciding on the fashionable Morgantown Country Club, where Morgans had been members since its inception shortly after the Civil War.

  When the discussion turned to bridal candidates, the children had their own advice to offer.

  “Make sure the ladies you talk to like model trains, Miss Baxter,” Andrew advised. “Uncle Adam loves playing with his trains.”

  Eyes widening, Meredith glanced up from her salad to observe the man seated across from her, wondering what else he liked playing with. Her knee started knocking and she grabbed it. “Is that so?” Adam’s ears were as red as his necktie, and he seemed genuinely embarrassed, a fact she found quite charming.

  “Yep. Uncle Adam doesn’t let anyone—”

  “That’s quite enough, Andrew. I’m sure Miss Baxter isn’t interested in my personal habits and hobbies.” He looked to her for confirmation, but found none.

  “Quite the contrary, Mr. Morgan. The more I know about you the easier it will be to find someone who’s compatible, chimpanzees notwithstanding, of course.” He replied to her teasing smile with an imperious arch of his brow.

  “He doesn’t like dogs, I know that,” Megan said, turning to look out the dining room window at Barnaby, who bore a marked resemblance to Little Orphan Annie’s dog Sandy, and was staring in at them with a forlorn expression. Barking several times, the mutt wagged his tail in hopeful reprieve.

  Adam’s voice softened. “Now, Megan, it isn’t that I don’t like dogs. But we have some very expensive Aubusson rugs on the hardwood floors, and the dog can’t seem to distinguish between them and the grass.”

  “But Barnaby’s lonely outside, Uncle Adam. He’s just nervous because this is a new house, and he’s scared of all the changes, that’s all.”

  Meredith wondered if the little girl was speaking about the dog or herself. From the blank look on her uncle’s face, it was doubtful he noted the difference.

  “Rules are rules, Megan. And what did we learn about rules?”

  “They’re not to be questioned, but obeyed,” the two kids recited in unison, making Meredith eager to jump across the table and shake some sense into the obtuse man.

  But she wouldn’t.

  It was obvious Adam Morgan truly loved his niece and nephew, but was out of his element when it came to relating to them. Instead of talking to Andrew and Megan on a level they could understand, he spoke to them as if he were discussing a merger in a boardroom.

  It was none of her business. It was better not to get personally involved in the problems of a business client. Morgan would just have to work things out as best he could.

  But the children…

  She hated thinking that those adorable, lovable children would grow up to be carbon copies of their pompous millionaire uncle—hard, unyielding, unable to love.

  Her appetite suddenly gone, Meredith made an excuse to leave and hurried out of the mansion, vowing not to get emotionally involved with anyone who lunched with three-fork place settings. And who
didn’t love dogs.

  Chapter Three

  Despite the bucolic name, Pleasant Acres Nursing Home was located downtown on High Street, only a short distance from Morgantown General Hospital on one of the town’s main thoroughfares and within walking distance of Meredith’s business, which is why she’d chosen the facility for her mother.

  Louise Baxter’s degenerative heart condition, which had been diagnosed as acute myocarditis two years before, was slowly killing her. Absolute bed rest and a proper diet were essential, and Meredith realized from the first that she would need help in providing the kind of adequate nursing care necessary to handle her mother’s illness.

  Stepping into the spacious black-and-white-tiled foyer of the brick building, which had been designed to look like Jefferson’s Monticello, she waved to Flo Welch, the gray-haired receptionist seated at the entry station, and skirted around Henry Mullins’s dachshund, who had escaped the confines of the old man’s room again, with the hope, no doubt, of making it out the front door this time. Henry suffered from Alzheimer’s, and he wasn’t able to provide the dog with the kind of attention it craved.

  Proceeding down the wide hallway, whose soft yellow walls always made her hungry for her mother’s lemon meringue pie, she whistled at the colorful macaw perched outside Mrs. Hammond’s suite, waved at the old lady seated in the doorway, then stepped next door to her mother’s room.

  Pets were an integral part of the nursing home’s policy, and residents were encouraged to keep one. Meredith had yet to convince her mother that a puppy or kitten would be a good companion for her. Louise Baxter, though sick in body, still had a stubborn streak a mile wide running through her, and she’d never been overly fond of any of the many strays Meredith had adopted while growing up.

  Entering the suite, she noted the middle-aged woman had one eye on the TV screen and the other on the clock resting on the nightstand beside her antique brass bed.

  The nursing care facility did its best to make every patient’s room as homey as possible from the red and gold chintz curtains at the window to the colorful braided rug covering the linoleum floor. In an attempt to make her feel more comfortable, many of the furnishings in the suite came from Louise’s own home. Bric-a-brac and dozens of photos lined the windowsills and occasional tables, reminders of happier times in the Baxter family.

  Meredith was a few minutes late and knew her mother was sure to comment, as Adam Morgan had commented this morning. She wasn’t disappointed. “Thought you might be coming by, Merry, though I expected you a bit earlier. Is everything all right?”

  She kissed her mother’s cheek and worried at how pale she looked. The older woman’s condition seemed to deteriorate with every passing day. Only a heart transplant could prevent the inevitable. But Louise’s health insurance didn’t cover it, and Meredith didn’t have the resources to pay for the expensive operation and recovery period. The resulting guilt weighed heavily upon her slender shoulders.

  Taking a seat on the love seat, she kicked off her high heels and wiggled her toes, emitting a sigh of relief, and wondered again for the hundredth time why she insisted on torturing herself for the sake of fashion. She should have followed the lead of that actress who wore tennis shoes with her business and evening attire.

  “Fran Weaver and her daughter came in for a fitting of Heather’s wedding gown,” Meredith finally explained. “They got into a huge argument about the headpiece.” She screwed up her face in disgust as she recalled the unpleasant incident. “I thought at one point they might actually come to blows. Heather was totally exasperated at her mother’s insistence that she wear a rhinestone tiara instead of a traditional tulle veil.” Fortunately, Meredith had managed to convince Fran that the tiara would not be appropriate with Heather’s dotted-swiss gown. But only after Heather had burst into tears and locked herself in the dressing room.

  “Frances always was one to put on airs,” the older woman said, her tone clearly disapproving as she brushed graying wisps of hair from her ashen cheeks.

  Frances Weaver had been one of Louise’s cleaning customers after Henry Baxter’s death had left his wife and daughter almost destitute. Though she’d worked hard to provide for Meredith, Louise had felt shame at having to clean the toilets of women who had once been her friends.

  “What else happened today?” Her mother enjoyed listening to the day’s events, eagerly awaiting even the smallest tidbit of gossip. Meredith tried to provide a steady stream of news to take Louise’s mind off her illness and the loneliness that resulted from residing in the nursing home.

  “Randall got an A on his criminal law test.”

  Louise’s smile couldn’t have been prouder had she been the law student’s mother. “I know. He came by to visit earlier and brought me a half-dozen chocolate chip cookies. Wasn’t that sweet? He’s such a nice boy.”

  Meredith knew what to expect next, and she braced herself for it. Her mom made the same speech at least once a week. “I don’t know why you don’t think about dating him, Merry. A girl could do a lot worse.”

  Knowing Randall’s dating preferences ran in a different direction from her own, Meredith smiled patiently at the suggestion. “We’re just friends, Mom. I’ve told you that before.”

  “I want to see you married and settled before I die, honey. I don’t want to go to my grave knowing you’ll be left all alone.”

  “Now, Mom, you know I’m not going to let you die, so you needn’t worry about that,” Meredith said, wishing she really had that kind of divine power. At this point she’d settle for a magic wand—one she could wave and, with a flick of her wrist, cure her mother’s heart ailment, find herself a Prince Charming and locate Adam Morgan a bride, so she could get the annoying man out of her hair.

  “I’ll get married in my own good time, and you’ll be around to spoil the heck out of your grandchildren.”

  At her mother’s sharp gasp, Meredith followed her gaze to the small television set suspended from a ceiling bracket in the far corner of the room. Adam was being interviewed on a segment of the local news about his plan to wed.

  A handsomer man did not exist on the face of the planet, Meredith was sure of it, and she tried to ignore how the sound of his deep voice had the power to send tingles up and down her spine.

  “What on earth is that odious man up to now?” Louise asked, not bothering to hide her dislike.

  She fought the urge to groan. Her mother blamed the Morgans for her husband’s death due to black lung disease, a condition he’d developed while working in the Morgan coal mines. Meredith had hoped to postpone the discussion of her newest client until she could figure out a way to break the news gently to her mother. Only now that wouldn’t be possible.

  “Isn’t it a bit unorthodox to plan a wedding without a bride, Mr. Morgan?” Bill Simmons of WNPB News asked.

  “A wedding? He’s getting married?” Shaking her head in disbelief, Louise added, “Who would marry such a man? The poor woman must really be hard up.”

  “Uh, Mom, there’s something we need to talk about—” But before Meredith could elaborate, Adam Morgan took the words right out of her mouth.

  “I’ve hired Best Laid Plans to organize everything, from the bridal selection to the reception. Together we’re planning a big event to mark my departure from bachelorhood to happily married man.”

  Adam was smooth, she’d give him that. She only wished she had his facility with words, especially now, since her mother was staring at her as if she were Judas Iscariot in the flesh.

  “How could you, Meredith? You know how I feel about the Morgans. They killed your father—they ruined our lives.”

  Louise Baxter’s face was unnaturally flushed, and Meredith knew that any kind of excitement or stress wasn’t good for her. “I was hoping to prepare you, Mom. I didn’t know Morgan would be interviewed so quickly.” She crossed to the bed, plumping the foam pillows behind the ailing woman’s back. “Now take a deep breath and calm down, or I’ll ring for the nurse t
o give you a sedative.”

  Despite the obstinate set to her chin, Louise did as instructed, much to Meredith’s relief. “I don’t understand any of this, Merry.”

  “It’s just business, Mom. I needed the money that Morgan was willing to pay. I’ve got inventory to purchase, payroll to make, and Adam Morgan’s offer was too good to refuse. After all, I do plan weddings for a living, and he is getting married.”

  “Rich people always get what they want.”

  “He doesn’t seem like a bad guy. A little nutty perhaps, but not altogether bad. Morgan needs to marry quickly in order to gain custody of his niece and nephew.

  “You remember how brutally his sister was murdered, leaving those two kids at the mercy of their deranged father?” Louise tsked loudly, indicating she did. “Well, Adam Morgan is planning to adopt them and provide a stable home.” How stable, Meredith couldn’t be certain. After all, they’d be living with him. And he wasn’t exactly what she would call sane by normal definitions.

  “Allistair Morgan was scum. I’m sure his son is the same. Blood always tells.”

  Louise had more to say, but one of the nurses came in just then with her dinner, and Meredith was provided a reprieve, which she took without hesitation.

  Kissing her mother goodbye, she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. I’ve got to get home and fix dinner for myself, let Harrison out before he pees on the floor.” Harrison, her golden retriever, was named after Harrison Ford because he was so darn cute, and because Meredith had had a huge crush on the actor ever since Han Solo had piloted his way into her impressionable young heart.

  “You be careful, Merry. And get all of your money in advance. Don’t trust Adam Morgan.”

  Assuring her mother that she would only trust the man as far as she could spit, which wasn’t all that far—she knew that, because she and her next door neighbor Ricky Trumble used to have spitting contests when they were kids—Meredith hurried out the door and headed for home.