“He took a job with Charter Air as a senior pilot or something like that. He said he wanted to do more flying and less paperwork— Daddy had him working in the capital ventures office when he wasn’t flying. Since Mama and Daddy aren’t traveling as much, they decided to sell off the two company jets and sign a contract with this charter service.”
Anne’s stomach churned at the thought of flying.
“Of course, that means Rafe will be gone a lot more now,” Meredith continued. “Most of his flights will be single-day round-trips, but occasionally he’ll be gone overnight. He’s going to get to fly bigger planes, too. Not the big commercial planes, but the kind that carry about thirty passengers—”
Bile rose in the back of Anne’s throat, and clamminess spread over her skin. That was the same size plane…
“Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of— here.” Meredith pulled over one of the tall, ladder- back chairs from the table. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.”
Anne sank into the chair, drew a few deep breaths, and tried to smile. “I’m okay. It’s been a long time since I’ve had that kind of reaction just from someone talking about planes.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Meredith crossed the kitchen, took a glass out of the cabinet, filled it with water from the refrigerator door, and handed it to Anne.
Anne sipped it and pressed the cold glass to her forehead. “I guess I’m just tired. You’d think after twenty- seven years and thousands of hours of therapy, I’d be over the fear.”
Meredith gave her a sympathetic smile and rested her hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
Patting Meredith’s hand, Anne set the glass on the table and rose, her knees not too weak to support her. “I know you are. If you talk to Rafe before Sunday, tell him congrats from me.”
“I will. Good night, Anne.”
“Sweet dreams, Mere.”
Shutting the door behind her cousin, Anne took a few more deep breaths and tried to put the images and sensations from a lifetime ago out of her head. The best way was to concentrate on something else.
Work.
For the next two hours, she focused on entering data into the software her cousin Jason had written for her to help with organizing seating arrangements at events, then moved on to making lists of everything that needed to happen in the next forty-eight hours— not just for the wedding on Saturday, but for weddings coming up in the next few weeks as well.
Why was George Laurence in town, and why was Forbes being so secretive about it?
She shook her head and returned her attention to the half-finished checklist on her computer screen—and saw she’d typed George Laurence’s name. She deleted it and continued working, only to have the memory of their brief encounter pop up when least expected.
At 2:00 a.m., she finished the last list, saved everything, e-mailed the files to herself at work, and shut down her computer. When she finally climbed into bed, she grabbed her burgundy fabric–covered prayer journal and fountain pen filled with purple ink from the nightstand:
She set the journal aside and pulled out her worn, black leather Bible, flipping it open to where the ribbon held her place from this morning. She’d read the twenty-seventh Psalm many times in her life, but this night, the last two verses stuck in her mind:
She closed her eyes and cleared her mind. “Lord, I’ve been waiting for a very long time. Please let this be the answer to my prayer. Let George Laurence be the one.”
Chapter 3
The bell on the front door of Anne’s office jingled at 9:50 Monday morning. She looked up from Saturday night’s invoices, which she’d been entering into her expenses spreadsheet. Her heart thudded. Dressed in a dark gray suit, a white button-down, and a colorful tie, George Laurence cut a dashing figure. More slender than she’d remembered from last Thursday, but with broad shoulders that suggested he worked out.
She saved the Excel document and went around the desk to greet him. What was he doing here? Had he gotten her office address from Forbes? Had his “not available” status changed over the weekend? And who was the young woman—“Courtney? Courtney Landry?”
The beautiful brunette stepped forward and extended both hands. “Miss Anne! I was so afraid you wouldn’t recognize me.”
Anne clasped the girl’s hands, and they exchanged kisses on the cheek. “How could I not? Your sister Brittany’s wedding was only last summer. You’d just graduated from high school, if I remember. Did you enjoy your first year of college? UCLA, right?”
Courtney’s perfect, homecoming-queen features glowed. “Right. It was
“Your—” Anne’s heart dropped into her left big toe. She glanced over Courtney’s shoulder at George Laurence, who stood in profile looking at photos of previous events on her wall. The name Landry was all that had downloaded from the request form on her Web site for ten o’clock Monday morning—now. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you—that you and he—” She swallowed hard. “Congratulations, Courtney. Why don’t we sit down and discuss your ideas.”
She couldn’t meet George Laurence’s gaze as she waited for him and Courtney to be seated on the Chippendale-style sofa under the picture window. “Can I get anything for either of you? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
Courtney shook her head as she sat. George also declined. He lowered himself onto the love seat a good six inches from Courtney.
Odd. Without exception, every couple who’d sat across from her in their initial consultation couldn’t keep from touching each other— holding hands, his arm around her, her hand on his knee, some kind of contact. George Laurence, however, was as stiff as Courtney was animated when she started talking about her ideas for a grand outdoor wedding at a plantation home down on River Road. Could be a cultural difference. She’d never had a British client before.
Thursday night, she’d been so sure he was “the one.” How could God have put that attraction in her if He hadn’t meant for her to be with this man? She had to stop thinking about him. Focus on the wedding. His wedding. She swallowed hard and realized the girl had stopped talking. “That sounds lovely. Have you determined a budget yet?”
Courtney cast a furtive glance at George, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink. “Um, there really isn’t, like, a set limit on what we can spend.”
Anne frowned. “I’m not certain I understand what you mean.” She looked at George, but his bland expression betrayed nothing.
“I mean, Cl—” Courtney broke into a coughing fit, bringing a delicate hand up to cover her mouth.
Anne leaped up and went around to the small refrigerator hidden in the base of one of her built-in cabinets. She took two bottles of water back with her and handed one to Courtney. George waved off the one she offered him
