Task Force Bride. Julie Miller

      Today was a bad day to be a bride.

      “Hello?” Hope Lockhart pressed her phone to her ear and inched her way toward the door, quietly seeking an escape as her perfectly executed plan for her client’s wedding blew up in an explosion of harsh words and wailing tears. “Hello?”

      Click.

      Hope cringed as the mysterious caller hung up without saying a word. She didn’t need this today. She tucked her phone into the hip pocket of the gray suit she wore and hurried her steps.

      “Cold feet is not an option, young lady,” Dale Barrister lectured his daughter over the chamber music drifting down from the sanctuary upstairs while the mother of the bride wept right alongside her daughter. He pointed his white-gloved finger to the ceiling. “Everyone who’s anyone in Kansas City is in that church right now, waiting for us.”

      “Daddy!” Deanna Barrister wailed, pushing her veil away from the mascara running down her cheeks. “I don’t think I can do this. Not today.”

      “Well, we’re not doing it tomorrow or any other day.” The skin above his starched white collar turned red with anger. “I spent more money on this shindig than you’re worth, and this is how you repay me?”

      Hope curled her fingers around the doorknob behind her and paused at the cruel words. Raised voices always twisted her stomach into knots. Tension like this usually suffocated the breath from her chest and scattered coherent thoughts right out of her head. The anger, pain and frustration filling the room reminded her of things she’d worked long and hard to forget.

      “You stupid cow! When I tell you to do a thing, I expect—”

      Uh-uh. Hope slammed the door on that particular memory and forced herself to take a deep breath and intervene. “Mr. Barrister, perhaps if we give Deanna a few minutes—”

      “Miss Lockhart!”

      It wasn’t a great day to be a wedding planner, either.

      Hope flattened her back against the door as the father of the bride whirled around and stalked across the dressing room toward her. “I’m paying you a boatload of money.”

      She turned her head from the finger jabbing near her face.

      “You make today happen.”

      As much as every frayed nerve inside her longed to bolt to a place of silence and solitude, she’d also worked long and hard to learn how to cope with volatile emotions and uncomfortable situations like this. She was stronger than her past. She could do this. Her client needed her. And if someone needed her, she had to help. That had always been her Achilles’ heel. Hope released the door, keeping her voice calm and her smile serene.

      “Of course.” She gestured to the woman wiping at the tears that dripped on her taupe lace gown. “Perhaps you could take your wife to the restroom to freshen her face,” she suggested, needing to clear some of the emotions from the room if she was to have any chance of saving the big day. Ignoring both the father’s impatient curse and the doubt in the reluctant bride’s red-rimmed eyes, Hope pulled out her phone and texted her assistant upstairs. Tell organist to play another 15 min.

      Send groom down. Keep smiling. Pray.

      Hope hit Send and looked up to see the fractured family all staring expectantly at her. A mixture of compassion and trepidation filled her. She’d worked miracles in the past to make a bride’s wedding dreams come true. She hoped she had another miracle up her sleeve today. “Mr. Barrister? Please.”

      With a grunt and a nod, he swung open the door and pulled his wife into the hallway with him. Hope closed the door softly, studying the grain in the fine old walnut, racking her brain for the next step in this impromptu wedding rescue.

      A soft sniffle from the young woman behind her provided an inspiration. Adjusting her narrow-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose, Hope spotted a box of tissues on a shelf and retrieved them before sitting in the Sunday school chair beside her client. “Here.”

      Deanna pulled a handful of tissues from the box to wipe her face and blow her nose. “It’s too much. I can’t take this kind of pressure. What if I’m wrong?”

      “About Jeff?”

      “About getting married. I’m only twenty-two.”

      A decade younger than Hope. Her client had so much life ahead of her. She had two parents who loved her, even if they were having a hard time expressing it on this particularly stressful day. She was slender, beautiful—stunning in the mermaid-style gown Hope had helped her select. Deanna had a handsome young doctor who wanted her to be his wife.

      Not for the first time in her life, a pang of envy nipped at Hope’s thoughts. And not for the first time, she pushed aside that longing and focused on what needed to be done at that moment.

      She found a discarded florist’s box for Deanna to toss her soiled tissues into, and offered her another handful as the tears quieted into silent sobs. “You know, Deanna,” Hope began, “today isn’t about those people upstairs. Or the gifts or the doves or the champagne we’ll serve at the reception. It isn’t about how worried your father is that this won’t turn out to be the happiest day of your life.”

      “He just wants it to be over.”

      “He wants it to be perfect. He’s about to lose his little girl to another man, and today is his way of showing the world how much he loves you and how much he’s going to miss you. He’s worried that you won’t be happy.”

      “Dad’s angry with me, not worried. Today is a business opportunity for him, publicity for his company. He doesn’t care what I’m feeling.”

      Hope’s phone vibrated with an incoming call, setting off a chain reaction of startled gasps. She apologized before reading the incoming number, and then felt the warmth drain from her blood. How? Why? She had a pretty good idea who the unknown caller harassing her today might be. The Fates must be mocking her for sitting here and defending fathers.

      “Do you need to take that?”

      “No.” Hope purposefully ended the call as temper brought heat back to her body. She’d have to change her cell number. Again. She buried the phone in her jacket pocket, politely masking the urge to hurl it across the room. Hope inhaled a deep breath and remained calm for the woman beside her. “Some men—some people—don’t know how to express what they’re feeling in a way we all understand. For fathers, I think the wedding day is that one last hurrah that he can do for you. He’s trying to show his love by giving you everything he thinks you want. But I’m guessing—behind the frustration and anger—that he’s afraid.”

      Deanna sniffed. “Of what?”

      “That he’s failed you. That if he’d done something more or less or different, then you wouldn’t be having second thoughts about getting married.”

      Deanna blinked a few last tears from her dark brown eyes and looked at Hope. “Dad never failed me.” Lucky woman. “It’s just that today has gotten so out of hand. There’s so much that has to happen.”

      “There’s only one thing that has to happen.” Hope reached over and patted Deanna’s hand. “Don’t think about the pressures of the day—that’s what I’m here for. Think about yourself, and the future you’ll have with your husband.”

      A soft knock at the door ended the conversation. “Dee?” The groom covered his eyes as Hope let him in. “Your dad said you were freaking out. Is everything okay?” he asked, peeking between the fingers of his crisp white gloves.

      Hope pointed to the woman rising to her feet. “I thought maybe you two could use a quiet minute alone.”

      He dropped his hand and turned to his bride-to-be. “Wow.”

      Deanna blushed at his unabashed appreciation for the image she created in the subtly blinged gown