A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart

like a precious treasure and tuck them away in a secret chamber of her heart and be done with them for all time. The end.

      “Very good,” she said with a decisive nod. “Go for it, Maggie.”

      And she did.

      And spent a long night tossing and turning in her bed, alternating between hot waves of overpowering desire and the chill of loneliness.

      Late the next morning Maggie sat in the office of Roses and Wishes and stared gloomily at the telephone, which had not rung once since she’d come downstairs.

      Well, that was fine, she rationalized. It didn’t mean she wasn’t going to garner any new business from the success of the Barrington-St. John wedding. She was being much too impatient, that’s all. Brides-to-be had to come back to earth from cloud nine and start thinking about what kind of wedding they wished to have. They’d mentally sift and sort, mull it over, then eventually call Roses and Wishes to set things in motion. Sure.

      Maggie left the office and went into the reception area, where she straightened albums that didn’t need straightening, dusted what wasn’t dusty. She switched two easy chairs to opposite sides of the love seat, then put them back where they’d been.

      With a sigh she trudged back into the office, sank onto the chair behind the desk and, for lack of anything better to do, doodled on a legal pad and munched on yogurt-covered almonds.

      She was tired, she mused, and that was Luke St. John’s fault. She’d given him several hours of her evening last night, but she’d certainly not invited him into her bed and the dreams she’d had when she’d finally managed to doze off. Pushy, rude man. He’d refused to stay beyond her bedroom door as ordered, darn it.

      The bell over the front door jingled, indicating someone had entered the house, and Maggie jumped to her feet, nearly tipping over the chair in the process.

      She told herself to get a professional grip, for heaven’s sake, took a steadying breath as she smoothed her pale blue top over the waistband of her white slacks and actually managed to walk to the main area in a fairly slow, ladylike manner.

      Then stopped dead and forgot to breathe.

      “Hello, Maggie,” Luke St. John said from where he stood just inside the door.

      This was absurd, Maggie thought, taking a gulp of much-needed air. Luke wasn’t really standing there looking incredibly gorgeous in jeans and an open-necked gray dress shirt. She’d conjured up his image from the wanton section of her brain that insisted on reliving all the sensationally sensuous…This was ridiculous.

      “Maggie?” Luke closed the distance between them and frowned. “Hello?”

      “You’re not here,” she said, flapping one hand in the air. “Poof. You’re gone.” She paused, waited, then tentatively pressed one fingertip to Luke’s imaginary chest, which was definitely hard as a rock. Her eyes widened as she stared up at him. “Oh, my gosh, you really are here. Why are you here?”

      Luke folded his arms across his chest and stared down at the floor, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter.

      Oh, man, he thought, how he loved this woman. She was obviously jangled by his unexpected arrival at Roses and Wishes, and that was good news. Great news. If he hadn’t had an impact on Maggie, she wouldn’t give a damn if he suddenly popped into her place of business.

      She was flustered and didn’t know how to hide it, and that was so endearing. Maggie was genuine and honest. He wanted to take her into his arms and…

      “Mr. St. John?” Maggie said, planting her hands on her hips. “May I help you?”

      “I’m beyond help,” he said, meeting her gaze with merriment dancing in his brown eyes.

      “Pardon me?”

      “Never mind.” Luke forced a serious expression onto his face. “Yes, you may assist me, Ms. Jenkins. I am in desperate need of your expertise.”

      This was it, he thought, feeling a sudden trickle of sweat run down his chest. He was putting The Plan into motion. And it would work. It had to work.

      “My expertise?” Maggie said, cocking her head slightly to one side. “About what?”

      “Weddings. I am responsible for planning a wedding, every detail, beginning to end. No expense spared.”

      Dear heaven, no, Maggie thought, feeling the color drain from her face. Luke St. John was getting married. How could he do such a thing? He hadn’t even brought a date to his brother’s wedding, for crying out loud. And crying out loud was what she was about to do, because she could feel the tears stinging at the back of her eyes and…

      “Are you all right?” Luke said, frowning. “You’re very pale all of a sudden. Why don’t we sit down on this nice love seat you have?”

      “I’ll sit on the love seat,” she said, shooting him a dark look, “and you sit on that easy chair.”

      Luke raised both hands palms out. “No problem. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

      Once seated, Maggie directed her attention to an invisible piece of lint on one of her knees.

      “I must say, Luke,” she said, wishing her voice sounded steadier than the quivering little noise she was hearing, “that I’m surprised by your announcement. I mean, you didn’t have a…a companion with you at Ginger and Robert’s wedding or…

      “What did you do? Put all your women’s names in a hat, pull one out and decide to marry her because your brother is obviously so happy, so what the heck, why not?” She paused. “Sorry. That was rude. Very rude.” She cleared her throat. “So. You wish to hire me—Roses and Wishes—to coordinate your wedding. I appreciate your confidence. It is a bit unusual that you’re tending to this and not your bride-to-be, as it’s traditional that the woman…Forget that. To each his own. How many people are you going to invite?”

      Luke propped one ankle on his other knee and smiled pleasantly. “A lot.”

      “Could you be a tad more specific?”

      “Not at the moment. Just go with a lot for now.”

      “And when do you plan to have this life-changing event?” Maggie said, looking over at him.

      “The sooner the better,” he said. “But I’m not exactly sure at this point in time.”

      “I see.” Maggie frowned. “No, I don’t. Call me stupid, but this isn’t making one bit of sense. You want me to coordinate a wedding for a lot, number unknown, of guests, and it’s to be held the sooner the better, but you don’t have a clue as to when.”

      Luke nodded. “That’s it in a nutshell.”

      A rather hysterical giggle escaped from Maggie’s lips. “Do you know anything for certain? Like, for example, who the bride is?”

      “Oh, yes, ma’am,” he said. “That is etched in stone.”

      “How nice,” she said miserably. “What I mean is…I’m not sure what I mean. This is very confusing.”

      “It is?” Luke said, an expression of pure innocence on his face. “I need a wedding planned, you’re a wedding planner—coordinator, whatever.” He shrugged. “Seems to me I’ve come to the right place, especially after seeing what a dynamite job you did for Ginger and Robert.”

      “But Ginger knew what she wanted and when she wanted it,” Maggie said, throwing up her hands. “Well, sort of. She did change her mind about a ton of things, but generally speaking, she knew. You know—three hundred, give or take, guests, a summer wedding, seven bridesmaids, yogurt-covered almonds in the nut cups, details like that.”

      “Oh,” Luke said, nodding. “Well, I don’t know any of that stuff. Except forget the almonds. I don’t like almonds, yogurt-covered or otherwise.”

      “Oh,