A Ring For Christmas. Joan Elliott Pickart

      Happily ever after, Maggie mused, then sighed. Every bride and groom believed that was their destiny, that they would be together until death parted them, and for some that was gloriously true. But for others?

      “Don’t go there, Maggie,” she ordered herself aloud. “Go home and eat a ton of yogurt-covered almonds and quit thinking.” She drew a wobbly breath. “And whatever you do, do not dwell on Luke St. John.”

      Months ago Maggie had splurged on what she referred to in her mind as The Dress. It was sea-green chiffon with a camisole top and a skirt that swirled in changing hues of color just below her knees. Her shoes were strappy evening sandals with three-inch heels. If the event was during the Phoenix winter, she added a lacy off-white shawl that had belonged to her grandmother.

      The fact that she wore the same dress to each wedding was immaterial, she knew, because she went unnoticed, was just a busy figure in the background who bustled around making certain everything went as planned.

      Wearing The Dress, Maggie arrived at the church an hour before the ceremony was to begin and checked to see that the flowers were delivered and in place. Two of the candles in front of the altar were yellow, and the single one that represented Ginger and Robert united was mint-green.

      Maggie stood in the silent church in front of the candles, remembering how Reverend Mason had explained their meaning while she and Luke were playing out the roles of bride and groom.

      Knowing she was acting ridiculous, Maggie slid one of the yellow tapers free, then glanced to the right, envisioning Luke holding the other one. In her mind’s eye she saw them moving at the same time, igniting the one larger candle in the center. She blew out the imaginary flame that declared her to be a single entity and saw—oh, yes, she really saw—the dancing light from the larger candle in the middle.

      Maggie, stop it, she ordered herself as she replaced the yellow taper. Enough of this foolishness.

      She turned and her breath caught as she saw Luke standing at the back of the church, watching her as he held a garment bag over his shoulder with one finger.

      Squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin, she walked up the aisle to where Luke stood.

      “Hello, Luke,” she said, looking at an empty space just above his head. “I was just making certain the candles weren’t stuck in the holders or anything. Details, details, details. You just wouldn’t believe how many little things there are to keep track of for an event like this. And that’s my job, by golly, checking all those details and…”

      “You look beautiful.” Luke’s voice was rich, deep and so very male and sensuous that a shiver coursed through Maggie. “Pretty as a bride.”

      “Oh, well, thank you,” Maggie said, still not meeting his gaze. “This is The Dress. What I mean is—Never mind. It’s not important. I assume that’s your tux you’re holding. Ginger changed her mind three times on the color of the tuxedos before settling on pale gray. I hope you don’t mind wearing a ruffled shirt, because she didn’t budge on ruffled shirts. So. Well. I’d best go into the bride’s dressing room and…”

      “Maggie, look at me,” Luke said quietly.

      “Gosh, I just don’t have time to do that, Luke.”

      “Look…at…me.”

      Maggie slowly shifted her eyes to Luke’s and immediately felt light-headed, as though she might float off into oblivion.

      “Yes?” she said softly.

      “Will you save me a dance at the reception?”

      “No, I can’t because I don’t actually take part, per se, in the reception activities. I hover around in the background checking those pesky little details I told you about. So, nope, no dance. Sorry ‘bout that. Gotta go. ‘Bye.”

      “Maggie, do I make you nervous?” Luke said, frowning.

      “Nervous? Me?” she said, waving one hand in the air. “Don’t be silly. It’s not you, it’s the whole evening ahead. The reputation of Roses and Wishes is at stake here. Everything has to be perfect.”

      “Ah,” he said, nodding. “That includes keeping all members of the wedding party happy. Right?”

      “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

      “Then promise you’ll dance with me. Just one dance, Maggie. That’s not too much to ask, is it? You wouldn’t want to make the best man grumpy, would you? Heaven forbid.”

      Maggie narrowed her eyes. “Do you always get what you want, Luke?”

      “When it’s very important to me, I do,” he said, still looking directly into her eyes. “Is it a deal? One dance?”

      “Jeez Louise, all right,” Maggie said. “But if some detail goes wrong while I’m dancing that dance, it will be your fault, Luke St. John.”

      “Fair enough,” he said, smiling. “I’ll see you later then.”

      “Fine,” she said, then scooted around him and hurried away.

      Luke stood statue-still for a long moment, staring at the candles that symbolized two becoming one. He nodded, then turned and walked slowly toward the room where the men in the wedding party were to change into their pale gray tuxedos.

      Maggie had prepared herself to deal with a totally jangled and nervous-to-the max prewedding Ginger. To Maggie’s amazement and heartfelt delight, Ginger had a quiet serenity about her when she arrived in the dressing room at the church.

      “Are you really okay?” Maggie said, peering at the bride.

      “I’m about to marry the man I love with my whole heart, Maggie,” Ginger said softly. “That’s all I can think about, focus on. It’s strange, isn’t it? I made such a fuss about having the right colored almonds in the nut cups, and suddenly none of that is important.”

      “I think that’s wonderful,” Maggie said, smiling. “And you’re absolutely beautiful in your dress, Ginger. I hope you and Robert will be very, very happy together.”

      “Oh, we will be,” Ginger said, nodding. “We will be.”

      Forever? Maggie thought. Until death parted them and even beyond? What were the chances of that?

      “Mother,” Ginger said, bringing Maggie back to the moment at hand, “you’ve got to stop crying or you’ll be all blotchy in the photographs.”

      “I know, I know,” Mrs. Barrington said, dabbing at her nose with yet another tissue. “But you’re my baby girl and…Ohhh, I’m a wreck.”

      “It’s time,” Maggie said, looking at her watch. “Mothers, please go and have the ushers seat you now. Bridesmaids, head for the vestibule. You’re all simply gorgeous.”

      “I look like one of those yogurt-covered almonds,” Tiffy said, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t want to do this.”

      Maggie stepped in front of Tiffy to block her view of herself in the mirror.

      “If you want to live to see another day,” Maggie said so only Tiffy could hear, “you’ll go get in line, Tiffy.”

      “You can’t talk to me like that.”

      “I just did,” Maggie said.

      “Oh. Right. Okay. I’m going,” Tiffy said, giving Maggie a wary look, then hurrying from the room.

      Maggie threw up her hands. “Well, if Tiffy ever gets married, Roses and Wishes sure isn’t going to get the chance to coordinate her wedding.”

      Over three hundred guests witnessed the wedding of Ginger Barrington and Robert St. John. From her usual place in the last pew in the church, Maggie Jenkins indulged herself by watching Luke St. John during the entire picture-perfect ceremony.

      What