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      A Bride by Christmas

      BY

      About the Author

      JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART is the author of over eighty novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and a fantastic little grandson.

      In September of 1995 Joan travelled to China to adopt her fourth daughter, Autumn. Joan and Autumn have settled into their cosy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

      For all the lovely ladies at Willow Wind

      Chapter One

      Luke St. John walked slowly up the wide steps leading to the porch, and the carved wooden doors of the large Episcopal church. He stopped at the doors, marveling at their intricate craftsmanship.

      It really was a majestic structure, he thought, and he could understand why his brother and Ginger had chosen to be married here tomorrow. The event had been many months in the planning, and Robert had confided that Ginger had changed her mind about colors and endless other details so many times the wedding coordinator must be ready to strangle his bride-to-be.

      Luke smiled as he opened one of the doors and entered the vestibule.

      Ginger Barrington, he mused, was an endearing yet rather ditzy young woman who had been given a blank check by her father to have the wedding of her dreams. The last he’d heard, Ginger had chosen seven bridesmaids for the don’t-worry-about-the-cost event.

      Whatever. The people in the Barrington-St. John social circle were accustomed to these kinds of extravaganzas. What was important was that Ginger and Robert were deeply in love—and they were, they really were.

      Strange, Luke thought. He’d actually felt a twinge of envy on more than one occasion as he’d watched the relationship between Robert and Ginger develop. He’d been startled each time he’d registered that green-around-the-edges feeling. He dated independent career women and that suited him just fine. But then again…

      Luke shook his head to halt his jumbled thoughts and glanced at his watch.

      He was early for the rehearsal, he knew, but a business meeting on this side of town had ended sooner than expected. There wasn’t time to go home, nor any point in returning to the office, so he’d come here with the idea of sitting in the quiet church and relaxing until the others arrived.

      Luke crossed the vestibule, entered the large sanctuary, then walked down the aisle past about a dozen pews to finally settle onto one. He swept his gaze over the high ceiling and exquisite stained-glass windows, nodding again in approval.

      His attention was caught by a side door opening close to the altar. A woman entered carrying a cardboard box. His gaze was riveted on her as she crossed to the center aisle and placed the box on the first pew, immediately removing a large yellow satin bow.

      Luke felt a sudden pain in his chest and drew a sharp breath as he realized he hadn’t breathed since the woman had appeared. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the rail in front of him, and drank in the sight of her, missing no detail.

      She was so beautiful, Luke thought rather hazily. No, that wasn’t the word he wanted. Beautiful was what the career women he dated strove for, which resulted in cookie-cutter perfection in clothes, hair and makeup that varied little from one to the next.

      No, this woman, who was now attaching the satin bow to the side of the first pew was…pretty. Yes, that was the word. Pretty in a wholesome, breath-of-fresh-air way that was knocking him for a loop. She was sunshine on a cloudy day, real, what-you-see-is-what-you-get real, and he’d bet ten bucks she wasn’t wearing any makeup at all.

      Her strawberry-blond hair tumbled to her shoulders in what he was convinced were natural curls, and even from this distance he could see that her eyes were big and brown. Fawn eyes. Pretty, pretty eyes. She was wearing a simple pale pink sundress that suited her to perfection.

      Whew, Luke thought. He’d felt it, a funny little hitch in the much-needed breath he’d taken and the increased tempo of his heart. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Nothing. This woman had definitely made a strange and totally unfamiliar impact on him.

      Luke continued to watch as the woman attached a mint-green bow to the second pew, then matching ones on the other side of the aisle, making it subtly clear that those four rows were reserved for the families of the bride and groom.

      She might, he guessed, be the wedding coordinator whom Ginger had driven to the brink of insanity. She appeared very young for such a lofty title, was maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. So, okay, at thirty-two he wasn’t too old for her. Good. That was good.

      But…a wedding coordinator? Why did a person decide to become one of those? Because their own wedding had been so wonderful they wanted to share the bliss of an error-free event with others? No. No way. She was not married. That was not acceptable. She was a wedding coordinator because she was a romantic, old-fashioned woman who adored weddings and was very good at taking care of a zillion details at the same time. Yes. That was much better.

      He had to meet this woman, Luke thought with a sense of urgency. He had to hear her voice, look deep into those incredible brown eyes of hers. He had to connect with her before she disappeared from his life as quickly as she’d appeared. He had to…Man, he had to get a grip. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but it was a tad scary, that was for sure.

      The sound of voices on the porch reached Luke and he got to his feet and stepped into the aisle just as the woman turned toward him. She gasped in shock that he was standing there and took a step backward.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, walking forward. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I arrived early and I was just sitting here quietly and…” He stopped in front of her, gazed into her eyes and totally forgot what he was going to say.

      “I…” the woman said, still looking directly into his eyes. “I’m…” Whoever I am. Heavens, those eyes, those eyes were dark, fathomless pools that a woman could just drown in and not even struggle to escape. And that voice. So masculine and rumbly and yet…it seemed to stroke her like soft, sensuous velvet, causing her

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