She’d already researched the potential client. Bride, Deeanne Hagar, local artist whose dreamy fantasy work had been reproduced in posters and greeting cards. Groom, Wyatt Culpepper, landscape designer. Both came from old money—banking and real estate respectively—and both were the youngest child of twice-divorced parents.

Minimal digging had netted her the data that the newly engaged couple had met at a greenfest, shared a fondness for bluegrass music, and loved to travel.

She had other nuggets mined from websites, Facebook, magazine and newspaper interviews, and friends of friends of friends, and had already decided on the overall approach for the initial tour, which would include mothers of both.

She scanned areas as she did a quick pass-through on the main level, pleased with Emma’s romantic flower displays.

She popped into the family kitchen, where, as expected, Mrs. Grady put the finishing touches on the coffee tray, the iced sun tea Parker had requested, and a platter of fresh fruit highlighted with Laurel’s tissue-thin butter cookies.

“Looks perfect, Mrs. G.”

“It’s ready when you are.”

“Let’s go ahead and set it up in the main parlor. If they want the tour straight off, maybe we’ll move it outside. It’s beautiful out.”

Parker moved in to help, but Mrs. Grady waved her off. “I’ve got it. I just put it together that I know the bride’s first stepmother.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t last long, did she?” Movements brisk, Mrs. Grady transferred the trays to a tea cart. “Never made the second wedding anniversary, if I remember right. Pretty woman, and sweet enough. Dim as a five-watt bulb, but good-hearted.” Mrs. Grady flicked her fingertips over the skirt of her bib apron. “She married again—some Spaniard—and moved to Barcelona.”

“I don’t know why I spend any time on the Internet when I can just plug into you.”

“If you had, I’d’ve told you Mac’s mother had a flirt with the bride’s daddy between wives two and three.”

“Linda? Not a surprise.”

“Well, we can all be grateful it didn’t take. I like the girl’s pictures,” she added as they rolled the cart toward the parlor.

“You’ve seen them?”

Mrs. Grady winked. “You’re not the only one who knows how to use the Internet. There’s the bell. Go on. Snag us another client.”

“That’s the plan.”

Parker’s first thought was the bride looked like the Hollywood version of a fantasy artist, with her waist-length tumble of gilded red hair and almond-shaped green eyes. Her second thought was what a beautiful bride Deeanne would make, and on the heels of it, just how much she wanted a part of that.

“Good morning.Welcome to Vows. I’m Parker.”

“Brown, right?” Wyatt shot out a hand. “I just want to say, I don’t know who designed your landscape, but they’re a genius. And I wish it had been me.”