Sara frowned. Started—doing what?
“Cloth?” he reminded her as he kept Brett’s hand from touching a length of veiling.
“Right.” She fetched a damp washcloth and tried to wipe Brett’s fingers, but her nephew veered away, clinging to Mr. Porter.
“Let me.” He took the cloth and with gentle thoroughness wiped down two faces and four hands, teasing the boys as he did. Her nephews had never behaved so well.
“Don’t look so surprised. Kids usually like me.” Mr. Porter grinned as he handed back the cloth.
“I’m sure they do. I’ve just never seen these two so quiet.” Sara got rid of the sticky cloth. “Except maybe when they’re asleep.”
Mr. Porter’s lips twitched. He hunkered down next to the boys who were arguing over the crayons and paper pads scattered across the coffee table. He told them a little about his ranch, then promised a special treat for whoever could draw the best horse.
How did he know competition was the best way to get them focused?
“Okay, now can we talk about my wedding?” Cade Porter rose, folded his arms across his wide chest, charm oozing from the lopsided smile he flashed at her. “Unless Woodward Weddings can’t handle it.”
“Weddings by Woodwards,” she corrected.
“Yeah, that.” His gaze slid to the wall above the counter. “I assume that array of diplomas includes you as one of the wedding planners?”
Sara followed his gaze, noticed a silver framed certificate she’d earned four years ago hanging among the rest of the family’s. Trust her sister to dig it out and display it, as if Sara was permanently back on staff.
“I—um—”
“My mistake.” His mouth tightened. “I’d prefer Mrs. Woodward to handle things, but because that’s out, perhaps you’ll summon whoever’s handling her cases.”
Offended, Sara bristled to her own defense.
“I am a certified wedding planner, Mr. Porter. I’ve planned about forty weddings and I am quite capable of handling your needs.” Even if her family always interfered.
“I need someone who can deal with the unusual.” He studied her for several moments, his gaze dark and inscrutable.
“Then you need me.” The words slipped out without a second thought. Sara almost groaned. She was as bad as the twins, taking the bait faster than they’d latched on to his promise of candy.
“Do I?” Cade Porter blinked.
His dubious demeanor underscored her own growing doubts. Like her siblings, Sara had begun learning about the wedding business shortly after she learned to walk. But she hadn’t planned a wedding since she’d walked out of Weddings by Woodwards two years ago to escape her loving, but constantly meddling family.
Which did not mean she’d forgotten everything she’d learned here.
“What kind of a wedding do you want, Mr. Porter?”
“That’s an odd question.” He scratched his shaven chin, seemingly stymied. “How many kinds are there?”
“Many.” Obviously Cade Porter was a complete innocent.
“Horsie.” Brett held up his scribble.
“Hmm. Not bad. But he needs legs.”
While Cade and the boys discussed horse anatomy, Sara found a notepad and pen. She’d come home to help. Might as well do her best.
“What are my choices?” he asked, twisting his head to study her.
“When are you to be married?”
“I’m not.” He frowned at her. “It’s not my wedding.”
“So you’re not getting married—but you want to plan a wedding?” Sara’s headache amplified.
“Exactly.” Humor twinkled in the depths of his blue eyes. “I want to plan a wedding for my sister.”
“Ah.” While her brother Reese probably wouldn’t plan a wedding for her, Sara was pretty sure the rest of the family certainly would. They’d find her a groom, arrange the ceremony and take over every detail without asking for her input—if she let them.
Sara loved her family dearly, but they refused to acknowledge that she was an adult who could think and choose her own course in life.
“Those two tornadoes aren’t going to color for long,” Cade reminded.
“Sorry. I was thinking.” She had to find out about Mr. Porter’s sister. Having experienced prying too often herself, Sara decided on tact. “Weddings should be personal. If your sister prefers an outdoor location, spring or summer events work best. Is she thinking of a large event? Sit-down reception? Church wedding or—”
“Yes!”
“Yes?” Pulling teeth would be easier. “Yes—what, exactly?”
“Church wedding. I think.” He glanced around the reception area. His nose wrinkled when his glance landed on delicate white wrought iron chairs with their tufted white silk cushions. “The reception can’t be stuffy. Not like—”
Mr. Porter cut himself off, but the glare he shot toward tiny Victorian chairs her grandmother favored made Sara smile. Tact indeed.
“Not stuffy—like this. Is that what you mean?” she asked, tongue in cheek.
“Well…yes.” He shied away from meeting her stare.
“I see. It would be helpful for the bride to be present for her wedding plans.” That wasn’t being nosy. “If your sister could—”
“She can’t. You’ll have to manage with me. Unless…”
He let his voice trail away, but Sara got the message. Unless she had a problem. And Weddings by Woodwards did not have problems with clients.
Ever.
“Perhaps something less—er,” Cade Porter’s aquiline nose twitched as he glanced at the very girlish frilly bridal gown on the main pedestal display.
“I understand.” Sara swallowed her laughter. “Don’t worry. We’re not only about froufrou. We cater to many tastes.” She checked the wall, scanned the work board. “To prove it, I’d show you a very masculine area, but at the moment it’s being used by two men being fitted for tuxedos.”
“Awkward.” His lazy smile was a dentist’s dream.
“Slightly. A tour of Weddings by Woodwards would illustrate the variety we offer. But I have to look after the boys and…”
“It doesn’t matter.” The look on his face said Cade Porter understood that none of the rooms would be suitable for Brett and Brady. “We’ll go on to something else.”
That was generous of him. Sara also noted how he praised both boys’ drawings, then promised he’d choose a winner after they added a few more details.
“You’re good with kids,” she said when he straightened.
“I love them. Kids are amazing.” Was that a hint of longing in his voice? “Families are so much fun.”
Fun wasn’t exactly how Sara would describe her relatives.
“Maybe you should tell me your ideas for this wedding.” Sara waited. Seconds stretched to minutes of unbearable tension. She frowned. “You don’t have any ideas?”
He shrugged. A hint of—embarrassment?—shadowed his eyes.
“My