As she scrambled down, Jack stepped forward to spot her. “Careful. It’s not a national emergency.”

“It is when Parker issues a red. Come with me. Sometimes an extra pair of hands, especially male, can come in handy. If it’s just a girl thing, maybe you could come back, help cover chairs. Damn it. I was on schedule.”

“You’ll make it.”

She moved like lightning, across the terrace, up the steps—that still needed to be dressed—and through the door to the corridor outside the Bride’s Suite.

Straight into hysteria.

The small mob of people crammed the hall, all in various states of dress. Voices pitched toward the register only dogs could hear. Tears flowed like wine.

In the midst, Parker stood like a cool island in stormy seas. But Emma recognized the fraying of desperation around the edges.

“Everyone, everyone! Everything is going to be fine. But you have to calm down, and listen. Please, Mrs. Carstairs, please sit down here. Sit down now, take a breath.”

“But my baby, my baby.”

Carter nudged his way forward—a brave soul—and took the weeping woman by the arm. “Here now, have a seat.”

“Something has to be done. Something has to be done.”

Emma recognized the mother of the bride. She wasn’t crying—yet—but her face approached the color of ripe beets. Even as Emma moved in to take her, or whoever needed it most, off Parker’s hands, a shrill whistle cut the air into shocked silence.

“Okay, everybody, just stop!” Laurel ordered. She wore a white bib apron smeared with what looked to be raspberry sauce.

Parker plowed into the opening. “Mr. Carstairs, why don’t you sit down with your wife a moment? Groom, if you and your party would go back to your suite, Carter will give you a hand. Mrs. Princeton, Laurel’s going to take you and your husband downstairs. You’ll have some tea. Give me fifteen minutes. Jack, could you go with Laurel? We’ll bring Mr. and Mrs. Carstairs some tea up here.”

“Any chance of scotch?” Mr. Princeton asked.

“Absolutely. Just tell Jack what you’d like. Emma, I could use you in the Bride’s Suite. Fifteen minutes, everyone. Just stay calm.”

“What’s the story?” Emma demanded.

“Quick update. Two of the bridesmaids are severely hung-over, and one was puking heroically in the bathroom moments ago. MOG had a meltdown when she went in to see her son in the Groom’s Suite, which annoyed MOB—they don’t get along particularly well. Words were exchanged, tempers flared, and continued to flare as the women battled their way to the Bride’s Suite. The drama apparently sent the MOH, who’s eight months pregnant, into labor.”

“Oh my God. She’s in labor? Now?”

“It’s Braxton Hicks.” Parker’s face was a study of sheer determination and unassailable will. “It’s going to be Braxton Hicks. Her husband called the doctor, and the MOH convinced him to let us time the contractions for now. Mac and the bride and the rest of the party, not currently puking or moaning, are with her. She and the bride are the only ones keeping their heads. Besides Mac. So.”

Parker sucked in a breath, opened the door of the Bride’s Suite.

The MOH lay propped on the little sofa, pale, but apparently calm with the bride—a hairdresser’s cape over her corset and garters—kneeling beside her. Across the room, Mac offered a cool compress to a bridesmaid.

“How are you doing?” Parker asked as she moved briskly toward the pregnant woman. “Do you want your husband?”

“No. Let him stay with Pete. I’m okay, really. Haven’t had anything in the last ten minutes.”

“Nearly twelve now,” the bride told her and held up the stopwatch.

“Maggie, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” The bride gave her friend a shoulder rub. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“You should finish getting your hair and your makeup. You should—”

“It can wait. Everything can just wait.”

“Actually, it’s a good idea,” Parker said in a tone that managed to be brisk, businesslike, and cheerful all at once. “If you’re not comfortable here, Jeannie, we can move you to my room. It’s quieter.”

“No, I’m fine here, really. And I’d like to watch. I think he’s gone back to sleep.” She patted the mound of her belly. “Honestly. Jan’s in worse shape than I am.”

“I’m an idiot.” The attendant with the pale green complexion closed her eyes. “Maggie, just shoot me.”

“I’m going to have some tea and toast sent up. It should help. Meanwhile, Emma and Mac are here to help out. I’ll be back in two minutes. Any more contractions,” Parker said quietly to Emma, “beep me.”

“Believe it. Come on, Maggie, let’s make you gorgeous.” She drew Maggie to her feet, passed her to the hairdresser. With the stopwatch in hand, Emma settled down by the expectant mother. “So, Jeannie, it’s a boy?”

“Yes, our first. I’ve got another four weeks. I had a checkup Thursday. Everything’s fine. We’re fine. How’s my mother?”

It took Emma a moment to remember Jeannie was the groom’s sister. “She’s fine. Excited and emotional, of course, but—”

“She’s a wreck.” Jeannie laughed. “One look at Pete in his tux and she dissolved. We heard the wails in here.”

“Which, of course, set my mother off,” Maggie said from the salon chair. “Then they’re at each other like pit bulls. Jan’s tossing it in the bathroom and Shannon’s curled in a ball.”

“Better now.” Shannon, a little brunette currently sipping what looked like ginger ale, waved from her own chair.

“Chrissy’s good, so she took the kids outside for just a bit. She should be back by now.”

Judging things were under control in this area, Emma glanced at Maggie. “Looks like we’ve cleared the fifteen-minute mark on baby. If Shannon’s up to it, she can take over the timer, and I can go find Chrissy and the kids. Bridesmaid, flower girl, ring bearer?”

“Please. Thanks so much. This is all just crazy.”

“We’ve had crazier.” She gave the stopwatch to Shannon, took one more look at Jeannie. The color was back in her cheeks. If anything, she looked serene. “Mac, you’ve got the fort?”

“No problem. Hey, let’s take some pictures!”

“You’re a cruel woman,” Jan muttered.

Emma dashed out. She spotted the MOG on the terrace, sobbing into a tissue while her husband patted her shoulder and said, “Come on, Edie. For God’s sake.”

She detoured and headed for the main stairs. Parker was already charging back up. “Status?”

“I think we’re down to yellow status. No more contractions, one hangover well on the mend, the other—hard to tell. The bride’s in hair, and I’m off to round up the last attendant and the kids.”

“In the kitchen having cookies and milk. If you could take the FG and RB, send the BA up. Mrs. G’s putting tea and toast together. I want to check on the groom, and let the expectant daddy know everything’s okay.”

“On my way. The MOG’s on the terrace, wildly weeping.”

Parker set her jaw. “I’ll deal with her.”

“Good luck.” Emma hurried down, swung toward the kitchen just as Jack came in from the direction of the Grand Hall.

“Please tell me there’s not a woman delivering a baby upstairs.”

“That crisis, it seems, has passed.”

“Well, thank you, Jesus.”

“POB?”

“Huh?”

“Parents of Bride?”

“Carter’s got them. It seems he teaches a nephew. And the mom’s repairing her makeup or something.”

“Good. I’ve got to get the last BA, send her up and take over with the FG and RB.”

His brow furrowed, then he gave up on the code. “Whatever you say.”

Pausing, Emma considered him. “You’re pretty good with kids, as I recall.”

“I’m okay. They’re just short.”

“If you can take the RB—the boy, he’s five—and entertain him for about fifteen minutes, it would help. You can deliver him to the Groom’s Suite as soon as we get the all clear. I’ll take the girl up, help get her dressed.” She glanced at her beeper with some trepidation when it signaled. Then blew out a breath. “Yellow and holding. Good.”

“Don’t these kids have parents?” he asked as he followed her toward the kitchen.

“Yes, and both are in the wedding party. They’re brother and sister, twins. The BA with them is Mom. The dad’s a groomsman, so you can take the RB up in ten or fifteen. Just give everything a few more minutes to smooth out. Once I get the FG settled, I need to get back out and finish dressing the outside areas. So—”

She broke off, fixed a big, happy smile on her face before she pushed into the kitchen.

In an hour, the bride and attendants were beautified, the groom and his men polished. While Mac organized the separate parties for formal photos, and Parker kept the respective mothers at a distance, Emma finished the outside decor.

“Want a job?” she asked Jack as he helped cover the last row of chairs.

“So absolutely not. I don’t know how you do this every weekend.”

She attached cones holding the palest of pink peonies to selected chairs. “It’s never boring. Tink, I’ve got to run home and change. Guests are arriving.”

“We’re good here.”

“Parker estimates we’ll only be about ten minutes late, which is a miracle. There’s food for all of you in the kitchen when we’re done. I’m back in fifteen. Jack, go have a drink.”

“I plan to.”

She was back in twelve, having traded her work clothes for a quiet black suit. She pinned boutonnieres while Parker’s voice sounded in her headset. “We’re a go in the Bride’s Suite. Cuing music. Ushers to start escort.”

She listened to the countdown as she brushed lapels, joked with the groom. She spotted Parker arranging the parents, and Mac getting into position for shots.