Winnie assessed Sandy's prospective groom-a sturdy convivial man of Polish descent, who'd made his fiancée the happiest woman in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota. There were times when Winnie envied them immensely for sharing "that certain something" so elusive and necessary to a truly special relationship. They laughed often, teased each other and shared so many common interests. Mick draped an arm around Sandy's shoulders and grinned down at her while Winnie began moving away toward the washroom.

But Mick stopped her and crooked a finger at someone. "Hey, Jo-Jo, come on over here." A man turned from his conversation with Mick's parents, raised an index finger, turned back to the couple to excuse himself and approached.

He clapped Mick's shoulder. "What's up, Ski, my man?"

Mick Malaszewski slapped his friend's shoulder and caught Winnie's elbow with his free hand. "I guess it's about time you two met. Jo-Jo, this is Winnifred Gardner, Sandy's maid of honor. Winnie, this is my best man and my best friend, Joseph Duggan."

Jo-Jo. How many times had she heard the name? A firm square hand captured Winnie's before she could warn him to beware of gas. But a moment later she forgot all about warnings, except that of her own heart as she heard again the pleasant tenor voice, rich with expressiveness.

"So this is Winnie. It's about time I met the woman I'm going to walk down the aisle with." He covered the top of her hand with his other and gave her a smile to match that in his voice.

He was nothing at all like what she'd expected. Not as tall, not as crude, not as brooding. Somehow the name Joseph Duggan had conjured up a tough thuggish sort, a longshoreman, maybe, with a wild Irish temper and a burly body. Instead, Jo-Jo was a toned and tapered five-feet-ten, had a head full of wild fluffy brown curls and the most twinkly eyes she'd ever encountered. His hand was dry, hard and very commanding. And as Winifred placed her left hand atop his, she forgot the engagement ring upon it.