The Groom Came C.o.d.

“He is! He couldn’t breathe when I took him to the flower shop this morning to show him the flowers I ordered for the church! I thought he was going to faint! When I finally got him into the fresh air, he told me he’s allergic to all kinds of flowers!”

With Sue Ellen Fry’s wedding only two days away, Melinda knew she had to move fast. She improvised mentally. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can locate enough silk flowers here and in Santa Barbara to decorate the church!”

“But my bridal bouquet! And the bridesmaids’ bouquets!” her caller wailed. “I can’t get married without flowers!”

“I’ll think of something for you and the bridesmaids. And for Frank to wear in his lapel. Don’t worry, Sue Ellen. I’ll take care of everything. Just make sure you and Frank are at the church on time.”

She hurriedly set her fantasy wedding aside to turn her attention to the problems confronting a real-life bride.

A quick trip out of town was clearly in order.

Chapter One

The pounding on the front door was loud enough to wake Sleeping Beauty.

Still groggy after a weekend spent scrounging for every silk flower arrangement within a fifty-mile range of Ojai, Melinda stopped in mid-stride on her way to the kitchen. Thank goodness she was invisible to whomever was determined to break down the door. Maybe the caller would give up and go away if she didn’t answer.

She was frazzled. She’d been coping with a wedding featuring a disappointed bride, an allergic groom and eight bridesmaids who couldn’t seem to understand why they had to carry small white prayer books decorated with sprays of silk lilies of the valley.

Footing the extra cost for silk flowers hadn’t helped. She had to figure out a way to return the live flowers so she wouldn’t lose the slim profit Bertie’s Bridal Shop would eventually realize on the wedding.

The pounding on the door escalated. So did her headache. Her eyes misted with pain. She couldn’t take much more.

She glanced at her watch; it was barely eight o’clock—the shop downstairs wasn’t scheduled to open for another hour. For that matter, she wasn’t properly dressed for company. Considering the monster of a headache she was nursing, whomever was out there would have to wait until she had a cup of hot, ink-black coffee to clear her head.

The pounding became frantic. In the background she could hear a male voice—swearing? That tore it! The last thing she needed to cope with right now was an impatient salesman. Anyone who didn’t have the sense to realize it was too early to do business with her was out of luck, and she intended to tell him so.

She tied her sleeveless white shirt in a knot at her waist. Made sure her favorite old denim cutoffs covered her bottom and threw open the door.

The next thing she knew, her caller was shaking the morning newspaper under her nose.

“What in the blazes do you call this?”

“I’m afraid there’s been some mistake. I haven’t reported a missing paper, but thank you anyway.” She would have hollered back and given him a dose of his own medicine but someone was pounding on an iron anvil in her head. She started to close the door, but his foot was in the way.

“Of course not! I found your copy on your doorstep!” He thrust the open paper at her.

Ignoring the paper, she looked into eyes that seemed vaguely familiar. “Ben? Ben Howard?”

She gulped as she peered through her pain. The scar at the corner of the caller’s lips was white, his eyes breathed fire. What was Ben Howard, the premier bachelor of Ojai, doing pounding on her door at eight o’clock in the morning? She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Maybe he would go away.

It didn’t seem to help. Her heart was pounding too fast, and it wasn’t from anger. She’d admired Ben years ago in high school and on the dating Web site, but her reaction to his electronic presence paled now that they were face-to-face again. He was a flawless package of sheer masculinity and the last man she expected to see on her doorstep.

“Who else did you think it would be after the wedding announcement I found in the paper?”

Melinda swallowed hard. An uneasy feeling swept over her. This was definitely not a social visit. She took a step backward and tried to hide between a wall of affronted dignity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s obviously been some mistake.”

“Oh, there’s been a mistake all right, and it looks as if you made it!” He elbowed his way through the door. “I want to know the meaning behind this!”

She suppressed a moan of pain and took another step backward. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Like hell you don’t!” He pointed an accusing finger at the offending article.

Melinda willed herself to remain calm. Maybe if she read the article he would leave. She reached for the paper and squinted at the offending article: Local Businessman To Marry Childhood Sweetheart.

Beneath the headline, she caught a glimpse of her name coupled with his. The words were too familiar to ignore. No wonder he was so angry. It was what she deserved for giving in to a wedding fantasy and choosing him for the groom.

The pounding in her head became stronger than ever. She closed her eyes and felt ready to faint from pain. Before she could fall, Ben caught her. Even through her distress, she felt herself respond to his scent of coffee and masculine anger.

Melinda sagged in his arms. She felt like a Raggedy Ann doll, but she matched him glare for glare. He didn’t seem intimidated, so she handed him back the newspaper. “I have no idea how that got in there!” But, she did. She did.

“If you don’t know who put this in the newspaper, who does?” He read the article out loud while she fought for a sensible answer.

“Melinda Carey, I guess that’s you,” he said with a cold glance, “a former local resident who recently returned to take up residence in our little community with her well-known aunt, Bertilda Blanchard, has announced her engagement and upcoming marriage to Benjamin Howard.

“Ms. Carey assists her aunt in managing Bertie’s Bridal Shop and its Bridal Referral Service. Mr. Howard is a prominent vintner and owner of the Oak Tree Brandy Distillery.” He stopped long enough to scowl.

“The Carey-Howard nuptials are scheduled for July 4th and will be celebrated outdoors in Sunlight Park on Main Street.”

He lowered the paper and peered at Melinda.

“There’s more of this garbage, and what I think of it doesn’t bear repeating.” He glared. “Why pick on me? I don’t even know you!”

To her growing discomfiture, his gaze roved over her bare legs, worked its way up past her thighs to her bare midriff and to her flaming cheeks. He paused. “Or do I?”

Melinda fought a growing dismay and a faint sense of dеj? vu. Childhood sweethearts? Ben Howard hadn’t spoken to her in years, let alone qualified as a sweetheart. He’d never even held her in his arms—except for the one memorable high school dance they’d shared years ago. He probably didn’t remember that, either.

They hadn’t been close, not when they were in high school, and definitely not now. She tried to think of an alibi, but all she could think of was the wedding fantasy she’d been toying with on her computer. She couldn’t possibly have put it into action, could she?

“Maybe it’s just overzealous reporting?” she ventured into his scowl.

He didn’t look as if he were buying the explanation, but the way he was eyeing her was another matter.

She tried to ignore him and went back to her mental drawing board.

A wedding at her favorite park across the street?

Her thoughts flew back to her computer musings. She couldn’t have! Oh no! She’d done the unthinkable! She stared at Ben uneasily. What would he do if she confessed to fooling around with a wedding fantasy on her computer? That she’d found him on a dating Web site and had chosen him as her groom because she’d never quite gotten over her crush on him.

“So, do I know you?”

“Er…sort of.” She smiled weakly. “I’m Melinda Carey. We were in high school together.” He shook his head. “I was a junior, you were a senior.”

She closed her eyes and steeled herself for another blast of anger. When none came, she slowly opened her eyes. To her chagrin, he was regarding her with a hint of masculine approval.

“You sure have a great imagination, Melinda Carey. I’ll give you that much.” He studied her meaningfully until goose bumps rose at the back of her neck. “How could I have managed to forget you?”

She found herself staring back at him. His eyes were the blue of memory, only deeper and wiser. He’d matured into a tall, athletic man; he was even more sexy as a grown-up than he’d been as a boy. He’d been the subject of her dreams when she was a teenager. Now that she was older and more experienced, he was still the man she dreamed of.