A Match Made in Heaven?

You must.

“What’s it this time?”

The usual.

“Send a cadet from the rookie force.”

No can do. I need experience. Yours.

“Flatterer,” she muttered.

’Tis truth I speak, Mirabella.

Sheepish, she grinned. “Okay, okay.” She tossed her copper-red plait over her shoulder. It clashed with the pink bandanna knotted at her throat. “Specifics?”

Mother meddling in the match.

She groaned. Didn’t He know she didn’t do well with busybody mammas?

Of course, He knew.

“Another agent …” She tried again. “I’m due forty-eight hours leave.”

After the assignment, the voice boomed in her ears.

“Do I have a choice?”

She could almost hear him grinning. Always.

“Cover?”

Bartender at the local Pub ‘n Grill.

“Wha-a-at?!” she asked. “Isn’t that a little risqué?”

He chuckled. I need reps where lost souls congregate.

“Designer water, here I come.”

I knew you’d set a good example.

“Huh! They hardly ever listen.”

Ahh, don’t I know it. He smiled, lighting up the skies.

“This better be worth it.”

Enjoy … and yes, it’s worth it.

“Wait! Names … addresses. I don’t know who …”

Chapter One (#ub4f1fb91-2fb8-5b5b-b4e0-03879c22a198)

Sam Carroll skidded to a halt at the church entrance in a cloud of Valentino lace and satin. Too bad. The groom had showed up after all.

A bead of moisture slid between her breasts, and her heart hammered so fast, she bet it’d put a hole in her new Victoria’s Secret bra. A brave breath, and she adjusted the double veils that kept her face hidden, but also made everything a blur. She clutched her father’s elbow and squinted down the aisle. He was still there. Argh!

It made her insides shrivel at the thought of saying ‘I do’ to Michael Scott … instead of—instead of—but he’d skipped town. She whimpered and almost turned and fled. Her father patted her hand, and she nearly screamed.

That’d be a shocker to the stiffs at this upper crust event. A giggle won out at the thought, and she felt better. Another pat to her hand. The scream scratched her throat, but got outclassed by the wedding melody filling the church.

Samantha froze in step and prayed for dissolution of these nuptials. Her ingenious plan of hours ago zoomed through her mind at supersonic speed. Her stomach swayed. Suppose it backfired?

Her father smothered a cough with his fist.

She must’ve been in another dimension to have allowed mamma to railroad her with her dramatic groanings of a flailing business. Sheesh, she’d only had a latte or two with golden boy to appease her, and here she was the lead in the society wedding of the season.

Gulping a mouthful of air, she let it whiz out between her teeth. A delicate situation, but time to snuff it out … in style … er … not that exactly, but it should have the groom snapping up the right of first refusal. With that thought in the forefront of her mind, she tightened her fingers on her father’s arm and stomped forward in her galoshes.

The guests’ muffled murmurs followed her down the aisle, grating on her raw emotions and compounding her doubts. The chatter grew louder, and abruptly stopped when she stepped beside the groom. An odd sensation teased. She dismissed it, not daring to glance at him just yet.

“Oh, my,” someone said. “Mrs. Carroll’s about to pass out.”

Her father plunked down beside mamma and held her upright. “Not another word out of you, woman.” He chuckled, pleased.

“Are we-e-e rea-a-ady?” The wiry priest sneezed, pointing to the burning candles. “All-ll-ergies.”

Samantha nodded in empathy, and the groom curled his fingers around her hand. His heat zapped up her arm, through her bloodstream and straight into her heart. Her pulse zinged her ribs.

“Dearly beloved …” the priest began the sermon.

Oxygen spiraled in her throat. Pressure pounded her temples. Perspiration dampened her forehead and prickles chased up her spine. She crinkled her brow and twitched her nose at the hint of a familiar scent. Cool spice. She shook her head. Stress of the situation must be causing this crazy speeding of her vitals.

The priest droned on, “… why these two should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

“I wish to spea-a-ak.” A man stumbled into the church, his hair standing on end, shirttail hanging out and torn tux sagging at the shoulder.

Dang the veils. She couldn’t see his face clearly, and in the commotion, couldn’t ID his voice. But she could smell the splatter on him … phew, heavy-duty stuff. She held her breath and grinned. Good timing.

“Tha-at” –he pointed to the groom— “is-is an impostor … a-aah!”

Samantha exhaled in a rush, and her veils fluttered.

A Doberman snarled at his heels. He shrieked and jumped onto a pew, setting off a myriad of sound effects from the guests.

A parade of yelping canines raced inside, and a pot-bellied man huffed and puffed after them. He stumbled to a halt, and dolled up babes of all shapes and sizes hyperventilated, groping for their hubbies in the pews.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the priest demanded. “We are in the house of God.”