Love and Other Surprises

by Robin Wells

  Love and Other Surprises

  by Robin Wells

  To Ken, my real-life romantic hero,

  and my parents, Charlie Lou and Roscoe Rouse,

  who raised me amid the magic of books.

  Special thanks to my fabulous cover artist

  and daughter,

  Taylor Wells.

  First published in print as The Wedding Kiss by Silhouette Books

  Revised 2011

  Copyright © 1996 by Robin Rouse Wells

  Copyright © 1996-2011 by Robin Wells

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  Cover Design by Taylor Wells — taylor.wells@gmail.com

  eBook Edition by booknook.biz and eBooks by Barb

  Dear Reader,

  Have you ever wanted to do something so badly you were afraid to give it a try?

  Well, that’s how I felt about writing a novel. Ever since I first learned to read and write, I've been scribbling down stories and telling myself that someday I'd write a book. It was such a closely held dream I was afraid to actually put it to the test.

  When I gave birth to my first child, I began to realize how easily “somedays” could turn into “nevers.” Time seemed to accelerate to warp speed as my baby grew and changed right before my eyes. As I thought about her future, it occurred to me that one of the things I most wanted to give her was the confidence to pursue her dreams. Whatever she wanted to do or be, I hoped she’d have the courage to go for it.

  One of the best ways I could help her was by setting a good example. It was time to write that book!

  I joined the local chapter of Romance Writers of America, became active in a critique group and took a course called “Writing the Romance Novel.” But most importantly, I wrote. And wrote. And wrote!

  My first manuscript didn’t sell and, looking at it now, I can see why. I had a lot to learn.

  You can imagine how thrilled I was when my second effort, The Wedding Kiss, won the National Golden Heart Award from the Romance Writers of America in 1995 and was published by Silhouette books in 1996.

  This is that book, revised and updated. It’s a short contemporary category romance, which means it's about half the length of the books I write now.

  I hope you enjoy reading this vintage book as much as I enjoyed writing it— and whatever your own dreams are, I hope you chase them till you catch them!

  —Robin Wells

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Letter to Readers

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  Matt Jordan threw open the pink door of the True Love Bridal Salon with such force that the beribboned bouquet of dried flowers attached to the door knocker fell to the floor. Scowling, he bent and retrieved the brittle bouquet from the pink carpet, only to have several flowers disintegrate in his hand. He was beginning to feel like a bull in a china shop, and the fact did nothing to improve his mood.

  “May I help you?” A thin, blue-haired lady scurried toward him, looking as dry and withered as the blossoms.

  “I’m here to see Ali McAlester.”

  The woman eyed the crumpled bouquet and closed the door behind him with exaggerated care. She was a good foot shorter than Matt, yet she somehow managed to look down her nose at him. “I’m afraid Miss McAlester can’t be disturbed,” she said in an imperious tone. “She’s involved in the final fitting of her gown.”

  Final fitting! So what he’d overheard at the lumberyard was true—Ali was going to walk down the aisle with Derrick Atchison.

  Over my dead body, Matt thought grimly. I owe Robert that much.

  “I don’t care if she’s in the final fitting of her birthday suit,” Matt said tersely. “I need to see her, and I need to see her now.”

  The woman placed her hands on her scrawny hips and peered at him over the top of her pince-nez. “Are you the groom?” she inquired. “We don’t allow our grooms to see any of our dresses before the ceremony. It’s bad luck, you know.”

  If the situation weren’t so serious, he might have been amused. He’d tried marriage once and had no intention of ever getting roped into that racket again. “You can rest assured that I’m not the groom.”

  “Then whom shall I say is calling?”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake—did he look like he was here to pay a social call? Matt was anxious to get this over with, and he was fast losing patience with this pretentious old biddy.

  “Matt Jordan.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Jordan, and I’ll see if Miss McAlester can receive you.” The woman waved a haughty hand toward a spindly-legged gilt chair that scarcely looked sturdy enough to stand up under its own weight, much less his six-foot-two frame.

  Matt watched her sweep through a lace-draped doorway at the back of the shop and considered following her into the inner sanctum. The prospect of encountering a gaggle of dizzy, half-dressed brides was the only thing that held him in check.

  Mumbling an oath, Matt turned and paced the tiny shop. He felt distinctly out of place in this bastion of femininity. The fact that the room was cloyingly pink, heavily perfumed and filled with reams of lace and gauze and other frilly doodads did nothing to put him at ease.

  No question about it; he was completely out of his element, and it wasn’t just a matter of his surroundings. This is what you get for having a business partner, he thought glumly. If you hadn’t merged your home building company with Robert’s architectural firm, you wouldn’t be involved in his family’s personal problems.

  Not that their company hadn’t been profitable. It had—and their latest project was sure to be the most successful ever.

  No, the problem wasn’t the partnership, he admitted to himself; the problem was a lack of planning—the very thing he prided himself on. Matt was a firm believer that good, sound planning was the basis of a successful life, and he considered his ability to look ahead and anticipate problems to be his chief talent.

  So why the heck hadn’t he planned what would happen to the company if one of them died? It was an oversight, pure and simple. He should have planned for any eventuality.

  Still, how was he supposed to know that Robert was going to get killed in a car crash and leave his share of the company to his ditzy sister?

  Matt sighed deeply at the thought. Robert had not only been his business partner, he’d been his best friend since college,and Matt missed him something fierce.Their friendship was the reason Matt felt obligated to look after his sister. And from what Robert had told him, Ali needed plenty of looking after.

  Matt had only met her once, but Robert had told him all the Ali stories. He’d heard about her many childhood antics —getting stuck in a drainage pipe, accidental
ly setting fire to a chair, and causing a near-riot by throwing realistic-looking play money off a balcony at a crowded shopping mall. He knew how Robert had gotten arrested for indecent exposure while changing clothes in his car—all because Ali had sewn a tuxedo for him and he hadn’t had the heart to let her know he wasn’t going to wear the homemade monstrosity to a formal dance. He’d heard about the time she’d mailed her brother a coconut cream pie—and given him a near-lethal dose of ptomaine poisoning. Then there was the time she’d advertised for a roommate when she moved to Dallas—and ended up sharing her apartment with a woman who was so convinced she was the reincarnation of Cleopatra that she’d tried to build a barge in the living room.

  Everything the woman did apparently resulted in chaos. Trouble followed her like dirt followed Pigpen in the old Charlie Brown comics, and Matt was glad she lived a good five-hour drive away. He liked his life just the way it was—calm, well-ordered and predictable. He’d had enough surprises and upheavals during his childhood to last him a lifetime, and he made a point of avoiding uncertain situations and unreliable people. The fewer dealings he had with Ali, the better. So far, he hadn’t had to deal with her at all since her attorney was handling the settlement of Robert’s estate.

  Not that Ali needed representation where he was concerned; he prided himself on being fair, honest and above-board, and he fully intended to split the company’s assets right down the middle. Ali would get Robert’s fair share of the profits as soon as they sold the homes in the development that was now under construction, and afterward he’d be free to carry on as an independent businessman.

  His desire to stay well clear of Iittle-Miss-Disaster-Looking-For-a-Place-To-Happen had been overridden by his sense of responsibility, however, when he’d overheard Justin Townsend’s phone conversation at the lumberyard this morning. He’d distinctly heard Justin say that Ali McAlester was going to walk down the aisle with Derrick and that she was already back in Hillsboro, getting outfitted at the town’s only bridal salon.

  Matt had headed directly to the bridal shop. He owed it to Robert to prevent his sister from marrying a sleazeball with a well-known reputation for gambling and womanizing. Derrick had no doubt launched a long-distance romance with Ali just to get his hands on her inheritance, Matt thought grimly. The idea of that piece of scum taking advantage of Robert’s sister and spending Robert’s hard-earned money had made Matt’s blood boil.

  Thinking about it now caused Matt to lengthen his stride until he was crossing the room in only five steps. He was determined to talk some sense into the dizzy dame if it was the last thing he did.

  What the heck was taking her so long anyway?

  Looking for a distraction, he stopped in front of a display case and studied the items inside. What the devil were those frilly things? They looked like giant, lace-covered rubber-bands. After staring at them a moment, he realized he was gawking at a display of garters.

  Muttering an expletive, he turned toward the window and tried to see the street through the overcrowded display of mannequins.

  “Hello, Matt,” said a soft voice.

  It was about time! Matt whipped around, ready to give Ali a piece of his mind.

  But the sight that greeted him stopped him short. She was enveloped in a cloud of pink, and she looked like she was floating.

  Matt blinked. No, it was just the way her gown billowed out when she moved. He blinked again, then swallowed hard. Jiminy! She didn’t look anything like the grief-stricken, weeping waif he’d met at Robert’s funeral six months ago.

  She looked… gorgeous. With everything Robert had told him about her, how had he managed to leave out that fact?

  Stop staring, Jordan. Matt directed his gaze to a spot over her shoulder and tried to collect his thoughts.

  Okay, so she was a knockout. It didn’t change the fact that she could give lessons to Calamity Jane—or the fact that she was about to marry the town bum. Who’d ever heard of a pink wedding gown, anyway? Come to think of it, though, who’d ever heard of Ali McAlester doing anything in a normal fashion?

  “I appreciate the thought, but I plan to carry flowers just a tad bit fresher than those,” she said with a teasing note in her voice.

  Matt followed her gaze down to the ridiculously battered bouquet still in his hand, which by now was little more than a batch of dried stems tied with pink and white ribbons.

  Ali laughed, and Matt looked up to find himself the focus of a smile so bright it could have caused a power outage. Or power surge, Matt thought as a jolt of attraction raced through him. His eyes traveled the length of her, taking in the way the dress clung to her slender waist and revealed a delectable glimpse of cleavage. Her dark chestnut hair was swept up in some sort of tousled arrangement, her eyes were the color of a stormy sky and her complexion somehow reminded him of magnolia petals. He had a sudden urge to touch her cheek to see if it felt as soft and velvety as it looked.

  Disconcerted, Matt rubbed his jaw. He hadn’t thought about her in these terms before.

  Thought about her in what terms? His train of thought must have completely derailed, Matt told himself irritably. Ali wasn’t a—a—woman. Well, she obviously was, but not like that. Not a woman with a capital W. At least, not to him.

  She was more like trouble with a capital T. Ali was a nuisance, that was all, and he was here to keep her from making another of her infamous mistakes. Instead of standing here ogling her décolletage, he needed to be figuring out a way to tell her she was engaged to a total cad.

  “We need to talk,” he said in a voice that came out harsher than he intended. “Change into something more sensible and meet me at the coffee shop on the corner.”

  Her brow knit into a worried frown. “Is something wrong?”

  Oh, something was wrong, all right. Several things, in fact. For starters, he wasn’t supposed to be having these lascivious thoughts about his late partner’s sister. And he hated the fact he had to tell her the truth about her fiance. It was sure to be an emotional scene, and he made a point of avoiding those almost as much as he avoided matrimony.

  But his biggest immediate problem was that he was too darn distracted by the way she looked in that dress to even think straight.

  For the umpteenth time since the accident, he wished Robert were here. “You and I have some business to discuss,” he evaded.

  Ali studied his face for a moment. He was relieved when she nodded without asking any further questions. “I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

  Matt watched her shapely pink back disappear into the rear of the shop, then tossed the bouquet on a counter and strode out the door. Outside, he drew a deep breath of fresh air and headed down Main Street to the Cattlemen’s Cafe. The cold March air felt good on his face. He’d gotten overheated in that stuffy little shop—and the way Ali had looked in that dress hadn’t helped in the least.

  Ali wriggled out of the organza gown and distractedly handed it to the elderly saleswoman who’d insisted on accompanying her into the cramped dressing room. She was too absorbed in her thoughts of Matt Jordan to pay much attention to the woman’s rambling chatter.

  Ali hadn’t remembered that Matt was so tall—or so good-looking. Of course, she’d only met him once before, and that had been at Robert’s funeral. She hadn’t been in any shape to notice anyone or anything then.

  Matt had positively discombobulated her today, standing there with that ragged bouquet in his hand, his dark eyes raking her body. Her skin had warmed under his gaze and her heart had started racing. Her pulse still hadn’t returned to normal.

  “I’ll adjust the hem and have your gown ready by tomorrow afternoon,” the saleslady was saying.

  The words jarred Ali out of her reverie. “Thank you. That’ll be fine,” she replied. “Is Lauren’s dress finished yet?”

  The woman nodded. “She came by for it this morning.”

  Ali smiled at the thought of her oldest and dearest friend. “How does she look in it?”

  An expr
ession that could have been a smile added more wrinkles to the saleslady’s crinkled face. “Beautiful. Miss Connors will make a lovely bride, and you will make a lovely maid of honor.” The woman swept out of the cubicle, bearing Ali’s dress as if it were a precious artifact.

  Ali pulled on her sweater, a vague wistfulness overtaking her. She was delighted that Lauren was getting married, but there was something about her best friend’s impending wedding that stirred up all kinds of thoughts and feelings and longings. It made Ali think about things like home and family and roots—things that made up a successful life, things that weren’t measured in dollars or business titles.

  Ali hadn’t made a lot of time for those things in the last few years and her brother’s death six months ago had made her keenly regret it. Lauren’s wedding had brought it all into focus. As her friend’s wedding plans had progressed, so had a vague idea Ali had harbored since Robert’s funeral.

  It was a great idea, one that would allow her to fulfill a personal goal as well as a professional one. Besides, it made perfect sense. All that remained was to convince Matt.

  Matt. Ali’s heart rate soared again at the thought of him.

  Judging from the way he’d scowled at her, she might have her work cut out for her there. All she knew about him was what she’d heard from her brother. “We think exactly alike,” Robert had said. That could only mean one thing: she was dealing with a left-brained, uber-logical, just-the-facts-ma’am pragmatist.