LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Two

      Ben got as far as the entrance to the small park across the street from the bridal shop before he came to a stop.

      He felt like a heel leaving Melinda and her aunt without a decent explanation for his attitude. Not that it would be easy to explain when he wasn’t even sure he understood why himself. His earlier marriage had taken place years ago, but that was then and this was now.

      Maybe he should have been grateful for the unexpected turn of events. Maybe now he could get rid of all the wannabe Mrs. Ben Howards.

      Shaken out of his reverie by a flock of birds bursting from the full branches of the tree above him, he found himself gazing around him. It was the setting where, according to the wedding announcement, he was scheduled to marry Melinda next month.

      The scent of jasmine filled the air. Rustic bridges crossed a babbling brook that slowly meandered through the small park. Carefully tended green hedges bordered the cobblestone walks that led to a white lattice gazebo in the park’s center. A sundial, a birdbath and white iron benches were scattered throughout the small park. It was the last place in the world he expected to find himself. Let alone find himself taking Melinda seriously.

      What had brought him here when he had more important things that needed his attention? And why was he suddenly so unsure of his decision to have the fantasy wedding called off?

      He thought of Bertie’s assurance that a higher power was at work. Was there some kind of magic aura in the early morning air that made her pronouncement sound reasonable? Was it the same aura that was urging him to go back and tell Melinda he was thinking of changing his mind? That he didn’t want to call off the wedding? And why did it suddenly seem as if it were the right thing to do?

      His thoughts stopped him cold. After all, he was an intelligent and successful businessman. Why was he even thinking of magic auras? Was he losing it?

      Something turned him back to gaze at the vintage Victorian house across the street. Bertie’s Bridal Shop had been housed there for more years than he could remember. He remembered his two older sisters had purchased their bridal gowns there years ago.

      The brown wooden house with its faded white trim was showing its age. The porch railings sagged, but freshly starched lace curtains proudly graced the windows. It looked familiar, and yet there was something different about it today that caught his attention. He squinted in the sunshine to get a better look. The lettering on the sign in the window that advertised a Bridal Referral Service was fairly new. According to Bertie, the service was Melinda’s attempt to keep the shop in the black. The idea may have sounded like a good idea, but there were screwups every day on the Internet.

      The realization that she’d found him on an Internet dating service turned his blood to ice water. He should have looked into how it got there before he left. If word got out that Melinda had found him there, he was a dead man.

      Before he could decide what prompted him to retrace his footsteps, he found himself back at the bridal shop’s front door. He was about to knock when he remembered Melinda’s headache. He rang the door-bell—gently, but firmly. He had a mission to accomplish.

      The door opened a few inches. Bertie peered out. “I knew you’d be back as soon as you had a chance to think things over, Benjamin.” She held the door open with a welcoming smile. “I baked your favorite cookies last night. Why don’t you come in and join me in a fresh cup of coffee?”

      Ben glanced over her shoulder at the empty entry. “Actually, Ms. Bertie, I came back to talk to Melinda.”

      “Of course,” she agreed amicably. Come right in. Your bride is upstairs getting dressed. She’ll be down in a minute.”

      His bride! It was the last thing he wanted to hear, at least until he had a chance to talk things over with Melinda. “Sorry, Ms. Bertie. This bride stuff is a little premature.”

      She wagged her forefinger at him. “Now, Benjamin, you aren’t still having cold feet, are you?”

      He shook his head. Why wasn’t he heading for the safety of his distillery where more rational heads prevailed instead of talking to a wall? “Not really. The fact is, I came back to apologize for losing my temper. It’s just that I was sure the wedding announcement would play havoc with my life. Even now,” he added with a wry shrug as he followed her into the kitchen, “I feel as if I’m caught in the middle of a hornet’s nest.”

      She smiled and prattled on about reluctant bridegrooms.

      Maybe it was the odor of freshly brewed coffee or the plate of chocolate-chip cookies waiting on the kitchen table, but Ben felt right at home. The bright-yellow and white chintz curtains at the windows were invitations to enjoy a few moments of relaxation. Under different circumstances, he would have been ready. Unfortunately, the soft music coming over the intercom designed to calm bridal nerves wasn’t exactly music to his ears.

      The muscles at the back of his neck tensed as he dropped into a chair. Bertie’s contented smile did nothing to reassure him he was going to make a dent in her conviction that he was about to become a member of her family.

      He watched her flutter about the kitchen setting out cups and saucers.

      “How did you know I’d be back, Ms. Bertie?” he asked, interrupting a tale that had something to do about a bride having to wrestle a groom to the altar.

      Her answering smile was benevolent. “You can’t run away from your destiny, dear.”

      He didn’t have a ready reply to that remark.

      What was there about the lady that made the illogical seem logical? What was there about her that had him ready to believe in her conviction that destiny had brought him here and not the wedding announcement in the newspaper. Or were they the same?

      He was a pragmatic man who had spent his life creating his own destiny. He’d decided the only way to do something for the economy of Ojai was to do it himself. With Bertie happily prattling in the background, his thoughts swung to his Oak Tree Gourmet Distillery, an enterprise he’d started to bring industry to a town that survived largely on tourism. That decision hadn’t been decided by fate, as Bertie preached. No, sir. It had been a sure, pragmatic decision and, thank God, it had worked. Oak Tree brandies were known all over the world.

      Still, considering he was

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