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.”
