Chapter 1
How hard would it be to locate a bulletproof stained-glass window?
Standing at the foothills of the Rocky Mountains on the far edge of the Holcombe property, I scan the outside of the quaint chapel. I could find one, but not before the Thanksgiving Day wedding that starts in—I flip the sleek band of my gold-link watch—sixty-eight minutes.
Besides, such a precaution would be overkill.
The on-call security consultant arriving soon will cover my bases for the last-minute situation I discovered. Another item completed on the list attached to my black acrylic clipboard.
Efficiency is my love language.
The wind catches the corner of the message that arrived sometime during the night.
At least I think it’s a message. I found it this morning amid a shattered floral arrangement at the front of the chapel.
The gust grabs the fluttering edge from my hand, whisks the glossy paper through the air, and plasters it around a fence post that delineates the property lines.
Before it can take flight again, I snatch the paper, smooth the edges into submission, and secure it under the clipboard’s clamp.
Once I manage this detail, everything will be in place for my boss’s nuptials.
Bosses’. Both of them. My professional multitasking duties straddle the property line on which I currently stand.
West of the fence rolls out the vast acreage of Harlan Holcombe’s childhood, where he now runs a consulting company.
East of the fence sits Twelve Bluebells Ranch, his fiancée’s boardinghouse for young women aging out of the foster care system.
A master’s degree in business administration prepared me for work with Harlan’s company. A master’s degree in misery from a group home during my teenage years prepared me for work with Meredith’s halfway house.
West of the fence holds my expertise. East of the fence holds my heart.
And it’s almost time to ask the soon-to-be newlyweds for my dream job.
I stride toward the white wooden chapel, crunching the brittle grass with each step of my four-inch heels. As if a personal wedding gift to the Holcombes, the sun breaks through the smoky clouds, streaking well-wishes across the grounds for the noonday ceremony.
Upon entering the one-room building, I proceed down the aisle and study the floral decor.
Bound by brown ribbon, modest wildflowers adorn the ends of each of the eight pews.
Light fragrance dusts the room with a romantic autumn perfume.
Bold colors complement the fall palette of the golden aspens and Rocky Mountains outside the church windows.
An out-of-place daisy catches my attention.
I hike up my knee-length trench coat, and flares of boysenberry chiffon fabric peek from underneath, hinting at the hidden cocktail dress. Before I can crouch down to fix the flower, someone at the chapel entrance clears his throat.
Shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed, eyes glittering, he chews on a toothpick. “Luke Granger.”
Two words. It only takes two words to appreciate this man’s electricity.
Something’s vaguely familiar about him, but I need to focus on the task at hand.
Cargo pants accentuate his tall, muscled body but aren’t enough to throw me off my game.
Even if the black fleece he wears causes those green eyes to pop. But I don’t recognize his name.
“I’m from the LG Security Team,” he says. “I know Logan usually handles your account’s on-property needs, but he has the day off to celebrate Thanksgiving with his family.”
“Of course.” With a calming exhale, I approach the back of the room and extend my hand to him the way my education taught me.
Palm neither up nor down. Straight across and equal.
“Penelope Reid, Harlan Holcombe’s assistant.
Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr. Granger.
I’m sorry you’re here on a holiday but grateful your company offers on-call services. ”
“Not a problem. Call me Luke.” He matches my firm grip. “The after-hours operator briefed me with the basics. She mentioned we don’t have long before the ceremony begins. Show me what we’re dealing with in here.”
“Today’s wedding is a small family affair. Several of us worked yesterday to set up the chapel. We finished by 7:30, and I’m positive I shut the door before we left the premises. But when I arrived this morning, it was cracked open.”
Luke crouches down, inspecting the latch. “Entry doesn’t look forced.”
“No need,” I say. “The family keeps the chapel unlocked.”
He stands, runs a hand up the dark stained wood, then closes and reopens the sturdy door. “The wind wouldn’t be able to budge this thing open.”
“I don’t think so either. Everything appeared to be in place with the exception of a shattered floral arrangement on the stage.
While cleaning the debris, I found small pieces of ripped paper.
I gathered them and taped them back together.
” Earlier, I’d painstakingly pulled each scrap from the pile of flowers, glass, and water.
I hadn’t needed to tape the pieces of the puzzle together before I recognized it as a shiny brochure for Twelve Bluebells Ranch.
I slip the mangled leaflet from the top of the clipboard and pass it into Luke’s hands.
He shifts the toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth while studying the paper.
“I’d like for this to be handled without burdening anyone else,” I say. “Harlan and Meredith deserve a day to celebrate without this added stress.”
With a curt nod, he takes booted steps across the hardwood planks and inspects the front of the chapel.
Outside the open doorway, a flash of color catches my eye, and I see the three tenants of Twelve Bluebells Ranch skittering across the field.
Meredith purchased each of the women burnt-orange taffeta dresses for today’s occasion.
Three beloved giggling pumpkins scurry across the plain toward the barn for the upcoming group pictures.
One yells in my direction, her hand flailing in the air with excitement. “Hey, Penny Lady.”
I hold up my clipboard in a responsive wave.
Once today’s celebration is complete, I’ll be in charge of the boardinghouse tenants for nine days while the Holcombes are on their honeymoon. Ample time to prove I’m more than capable of being the new program director at Twelve Bluebells Ranch.
This morning’s mess in the chapel reeks of prank more than threat. Still, my uncertainty nudged me to call the ranch’s security company. We need to shut down the matter at hand so I can proceed with the schedule for today and the goals for the coming week.
“This is interesting.” Luke’s comment recalls my attention, and I turn toward him, hugging the clipboard to my chest. “If it was just a broken vase, it could be an accident. But this brochure you found ripped up is for the ranch next door? Is that right?”
“Yes. The groom lives on this property, and the bride owns the neighboring halfway house.” I keep my tone neutral. “Do you think we have an issue?”
“What issue?” asks a voice from behind me.
At the sound of my boss’s question, I close my eyes.
Harlan Holcombe. The groom.
After pasting a fake smile on my face, I turn. “We were discussing a matter with the grounds.” I cringe inwardly at my terrible attempt to lie.
Harlan raises his hands in surrender and offers me an easy smile.
“I recognize that look, Penelope. But I come in peace. Scout’s honor.
” He shifts his attention to Luke, and his face lights up in surprised recognition.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.” Reaching past me, he grabs Luke and pulls him into a hug, each man pounding the other on the back.
“Shouldn’t you be globe-trotting? I didn’t think I’d catch you until the New Year’s Eve shindig. ”
Today’s ceremony is limited to immediate family, the pastor, the girls, and me. The official wedding celebration with friends and extended relatives will be at the Broadmoor in six weeks. Luke Granger is on the guest list?
Trying to gain ground on the scene in front of me, I rack my brain for Luke’s connection to the Holcombes. Dread claws at me as the reason for his familiarity stays out of my mind’s reach.
Luke pulls the toothpick out of his mouth. “Penelope called the company about your last-minute wedding problem here. I came to check it out.”
Harlan’s body stiffens. His gaze moves to me. “Do I have a last-minute wedding problem?”
“Not you. I’m taking care of it.” Pressing a hand to his shoulder, I attempt to usher him out of the chapel. “Family photos are in a few minutes. Please don’t be late.”
But he doesn’t budge. Rather, he draws his tuxedo jacket back and splays his hands on his jean-clad hips. “I know what Luke does for a living. What’s going on, Penelope?”
As I open my mouth to make another attempt at sending Harlan away, Luke leans in and hands my boss the patched brochure.
Anger spots dot my vision. Who does he think he is? I know I called him, but this is not what I expected. We were supposed to shield the bride and groom while we privately handled the situation.
I squeeze Harlan’s forearm, trying to redirect his attention. “I’m handling everything.”
Frowning, he examines the vandalized leaflet.
Luke’s stoic focus doesn’t waver from Harlan, and he misses the death glare I aim in his direction.
Harlan snaps his head up. “I don’t understand. What is this?”
“Last night someone came into the chapel and destroyed a flower arrangement and its vase,” I say. “They left this brochure torn to pieces on top of the debris.”
“Meredith came over here last night.” He cringes. “She loves this place. Wanted a few minutes to herself. What if something had happened to her? Did you call the police?”
“No. I can if you want me to, but I was trying to avoid squad cars at the wedding.”
His focus darts around the chapel. “Where is the broken vase?”
I swallow. “I cleaned it up.”
“You cleaned up all the evidence?”