Chapter Two

      “This can be immediately scrapped from the list of possible venues,” Drew told Kimberly as she directed him up the sloping drive of the rose-trellis-backed vineyard.

      “It’s a beautiful fall wedding venue,” she argued. But from his point of view, she saw the problems immediately.

      “Too open, too visible, one exit and entrance.” Drew shook his head.

      “It is her wedding day,” Kimberly reminded him softly.

      “And my goal is to get her to the honeymoon safely.” His grim look drew worry lines in his forehead. The Drew she remembered didn’t worry about anything, ever. Decisive and sure, he took everything in stride.

      This Drew was different. “This is vulnerable. There’s no way we can have the future president of the United States sitting here in the open with so many unprotected vantage points. The Secret Service would have a field day with this, Kimber.” He used the childhood nickname as if they were still old friends. They weren’t. So why did it sound so nice when he said it? That was something Kimberly would examine more closely later. Or not at all.

      “If they swoop in and change everything last minute, we’ll have wedding-day chaos. Let’s avoid that, okay?”

      A man moved up, out of the vineyard area, and started to approach the car.

      Rocky went ballistic in the rear of the SUV. Front paws braced, barking and snarling. Kimberly’s heart and nerves landed somewhere in the area of her feet when the big dog went into his protective maneuvers.

      Drew uttered a one-word command in a foreign language. German, maybe?

      The dog desisted, but stood at high alert, hackles raised, nose pointed forward, legs apart. He might be quiet, but his posture said he was ready to do whatever proved necessary to get the job done.

      “Kimberly, you’ve never seen Rocky in action.” Sympathy laced Amy’s voice. “Are you okay?”

      “Fine. Maybe. Somewhat.”

      “Sorry.” Drew darted a quick look of apology her way as he steered the SUV down the exit driveway. “I should have explained that Rocky’s trained to react to uninvited guests. My bad. We weren’t scheduled to meet with anyone there, were we?”

      “No. I expect that’s a vineyard worker, coming to see what we are doing or if we need anything.”

      “The hill’s angle and the height of the grapevines combined so we didn’t see him until the last possible minute.” Drew pulled out onto the road and headed south. “There’s no way we can have enough people to keep that venue safe, not to mention the photography session at the historic grotto and then around the tip of the lake to the reception site at the inn. There just aren’t numbers enough to make that feasible when you’re talking political dignitaries, country music stars and a European royal family, half of whom come equipped with their own security teams that will, most likely, get in our way.”

      “Excuse me for asking,” Kimberly began, and when Drew’s frown said she probably shouldn’t ask, she did anyway. “But wouldn’t this wedding be easier to pull off after the elections?”

      “It would have been easier a year ago when Rick was just testing the waters of candidacy,” he replied as he turned south. “But now that he looks like the probable winner, there is no good time for eight years, assuming reelection. Which means we make do with the best we can do here, now. Why didn’t they pick one of those gracious old churches in town? Don’t people get married in sweet, historic churches anymore?”

      Kimberly tapped her mother’s notebook. “Shelby made the very good point that by doing it in town, the regular fall traffic, paparazzi and fans would clog the roads, and they’d never get to the photo ops or the reception site, which is true. A bottleneck around The Square is a logistical nightmare during festivals. They’d have to block off roads, and that would cut into sales revenue for local small businesses. It was really nice of her to see it that way.” Their quaint, historic shopping area drew three-season tourist traffic, but major events challenged mobility, and that wasn’t something to be shrugged off for a wedding like Shelby’s.

      “There aren’t any festivals the weekend they picked, are there?”

      “No, but leaf peepers will be out in full force.”

      “Good point.” He sighed and started to turn toward the gracious nineteenth-century gardens Kate had booked for a post-ceremony photo session, but he paused when Kimberly put her hand on his arm. “Turn right instead.”

      “Because?”

      “I just thought of something. If it works, we might be able to give Shelby the wedding she wants and deserves and you some peace of mind.”

      * * *

      Peace of mind?

      With her hand on his arm, and the luminescent pearl polish glinting softly in the sun?

      The scent of tropical fruit and flowers surprised him. At the office, he’d breathed in sugar and spice, but that must have been her mother’s lingering preference.

      Her proximity and the hand on his arm as he swung the wheel wafted the scent of tropical fruit salad with a hint of floral, just enough to say “feminine and proud of it” and fun enough to say she liked summer.

      So did he.

      “Turn left at the top of this hill.”

      He did what she asked, then nodded, remembering. “The Abbey.”

      “Gorgeous, right?”

      “Magnificent building.” Daryl peered out and whistled lightly. “Not much easy ingress or egress, plenty of parking, clear view on three sides. This is a wedding venue? How was it overlooked before?”

      Kimberly climbed out and opened the back door for Amy. “Weddings, yes, on a limited basis, but no receptions. The friars sold the main building years ago, with certain stipulations to avoid commercialization. It’s run by an area mission church, and they’re fairly strict about usage in accordance with the friars’ wishes, but renting the building for weddings and retreats and conferences allows them money to fund their work.”

      “So you’re thinking we could do the ceremony here...”

      “Let’s check availability,” Kimberly advised. “Uncle Steve is the church pastor. His daughter Tara oversees the calendar. Hopefully she’s home.”

      “I remember Tara. She was like...twelve.”

      “Time