Chapter One

      Standing in the middle of the Mercy Ranch Wedding Chapel, Sierra Lawson felt almost at peace, as if God was present and this was a real chapel, not just a wedding venue. The building looked more like a stable than a church, but there was something about the sun filtering through the stained-glass windows that touched her soul.

      She’d never expected this to be her healing place. One year ago she would have denied she needed healing of any kind. Now she felt as if she was one step closer to being the person she’d always wanted to be. A person who didn’t allow others to control her happiness.

      She moved to the row of windows that faced east and thought about those horrible days that had changed her life forever just four years earlier. For two weeks she had waited each morning for the sliver of sunlight to appear in her cell. Each of those precious sunrises had marked one more day, one more chance to be rescued, one more day of hoping God heard her feeble prayers as she huddled in an enemy prison in Afghanistan.

      Nothing had been the same for her since. It would never be the same. During her weeks of captivity she’d known fear, pain and helplessness. But she’d also known an unexplainable calm and a hope that didn’t make sense.

      It was because of that experience that she had found her way to Mercy Ranch, a home for wounded veterans just outside of Hope, Oklahoma. And it was due to the ranch owner, Jack West, that she found herself in the position of wedding planner.

      Wedding planner? She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to take this on. This was the absolute worst job for a woman like Sierra. She was responsible for selling the dream of fairy-tale weddings and happily-ever-afters. Neither of which was something she believed in. She’d seen too much, been through too much, to allow herself to get caught up in those dreams.

      The stillness of the November morning and her quiet reflection was shattered by the steady thump of rotors beating against the air. Sierra backed away from the window and the all too familiar vibration. She waited for the sound of metal and glass hitting hard-packed earth. She tried to convince herself that it had to be a dream. She wasn’t in Afghanistan. The helicopter couldn’t be real. She was not in danger.

      It was the wind beating against something outside. It was late November in Oklahoma and the wind blew on a daily basis.

      Somewhere in the building a door banged shut. Glory, her young assistant, must have arrived early to help with