As I scrolled through the Event Barn’s Instagram, I could see Fern’s vision. It was a gorgeous spot and the packages she offered for all manner of parties were kind of high end, withouthaving the disgustingly expensive additions nobody actually needed. She did down-to-earth weddings and birthdays as much as the over the top anniversaries and such. It was all very tasteful and not out of reach for most people who would want to use her services.
In one of the photos, she was carrying a table with her brother, Crew. He was the second oldest of them, just three years younger than Bodhi, who was Wren’s best friend. Or had been, growing up, at least.
With a cowboy hat on Crew’s head, he laughed at something she was saying. Add to that a flannel, Wranglers, and boots… yeah, I could see why people gravitated toward her photos.
She made sure to post on all accounts regularly. The Blue Creek Ranch one had some really lovely professional shots of the area, like the creek and the blue spruces the place got its name from, the mismatched herd of rescue cows, various horses, even a barn cat sprawled on a hay bale.
It looked idyllic and inviting, and while that wasn’t a bad thing, it sent the wrong message. Sadly, it needed to remain as it was for business’ sake.
I flicked back the ranch’s photos until I got to the ones that had caused the most hubbub last fall.
The ranch hosted an annual Halloween event. Last year had been different with one particular new thing they’d added: “the ghost horses.”
I rewatched the professionally shot video of Mike Harrington, the patriarch of the family, speaking into the mic in his hand. He was explaining the myth of the ghost horses and how if the gathered people were lucky, they might just see them tonight.
There were some eerie sounds and galloping hooves approaching from the distance—or the sound system, rather—and then the camera angle changed and two glowing horse skeletons galloped through the darkness maybe twenty-fiveyards away from the gathered crowd. It looked cool as hell, and even with the added sound effects, I could hear the gasps and exclaims from little kids to even some adults.
That video had gone viral over the Halloween weekend. We were at the end of May now, and while things had slowed down, it still popped up at least once a month.
I had three weeks to figure out what to do to make the ranch as secure as possible without making it too obvious or too taxing for the people living and working there.
I tapped on a photo with the title “Dr. Emery to the rescue.”
Emery Harrington was twenty-nine, and he’d joined the staff at the town’s clinic last year. In the photo, Emery was tending to a little boy in a… whatever the costume was. Chewbacca? Yeti? I wasn’t sure. Either way, there was a scrape on his knee and Em was cleaning it.
The next photo on the carousel was the boy picking out a Band-Aid from a few options Emery was holding out. The final photo, one that I had saved on my phone as a reference picture of Emery, was the two of them, smiling widely at the camera.
I was nothing if not thorough, so there was a file of every person in the family and everyone on the staff. Basically every human who set foot on the property on the regular. There was a reference photo for each of them, just so I could familiarize their faces beforehand. Most of the pictures were candid shots from various social media accounts.
I had met all the Harringtons before, some on the ranch when I’d visited a couple of times over the past decade, and some while they’d come to see Wren on tour.
Yeah, the Harringtons were definitely better people and loved Wren more than his blood family ever had.
I liked all the Harringtons. I had some…thoughtsabout some of them for different reasons, but mostly they were just good, solid people..
Once I’d finished my coffee, I closed my eyes and pictured the ranch as it had been the last time I’d visited. I knew that since then, more businesses had popped up, with the kids getting older and starting their own.
There was a long ass driveway that Mike had already put the no trespassing and private property signs up on and there were cameras. The only other way onto the property was an old utility road that wasn’t used to my knowledge. With the whole property being so large and mostly fenced in because of the pastures, there was really no way to get security around it all. A gate on the driveway might be too much, given that it was used by countless people and vehicles during the day and late into the evening. I would try to suggest that anyway.
Anyone determined enough would be able to make it onto whatever part of the ranch they wanted to, though. I hated that.
I saw plenty of camera installations and a makeshift security room built somewhere on the property, just in case. There were things I could do, but I needed to see the situation I had on my hands first, instead of relying on inaccurate memories.
I took out my phone and checked my email, then frowned at the message from my mom.
She was living in Finland again, she’d gone back a few years ago when her husband—my so-called father—had suddenly passed away. They were both Finnish, but I’d been born in Wisconsin where they’d been living at the time. I’d been to Finland many times and I loved the country, but it wasn’t home. I didn’thavea home, really. Which, if you thought about it, was kind of sad.
Mom wanted me to come during the summer to help her out with her summer cabin by the lake near her childhood home in eastern Finland. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t hire someone with the money I sent her for that purpose. It also wasn’t as if I hadn’t told her I was constantly working.
She worried about me working too much. She didn’t get that it was a way of life. That being wherever Wren needed me was the closest to feeling at home I’d come in my adult years. I couldn’t take her worry seriously. She should’ve worried more when I was a child, being pushed around by my father.
Ignoring the message, I ordered another coffee. I wasn’t tired, but I didn’t need the afternoon slump to hit me when I made it to Denver and still had a two-hour drive to look forward to.
Wren had contacted Mike and Jenn, and I knew she was expecting to feed me. That was just who Mama Harrington was as a person. She kept everyone’s schedule aligned and she fed people. And took care of the grandkids she’d been blessed with since I last saw her.
Wren had told me endless stories about growing up in Colorado. Most of the memories and all the really good ones included the Harringtons or at least Bodhi.
With ten kids and thirteen years between the oldest and youngest, they were a very interesting lot. I went back to my notes and went through everyone again.
