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“Help yourself. The rest are going in the freezer until Eva comes back. Or Blake shows up for a snack. In fact, maybe you’d better take one for him, too.” I pull a zipper bag from a drawer and stack the remaining pancakes inside. “Or you can take them all.”
She grabs a pair of pancakes and heads for the slider door to the backyard. “He doesn’t need that many carbs. You wanna ride with us to the Ranch tomorrow?”
“I have to work. I’ll meet you there.”
She gives a thumbs-up, then pulls the slider open. “Perfect. We can do dinner after.” We’re visiting the chapel at Copper Butte Ranch to meet with the wedding planner for her wedding. I know, that’s not a real he-man kind of thing to do, but I’m the best man, and Blake has a surprise cooked up.
I wave as she disappears around the corner of the house. Then I go in search of any other pranks my daughter might have left behind.
Chapter Two
NICA
I hold the phone at arms’ length, hit the countdown button, and make a kissy face. When the cam goes live, I hold the pose for a second, then lean in close to whisper into the mic. “I’m at a secret location for a secret event! I really want to share the details with you, but it’s not safe. The paparazzi are everywhere.” I drop my voice low on the last word to give the video some drama. Then I look both ways and widen my eyes as if I’ve spotted something terrifying. “I gotta go! Cross your fingers for me! I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can.” I blow a kiss at the phone, hold the pose, then tap the red button to stop the video. A quick edit to add some text and hashtags and I send it off into the ether.
With a deep sigh, I drop the phone into my pocket. Something must be blooming nearby—my eyes itch like crazy. I can’t rub them—I don’t want to smear my makeup—so I pull out the eyedrops I stashed in my dog-print fanny pack. After some blessed relief, I pull my hood over my currently blonde hair and slide a large pair of sunglasses onto my nose. It’s not a great disguise—apparently my nose and mouth are quite recognizable. Probably due to the mole—luckily a cute little one at the corner of my mouth that gives me a Marilyn Monroe vibe. I’m not an A-lister, but when your face has been on as many Romance Channel movies as mine, someone is bound to recognize you.
Sucking in a deep breath of the pine-scented air, I turn in a slow circle, taking in my surroundings. My family has been vacationing at Copper Butte Ranch since I was a kid, but I haven’t been here in years. My father owns a house here, and to say our relationship has been rocky is an understatement. We finally reconciled a few years ago, but since my career took off in the interim, I’ve had little time to visit my childhood haunts.
A wide golf course stretches before me, the grass newly green. Red cinder “sand” traps provide a startling splash of color—they’re one of Copper Butte’s signature features. I suck in another breath—I hope I didn’t catch one of the traps in my video. A quick check reassures me. No identifying features behind me. I’d planned the location to be nondescript—a parking lot surrounded by pine trees—but one can never be too careful.
Bright sunlight glints off the massive mountains that dominate the scene, but the air is still cool, and I’m grateful for my hoodie and glasses. Birds chirp in the distance, and a brown horse trots across a field by the lake. There’s something about this place that soothes my soul.
Then a beige sedan skids to a halt beside me, and a small, bald man jumps out. Louis Boitano! How did the notorious paparazzo find me? “Nica! Nica Holmes! Look over here!” He pulls out a camera with a massive lens. I wonder what he’s compensating for.
I scramble over the split rail fence and sprint across the field, dodging horse pucky and mud patches. An appaloosa looks up when I stumble past and whickers a greeting.
“Sorry, no apples or sugar today!” I glance over my shoulder. Boitano hasn’t followed—with his short legs and large belly, he’d have a hard time keeping up. I veer right, aiming for the wedding chapel. Maybe I can have someone pick me up there.
Slowing my pace, I duck behind the building and stroll past the huge multi-story windows that face the golf course. This is where my father will marry wife number six this weekend. It’s also the site of weddings two and three. This place is not good luck for my dad’s marriages. Maybe the third time’s the charm?
As I round the corner of the building into the parking lot, I tap in a text to my half-sister, Madison.
Can you pick me up at the chapel?
Maddie
I’m getting my hair done. Where’s your car?
I didn’t rent a car.
Daddy has three in the garage. You should have taken one.
Nica (thumbs-up emoji)
She’s so helpful. I shove the phone into my pocket and look up. A big black SUV and a dusty green Subaru sit next to a white Smart Car in the mostly empty lot. I can walk back to the house, but Boitano is sniffing around, and the odds of him catching me along the route are high. I’m betting the Subaru belongs to a local—probably an employee of the Ranch. Maybe I can convince them to give me a lift home and keep quiet about it.
As I pull open the big, well-oiled glass doors, the beige car rolls into the parking lot.
Crap!
Hoping he didn’t see me, I dash into the lobby. Maybe I should just give up and brazen it out. There’s nowhere to hide, except maybe the restroom, and I wouldn’t put it past Boitano to barge right in. Male voices rumble from the chapel, but no female. Knowing my chances of going unrecognized are better with men, I pull the door wider and let it whomp closed behind me.
Two tall men stand at the front of the chapel. One holds a blue velvet box. The other is familiar—country singer Blake Stein. We’ve never met, but I’d have to live under a rock to not recognize the most popular country singer of the year. This is better than I’d hoped! Blake has been hounded by Boitano. He’ll be sympathetic to my predicament.
The other man shoves the blue box into Blake’s hand and stumbles toward me. “Nica Holmes?”
What are the odds I’d run into a guy who can identify me? I glance over my shoulder. I know, it’s a bit dramatic, since the door is closed, but drama is my middle name. I reach out a hand, like Princess Leia appealing to Obi Wan. “Will you hide me?”
