Tiffany moved beyond the small fence meant to keep the dog from digging up their efforts.

When Zoe turned, Felix and Luke stood beside her, and a cameraman had the lens focused on her, recording.

She looked at both of them like they were crazy. “What are you doing? That dressing needs to get into the kitchen for Tiffany to fix.” It was her turn to snap her fingers. “Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

Jo noticed the moment Zoe pulled away, with Luke and Felix standing over her.

Jo stood to the side, watching over Mel as she and her brand-new husband posed for pictures that would someday make their way over a mantel.

Wyatt lifted Hope into his arms and made sure there were plenty of family pictures of the three of them.

A moment of nostalgia hit her, watching the photographer snap that shot.

Her father had kept a cherished photo of the three of them on his desk. Jo’s mom, before she’d died, her dad, and Jo at an age not too far from Hope’s.

They’d smiled for the camera . . . a moment frozen in time.

Only someone took that away. Twice.

Jo had to look away, and when she did, she felt eyes on her.

Her senses heightened, and the weight of the gun strapped just above her knee reminded her she wasn’t defenseless.

Guests filled the lawn from every corner.

Many were looking at her. Probably because she had a shit-ton of makeup on and a dress that defined her as a woman and not a cop.

She stretched her neck.

She liked the cop on the inside.

The girlie girl all dressed up . . . not so much.

After a successful dinner, the dishes were cleared, and Zoe could finally breathe.

Dessert consisted of piles of tiny delicacies, appreciated by everyone.

The cake was the only culinary taste not created by Zoe and her staff. The pastry chef in charge, however, made a point to deliver the cake herself. When she did, she asked Zoe’s opinion and floated with her praise.

Zoe posed for a picture with the woman and couldn’t help feeling a little self-pride.

Mel had opted for a DJ. Fog had a tendency to sock in as the day wore on, which would muffle live music and annoy those trying to enjoy the wedding party.

Day slowly turned into night.

Lights that belonged in the local Christmas tree lot in December lit up the space between the inn and the tent.

Inside the tent, there were table centerpieces with candles, lights propped up on the sides, and several massive glowing balls in the center.

For most of the night and pictures, Jo had been paired up with Luke, since he was taking the best man position.

Zoe stood beside Mark, Mel’s brother, and smiled.

Yet when Mel and Wyatt had their first dance, and Wyatt showed his father had taught him how to move, it was time for the wedding party to join them.

Zoe glanced toward Mark, who was already grabbing Jo’s hand.

She laughed and made her way into Luke’s arms. “You planned that,” she whispered.

“I’m tired of seeing another man holding what’s mine.”

Zoe stopped midstride to the dance floor. “What’s yours?”

He hesitated, tugged her close. “You have a problem with that?”

With someone other than Luke . . . maybe.

She bit her bottom lip and snuggled closer.

People were watching but she didn’t care.

She placed her head on Luke’s shoulder and let him lead her through a song she was fairly certain played at their high school prom.

The music shifted and someone tapped Luke’s shoulder.

Tickled, Zoe let Mr. M lead her in a dance.

“You did a great job.”

“You liked the food?” she asked.

He patted his stomach. “A little of Audrey’s, too, I’m afraid.”

The excitement of that simple feat wasn’t something Zoe could completely describe.

Making things right . . . making people happy was something she’d been born to do. It took leaving River Bend to realize she could and returning to River Bend to make it count.

Mr. M had some serious moves . . . he spun her when others were just swaying to the music.

She laughed and kept up, and when the music softened, Mr. M leaned in close enough so only she could hear. “You’re like a daughter to me, Zoe . . . it makes my heart full to see you happy.”

Instead of letting the tears that suddenly filled her eyes fall, she rested her head on his chest and let him lead her in a slow dance. When he pulled away, she kissed his cheek.

He walked away, and her eyes gravitated to Luke.

With a sigh, she opened her arms and willed him to fill them.

He slipped out of the house.

Zane had finally left. The kid wasn’t acting right. A little too quiet, a little too watchful.

Not right.

Zanya managed to quiet her kid and Sheryl pretended to sleep.

So Ziggy slid out.

He didn’t dare drive a car . . . there was more than one person with a badge in this town, and he’d bet money that Deputy Emery sat close by with an eye on his trailer door.

But he knew the back way to the inn.

If only to watch the players and see who still lived in town.

The property surrounding the bed-and-breakfast was dark compared to the light coming from the reception in full swing.

It was late for a small town that normally rolled up its welcome mats by nine o’clock. Yet there didn’t seem to be many spaces along the road where people had pulled out to return home.

Keeping out of sight, Ziggy picked out the major players quickly. It helped that the only people formally dressed were the wedding party.