A Winter Wedding: A Five Senses Short (Five Senses series) Read online

  A Winter Wedding

  A Five Senses Short

  Gemma Brocato

  Contents

  Copyright: A Winter Wedding

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Also by Gemma Brocato

  Cooking Up Love

  Hearts In Harmony

  Exposed To Passion

  Bed Of Roses

  Tyranny

  Risking The Vine

  Newsletter Sign Up

  About the Author

  Stay In Touch

  Copyright: A Winter Wedding

  Copyright © Gemma Brocato, 2014

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the publisher

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Brocato, Gemma

  A Winter Wedding / Gemma Brocato

  1. Contemporary Romance — Fiction. 2. Holiday—Fiction. 3. Romance—Fiction

  Dedication

  For Jan

  Acknowledgments

  Without help from a lot of quarters, this book might never have happened. My family: my publicity-shy husband, whom I affectionately call Mr. Gemma and my two children, Erin and Andrew. You support me and cheer me on and remind me of the good that happens

  when you share a great love.

  My editor, Corinne DeMaagd, who spotted all the problems in the manuscript and help refine my words to achieve this work.

  My Sassy Sisters—Without your encouragement and assistance, I might not have taken this leap.

  A special thanks to my readers for joining me on Pippa and Clay’s journey. You make them magic.

  1

  Pippa Sanders paused inside the door to the grand salon and cast a skeptical glance around the cavernous room. She turned to address the wedding planner, Malin Eckert, who’d followed her into the room. “Tell me again, why am I planning a wedding in the largest ballroom at the most expensive resort in Granite Pointe?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Pip crossed the hardwood dance floor, her footsteps reverberating off Laurel Glen’s floor to ceiling windows. The acoustics were wrong for the size of the event they had planned. If they had invited two hundred guests it would have been perfect, but when she’d suggested a small, intimate affair, Clay’s relieved smile had been the only justification she’d needed to limit invitations to family, close friends, and a small number of co-workers. Their guest list topped off at fifty.

  Malin deposited the box she carried onto the white-draped table closest to her. She lifted from the container a vase filled with gorgeous red roses nestled in evergreen sprays. The smile on her face lit her eyes, pushing ice blue irises closer to turquoise as she set the flowers down. “We’re using the biggest ballroom in the area because you and Clay decided to get married two weeks before Christmas. This was the only venue not booked for a holiday party, Pippa.”

  “Oh. I guess that makes sense. It’s just so large. With the few guests we’ve invited, won’t it look…lonely?”

  “It could. But there are ways to create intimacy. Besides, I was lucky to reserve this venue.” Mal fussed with the greenery, then propped her hands on her hips. Eyeing the arrangement, she readjusted one sprig of holly and leaned back. “Normally, this place would be busy every night during the holidays. Renovations were supposed to be done by now, but there were issues with the contractor.”

  “That’s because they didn’t hire the right ones.” Pip’s brothers owned Kerrigan Construction and had unsuccessfully bid on the job.

  “Yeah, well, work is finally starting on the ballroom next week and they gave the serving staff time off. Although, who does that at Christmas? If it were me, I’d have waited another month. A lot of lost income there.” Malin tweaked the position of one of the roses in the vase. “The only reason I managed to book this room was because the resort manager owed me a favor. I had to twist his arm to get him to agree to pay his staff the day after the wedding to clear the space. Originally, all these lovely tables were scheduled to be moved to storage this week.”

  “I still don’t understand what needs fixing. It’s beautiful. Huge, but beautiful.” Gorgeous rosettes marched evenly across the coffered ceiling. Shimmering crystal chandeliers descended from ornate plaster medallions, casting a warm glow over pale champagne-colored walls.

  “The wiring is ancient and doesn’t adhere to acceptable building code. Work in the suites has stalled because the electricity isn’t reliable. They’re upgrading the whole shebang.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “I’m sure it is. They wouldn’t book us if it wasn’t.”

  Malin walked to the wide French doors overlooking the elaborate granite fountain that stood idle in the middle of the man-made pond. She pressed her nose to the glass. “Granted, the amount we’re paying to rent this space is a drop in the bucket on this particular budget overrun, but they’ll take whatever extra cash they can get.”

  Pippa snorted, the unladylike sound bouncing off the ceiling. “Jack’s mentioned on more than one occasion the contractor hired for this job is incompetent. He and Sam estimated the job fairly, but the owners went with the lowest bidder.”

  She joined her friend by the terrace doors. Desire to walk down the steps and investigate the fountain overrode her interest in discussing the details of her impending nuptials. Grasping the door handle, it turned, but the door didn’t budge. She exerted a little more pressure, but still no luck. “I hope there’s money in the budget to plane these doors so they’ll fit properly in the jamb. This one’s swollen shut.”

  Malin’s chin length blond hair swung against her cheeks as she turned, a grin lighting her pixie face. “I dated Barry, the manager. Apparently, the itemized list is long. He was unhappy with ownership’s choices of what got priority. Of course, electrical work had to top the list. When I called to ask about holding the wedding here, he chortled. That’s the only word I can use to describe it.”

  “I’ll be sure to…” Pippa paused. A familiar acrid odor teased her nostrils, and she lifted her nose in the air. “Do you smell smoke?”

  Malin sniffed, walked a few paces away from the door, and sniffed again. “I don’t think so.”

  Pippa shook her head. “I definitely smell something burning. I can’t tell if it is coming from inside or out.” She strode to the exit doors on the other side of the room and pushed one open. The smell was weaker in the hallway, and there wasn’t any telltale smoke. Must be outside. Shrugging, she let the heavy door swing shut, a puff of air fanning the short hair around her face.

  “We have a lot to review before you leave to pick up Mason and Mia. Can we get started?” Malin asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure.” Pippa joined her friend by the table.

  “We’ll only use one section of the room. That’s the intimacy thing I was talking about. The resort has shoji screens to line the back boundary once we decide where everything goes.” Malin gestured to the far wall. “I figured we’d use the east corner for the ceremony. With the setting sun at your backs your guests won’t be blinded.”

  Pippa grinned. “Little courtesies count.”
<
br />   “Musicians go over there on the north wall. Is Pointe of No Return still playing?”

  Pointe was a band Pippa occasionally jammed with when the regular lead singer couldn’t make a gig. For this special day, Pip would be in the audience, not behind the microphone. Although, she had a surprise planned for her guests. Instead of the traditional father-daughter dance, they’d be singing a duet. She wasn’t good at hiding secrets, so she ducked her head and toyed with the frayed corner of Malin’s cardboard box. “Yes. They’ve prepared a couple of special ballads.”

  Unbuttoning her heavy wool coat, Pip slid it off her shoulders and tossed it over a nearby chair. The air in the ballroom was frigid. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She hadn’t considered the possibility the heat might be off while they inspected the reception area.

  It didn’t help that Clay had shown up at the house at lunch. He’d capitalized on the twins being in school to play one of his favorite games: how fast he could trick her out of her clothes. Then he took his time. Once she’d surfaced from ecstasy and looked at the clock, she couldn’t find her sweater, and only had enough time to shimmy back into her jeans and long sleeved T-shirt.

  She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, a futile attempt to warm up. Pulling a chair out, she sank onto it.

  Malin rapped her knuckles on the table. “Pay attention now. We have a lot to cover. Let’s start with table decorations.” She gestured to the flowers she’d brought. “What do you think?”

  Pippa leaned forward and eyed the vase. “Not sure I like red flowers. I’d thought white flowers with red berries and greenery. Will that work?”

  “It’s your wedding, sweetie. Whatever you want will work. Carnations or roses?”

  “I saw a picture with roses I liked. They’d look nicer as boutonnieres for Clay and his groomsmen.” A little thrill squiggled through Pip’s heart when she recalled how her future husband had asked her son to stand next to him as best man. Mason’s chest had puffed up as he’d vigorously accepted the job.

  “Okay. Roses it is,” Malin said. “We’ll cut the evergreen and fir branches at Seeley’s farm the day before the wedding. Seeley offered to help. She’s getting around better now, isn’t she?”

  Pippa smiled. Clay’s mom had been working so hard to recover from a stroke. “She vowed she’d walk to her seat in the church without relying on her cane. She’s been making the twins dance with her, too. She really wants to dance the mother-son dance.”

  “She’s a tough old bird, isn’t—” Malin frowned. “You know, I think you’re right. It does smell like something is burning.”

  Casting a glance around the room, Pippa noticed tendrils of smoke curling out of a grate high on the wall. Cold shivers raced over her arms. She peered out the French doors, spying a dark column of smoke rising from the roof of the hotel, exceedingly close to the ballroom.

  “Mal, the hotel is on fire!” She leaped out of chair and charged across the room, banging open the door to the hall. Thick churning smoke, absent five minutes earlier, filled the corridor.

  She slammed the door shut to keep the smoke from entering the room. Sucking in a deep, calming breath to hold panic at bay was a bad idea. She coughed as she dragged sooty air into her lungs. Malin stood frozen, her eyes bugging out, a trembling hand pressed to her mouth.

  “Oh, my God. The hall is filled with smoke. Come on, we have to get out of here.” Pippa raced to the table. Urgently grasping her friend’s arm, she gave it a forceful shake.

  She tried to steer them toward the doors to the terrace. Malin dug her feet in, shaking off Pip’s hand. “The hall is the only way. The outside doors are sealed shut.”

  “Crap! I forgot.” Ominous gray smoke boiled in the air. Pippa coughed again. Terror clenched vise-like around her heart when flames licked the ceiling above the air vent. Turning in a small circle, she searched for another way out. A dimly lit Exit sign sat atop swinging doors on one wall. “There! The kitchen. Can we get out that way?”

  “Yes, come on.” Malin grabbed her hand and tugged, trying to move toward the exit.

  Pip had taken one step after her friend when she heard an ominous pop. An instant later water rained down, drenching her in gallons of cold, rank sprinkler system fluid.

  “Son of a B!” she hollered, vile water flooding her mouth.

  Malin stared at her, hysterical laughter bubbling from her like oil from the ground. “Really? You can’t swear? Even now?”

  Pippa wiped water off her face, sputtering and shaking her head. “Mal, do you really want to debate this now?”

  The deluge continued as she and Malin slogged across the sodden carpet. The second Pippa’s leather boot made contact with the slick hardwood dance floor her world careened. Her ankle folded over with a sickening pop. Sharp, wicked pain lanced up her leg. Tears mixed with sprinkler water on Pip’s cheeks as she danced on the other leg, hopping to keep her foot from striking the floor. “Mal, wait!”

  Malin wrapped a fist around Pip’s upper arm, saving her from tumbling all the way to the floor. “God, Pippa. Are you okay?”

  “I think I’ve sprained my ankle.” Each attempt to put weight on it resulted in fiery agony. Regaining her footing was nearly impossible between the angry stabbing in her leg and the slippery parquet floor. “I can’t do it. You have to go find help.”

  “Oh, hell no! I’m not leaving you here. Clay will kill me if anything happens to you.” Malin coughed and pulled Pippa’s arm over her shoulder, wrapping her own around Pippa’s waist. They hop-skipped as quickly as possible to the door, slipping as they made their way. Grease on the floor would have been less perilous.

  Between the exertions of trying to make it across the room on her injured ankle and breathing in the growing smoke, Pip struggled to pull oxygen into her lungs. Malin wheezed in time with her. God, the fire had escalated so fast. Thank heavens for the sprinklers, even though they were soaked.

  The second they pushed through the kitchen door, Malin drew up short, her breath harsh in Pippa’s ear. “Oh, damn.”

  Pip shuddered at the terror in Malin’s voice. “What?”

  She pointed to the opposite side of the room. “The exit is chained. And padlocked.”

  Sure enough, a large combination lock and heavy chain snaking between the handles taunted them, barring their escape. Safety, visible through the crosshatched wire glass in the door, remained unobtainable. They were trapped, like the people in that Rhode Island nightclub fire so many years ago.

  Frightening thoughts of not being around to see her children grow, or Clay’s smile while he waited for her at the end of the aisle, flashed through her mind. She slammed the door harshly on those worries. “Okay, go back. Go back! We’re going to have to break a terrace window.”

  Turning awkwardly, they stumbled through the swinging door. The sharp heel of Malin’s shoe connected with Pip’s ankle. Stars burst to life, dimming her vision. She couldn’t hold back her scream.

  “Sorry, Pip. I’m so sorry.”

  “Keep going. Clay calls me spitfire for a reason. I am not going to die today.” Her hand slipped off Malin’s shoulder. She adjusted, wrapping her arm tighter around the woman’s neck. Clenching her teeth against the pain, she put extra weight on her leg, limping along toward the door.

  Malin left Pip breathing hard and leaning on a table. She scurried to the large decorative glass door leading to freedom. Pulling the handle, she leaned backward and jerked hard. “It’s no use.”

  Pippa’s cough had become more of a bark. They had to get out of here. She pushed a chair toward her friend. “You’ll have to break it. Pick up the chair and heave it through the door.”

  “Good idea.” The metal legs of the chair splashed along the wet carpet as Malin dragged it over. She huffed in a huge breath before lifting it over her head. She set it back down as a hacking cough overcame her. She pounded her chest and spat, then picked up the chair again. It wobbled precariously over the woman’s head. This time, holding her breath, she hurled
it toward the doors. It landed a foot away from the target without touching it.

  “Oh, God. You throw like a girl, Mal.” She was going to have to do it herself. Pippa limped over, wincing with each painful step. “Out of the way. I’ll show you how this is done.”

  Using the chair as a crutch, she scooted closer to the door. Taking a deep breath, she coughed again. She widened her stance, spreading her weight as best she could while favoring the right one, and picked up the chair.

  Holding it like a baseball bat, she leaned in, as if waiting on a pitch. It was awkward, because she was leaning on her left foot, where normally her right one would take most of the weight. Hopefully, she’d have more torque with the unusual stance, creating more force as she whipped toward the window. She tightened her grip on the back of the chair, scrunched her eyes, and swung for the fence.

  The chair shuddered in her grip when she connected with the door, the sound of shattering glass music to her ears. Pain seared through her ankle. A jagged shard defied the laws of momentum and shot backward, stinging when it penetrated the skin of her neck.

  She dropped the chair and clapped a hand to her throat, pulling it away with blood on her fingertips. Malin rushed to her side, then used the heel of her boot to clear the remaining pieces clinging to the frame. Pip put her arm around Malin’s neck as her friend grasped her around the waist, urging her toward the opening.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. Fresh cold air slapped her in the face. Pippa sucked in a lungful, then turned to Malin. “Time to go.”

  2

  Clay hated chaos. Always had. But today, the disorganized jumble around him pushed him over the edge of panic. Pippa was somewhere in the mess of emergency vehicles and water hoses. He sprinted around fire engines and police cruisers searching for her, dodging anyone who stepped into his path. When Mom had stumbled into the barn twenty minutes ago, he’d worried she’d been injured, or worse. She’d been breathless by the time she reached him to deliver the message.