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get-together shouldn’t be too tough. Rylan wanted late-afternoon casual. She didn’t have to worry about ballrooms, bakers, caterers, decorations, photographers, entertainment. Or five hundred guests. Not even a self-centered bride and a drunken groom. Only the weather might give her pause since it was an outdoor event.
    She shouldn’t have a problem in southwest Florida, but Mother Nature could be fickle. Such unpredictability had arrived in a thunderstorm the previous summer. Her career as a party planner had died a slow, rainy death. She cringed, remembering everything that had happened so fast that June day in Potomac, Maryland, then moved beyond her control.
     
    One moment the sky was clear and bright blue. The next, the day darkened to a nightmare shade of black. The air cooled. People shivered. No one had time to run for cover.
    An unforgiving wind ripped across the waterfront lawn, tearing the romantic gauze drape from the outdoor reception tent. Lifting and sending it flying over the Potomac River. The strings of twinkling lights in the trees sparked and popped.
    Heavy rain followed, drowning the canapés on the buffet tables. Delicate puff pastries squished like sponges. The goat cheese became paste. It was not a pretty sight.
    Severe gusts pushed the bride and groom toppers on the wedding cake facedown in the buttercream fondant. The pink handmade sugar flowers dissolved. Crystal vases arranged with white and lavender roses tipped, spilled, the velvet petals torn from the stems.
    No one escaped the downpour. The society wedding ended with drenched guests standing in ankle-deep water. The ladies’ satin party dresses and Giuseppe Zanotti heels were ruined. The men’s formal jackets drooped at the shoulders. Neck ties shriveled. Their pants hung baggy at their butts.
    The bride blamed Beth for the bad weather as if she’d released the storm herself. Words were exchanged that could never be taken back. That was only the beginning. Accusations about the groom’s infidelity soon flew around. The bride was horrified and humiliated. Worse, the groom identified Beth as the other woman in the couple’s divorce.
    She shook her head, shaking away the painful memories of the hurtful words that still rang in her ears. Truth be told, she and the groom had once been involved . . . up until the time he’d betrayed her. The man had dumped her for the bride. He’d quickly come up with the maddening story about having an affair with Beth—which was a total lie. Yet no one had believed her. Everyone had turned against her. She’d been his scapegoat.
    He’d snuck around and sought her forgiveness six months into his marriage. She couldn’t believe his arrogance. She’d refused his advances.
    Fortunately, those days were behind her. She had a pair of maroon and brown checked socks in her suitcase with the positive lime green message When the Past Calls, Let it go to Voicemail. It has Nothing New to Say. She believed that to be true.
    She was fortunate that Barefoot William was a city of sunshine and moderate temperatures. She would keep an eye on the local forecast. She didn’t need any surprises.
    Returning to work, she proceeded to type a prep list for the picnic.
    She’d noticed a lawn maintenance service in Ry’s contacts and wondered if the backyard needed to be mowed before the gathering. She decided to take a look. Carefully pushing back her chair, she gently slipped Atlas’s paw off her knee and stepped around the two sleeping dachs. Rue peeked at her as Beth left the room. Only Atlas followed her out. She had to smile. As far as he was concerned, they were joined at the hip.
    The front doorbell chimed before she made it to the yard. Chimed and chimed. Someone was impatient. She went to see who was leaning on the bell. One ring would’ve been sufficient.
    Atlas beat her to the door and pressed his nose to the narrow glass pane.
    Beth peered around him. Two tall men stood outside on the porch, intimidating in