Cottonwood Baptist Church had never felt so crowded. Every pew overflowed with guests shoulder to shoulder in a sea of bobbing hats, gleaming pearls, and enough perfume to make a person lightheaded. The congregation had arrived early, dressed in their Sunday best, and settled in as if anticipating a Broadway show instead of a wedding.
Vivian Lowry—Mama—sat ramrod straight in the front pew, her pink skirt suit and matching pillbox hat radiating pride that could have powered the church lights. I’d never seen her smile so wide when someone wasn’t handing her a compliment, money, or a trophy.
Everyone else’s eyes were on me.
Ruby Smith sat prim and proper, sporting a statement necklace and bright-orange lipstick. Viola White peered through oversized glasses, constantly pushing them up her nose. Ben Harrison tugged at the collar on a suit he clearly despised. Betty Murphy leaned close, whispering to anyone who would listen. Lulu McClain fanned herself with a monogrammed program as if the building had lost all circulation.
And then there was Finn.
He stood across from me, steady and handsome in a dark suit that seemed to fit him with patience and intention. His hair was neatly combed back, and his big brown eyes were calm and warm, fixed on me as if nothing else in the room mattered. That man made me feel safe in ways no badge ever could.
Preacher Bing stood between us, tall and solemn, every inch of his six-foot-four frame rooted in place. His coal-black hair was plastered neatly to his forehead, and the deep creases there were softened only by the lift of his thick brows. His brown suit hung stiffly on his lean frame, and his thick-soled preacher shoes were planted as if he were part of the foundation itself.
He’d always intimidated me. As a child, one look at those brows dipping into a perfect V could send me halfway down the repentance aisle before I even knew what sin I’d committed.
But today, he surprised me. His voice—usually booming enough to rattle stained glass—was warm and steady as he spoke.
“Do you, Finnley Vincent,” he asked, “take Kendrick Lowry to be your wife?”
Finn never looked away from me.
“I do take Kendrick Lowry to be my wife,” he said, his voice carrying so much certainty it stole my breath.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
My turn.
I’d practiced saying “I do” everywhere—in my bedroom mirror, in the Jeep’s rearview mirror, even at Ben’s Diner, when I caught my reflection in the shiny metal door on the way in for lunch. But now the words stuck, lodged tight in my throat.
Preacher Bing waited patiently, hands folded, a small, almost tender smile tugging at his mouth. That unexpected softness made my chest ache.
“Kenni?” he prompted gently.
Finn squeezed my hand, his brows lowering with quiet concern. Bless him—he thought I was hesitating because of him.
I hadn’t wavered for a second about marrying Finn.
My hesitation came from a different place—searching for someone who shouldn’t have been there. Someone who’d walked with me through every dark moment. Someone who’d kept me steady long before Finn ever proposed.
My Poppa.
My ghost deputy.
The man who, after death, had shown up in his brown sheriff’s uniform, his comb-over perfectly in place, and helped me solve murders no one else even knew about—not even Finn.
Years ago, Poppa had told me he would disappear once I found the person I was meant to marry, explaining that protecting me wouldn’t be his job anymore.
And as happy as this day was supposed to be, losing him all over again was a deep ache. Still, I’d hoped—just a little—that he might show up.
I searched the sanctuary, scanning familiar faces and peering down the pews, even glancing toward the old stained-glass window where he liked to linger whenever he visited the church.
Nothing.
Just smiling townsfolk, waiting.
But no Poppa.
“Kenni,” Preacher Bing repeated, leaning forward slightly. “Are you ready to answer?”
I swallowed hard and lifted my gaze to Finn. “Yes,” I said. “I—”
A cold rush of air cut between us. Not from a vent. Not from a door opening.
And then—
Poppa appeared. Right there between Finn and me.
Solid as any living man, dressed in his old sheriff’s uniform, his comb-over swept just right, his belt buckle gleaming. He wore that familiar grin—the one that meant he was about to stir something up and couldn’t wait for me to notice.
But only I could see him.
Finn didn’t react.
Poppa squared his shoulders, puffed up with pride, and shouted loud enough to carry through the sanctuary. “We do!”
My mouth fell open.
Preacher Bing blinked and adjusted his glasses, clearly thinking the words had come from me. Mama gasped so loudly it echoed. Someone in the back whispered, “Lord have mercy.”
Poppa winked, his grin softening. “Wasn’t about to miss your big day, Kenni Bug.”
My knees buckled. The room tilted.
Finn reached for me.
Mama stood.
Ruby yelled for water.
Preacher Bing moved faster than I thought a man his size could.
But none of them reached me in time.
The last thing I saw was Poppa smiling like everything was exactly as it should be.
Then the floor rushed up. And everything went black.
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