Free The Wedding Gift by Sandra Steffen Page B

weatherman had been right. It was going to be a sunny day.
    She fell to her knees, and the tears that had been welling ran down her face. They burned her eyes, caught in her mouth, and gathered at her jaw before dropping onto the wet sand.
    She wrapped her arms around herself. Rocking back and forth, she let it out, every futile wish, everything it did no good to say.
    She cried for Aaron and for all their plans, for the wedding that never occurred and the babies that would never be born. He’d never met her mom and dad. It seemed impossible, but their paths never crossed on this earth. She wanted things to be different. She wanted Aaron to be here, and she wanted her parents to know him. She wanted so badly to say, “Mama, it isn’t fair.”
    It wasn’t fair.
    None of it was fair.
    Every so often somebody back home reminisced about how excited her mom and dad had been when the doctor had said, “It’s a girl!” After having three boys, they’d imagined sugar and spice and everything nice. Instead their little darling had been a complete tomboy with pigtails, skinned knees and thin excuses. If it had branches Madeline climbed it, if it had a tail she rode it, and if it was forbidden, she wanted it.
    Her hand went to her mouth.
    She hadn’t thought about her early years in a long time. She remembered the day she’d stopped climbing trees, the day she chose an orderly life over mischief. It was after her parents’ icy pile-up on the freeway that fated February day when she was twelve years old. Marsh had moved back home and he and Reed took over the orchard and raising her and Noah. About that time Aaron took the vacant desk next to hers in homeroom in the seventh grade. What began as a friendship in the fifth grade instantly bloomed into a budding first love.
    She cried harder than ever, raw, wrenching sobs that hurt her throat and her ribs and stomach. She didn’t want her relationship with Aaron to have been the result of her need for something solid. He’d been the love of her life, the other half of her whole. He had.
    Yes, he had.
    She felt the warm body at her side before she saw him. Although the dog made no sound, she wasn’t afraid. He gave her time to adjust to his presence then sidled closer.
    â€œDid Riley let you out?” she asked on a whimper.
    Smelling of dog shampoo and lake water, he let her put her arms around him, offering his warmth, asking for nothing. As she laid her cheek on the thick fur on his back, she caught a glimpse of Riley retreating from view. He’d done more than let the dog out. He’d sent him to her.
    Another tear fell. It hurt, kindness.
    â€œIf he’s so wise,” she said to the dog, “why won’t he give you a name?”
    Why did it matter so much to her?
    Because. He was alive. And she wanted him to be glad he was. She wanted him to embrace his life and his home and his dog.
    She sniffled and sighed. “I need a tissue. And you deserve a treat.”
    She kissed the dog on the top of his head. Breathing a little better, she stood. It took a few moments to keep her knees from wobbling. Depleted and spent, she slowly walked inside her cottage.
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    Riley was at the door when the dog scratched an hour later. He let him in, disappointed to find him alone.
    Damn.
    He’d dealt with females’ tears all his life. The women in his family cried easily, lustily and often. Madeline’s tears had nearly undone him. He’d wanted to go to her, and had reached the place where the properties joined when he’d questioned his right to intrude on something so personal and private. He didn’t want to leave her alone, either. In the end, he’d sent the dog, instead.
    Evidently she’d appreciated the dog’s company. If Riley wasn’t mistaken, there were cookie crumbs in the fur around the old boy’s muzzle. Riley was more interested in the envelope tucked under the dog’s