The Wedding Gift (4 page)

Riley wasn't back here, either.

Disappointed, she turned and slowly retraced her footsteps. She reached the flagstone path only to stop abruptly.

Riley and a large brown dog were running toward her. Wearing a black T-shirt and loose athletic pants, he stopped twenty feet away and unhooked the dog's leash. While the dog raced to the water's edge to scatter the squawking seagulls, Riley let his hands settle on his hips in a stance she was coming to recognize.

“I rang your doorbell,” she said quickly. “And I tried knocking. I wanted to return your jacket before I go.”

Breathing heavily but not excessively, he wiped his face with the front of his shirt, giving her a glimpse of a washboard stomach before he said, “The desk clerk said you'd already gone.”

“You went to my room?” she asked. “Why?”

“It's a cardinal rule. A guy gets a girl drunk, he buys her breakfast.”

She felt a smile coming on and wondered how he did that. “You didn't get me drunk.”

“Then I'll
fix
you breakfast instead.”

“Do you cook?” she asked.

“That depends. Are you accepting?”

She handed him his jacket and saw no reason not to follow in the direction he was indicating, up the porch steps and through his back door. The dog came
in, too, and immediately started drinking from a bowl on the floor.

Madeline looked around the kitchen. With the exception of the stainless steel coffeemaker, the appliances looked as if they'd been new in the sixties. The house seemed even larger from the inside, and had beamed ceilings and hardwood floors and wide arch-ways.

“It's called prairie style,” Riley said from a few steps behind her. “It's an original Frank Lloyd Wright house. His open-concept design was way ahead of its time.”

She walked as far as the first archway and what appeared to be the living room. She saw richly stained wood, well-crafted built-ins, mullioned windows and a good deal of furniture covered with sheets. “When did you move in?”

“A year and a half ago.”

She turned around slowly. The fact that he chose that moment to take a frying pan from a low cabinet and a carton of eggs from the refrigerator might have been a coincidence. But she doubted it.

On the verge of understanding something meaningful about him, she said, “Before or after your heart transplant?”

“Moving into this house was the first constructive thing I did after I left the hospital. I use the kitchen,
one bedroom and bathroom. I haven't gotten around to doing much with the rest.”

She stored the information, because surely there was something prosaic about the time frame. Watching him crack eggs into a bowl, she said, “Where did you learn to cook?”

“I scramble eggs and sear meat on a charcoal grill. Neither constitutes cooking.”

She smiled again, wondered again how he did that.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I'll get the orange juice.”

The moment she was seated, the dog padded over to be properly petted. His coat was brown but there was gray in his muzzle. Someone had done a poor job of lopping his tail. He wagged it anyway. She found she liked that about him. “What's your dog's name?”

“He isn't my dog.”

Rubbing the creature's big knobby head, she said, “Whose dog is he?”

Riley leaned against the countertop behind him. Drying his hands on several paper towels, he watched her pet the dog. The old boy was in seventh heaven. “I have no idea. He scratched on my door three weeks ago, desperate and shivering. His fur was falling out and his ribs were practically poking through his skin.”

“You fed him.”

Three little words had no business making him feel like some damn hero. Madeline had that effect on him. She was like an elixir for an ailment he couldn't name, and brought out every sexual impulse he had.

She'd fastened her hair high on her head with a silver clip, the ends sticking out in every direction. Wearing a plain white T-shirt and weekend jeans, she couldn't have looked more wholesome if she'd tried. He'd been craving wholesome all morning.

He'd never considered himself the caveman type, but he found himself wondering if the human race might have become a little too civilized. Survival would have been difficult for Neanderthal man, but at least his approach to sex would have been straightforward, requiring only a club and a loincloth.

Seducing modern woman called for a little more finesse.

Riley was warming to the idea of a good challenge. He turned around long enough to drop some butter and the eggs into the frying pan and pour their orange juice, then crossed the room, a glass in each hand.

Madeline smiled a quick thank-you and took a sip of her juice before looking down again where his coffee mug still sat half-full and stone-cold. Tracing one of the scorch marks marring the old hickory surface, she said, “You must wait out a lot of nights here.”

She was extremely astute. The truth was, he spent more nights than he cared to think about sitting at this table, quietly draining a pot of steaming coffee one cup at a time as he waited for the stubborn sun to inch into view.

“Nightmares?” she asked.

There was no sense denying it, even though the blasted nightmare hadn't been to blame last night. He'd awakened before 4:00 a.m., the sheet tangled around his waist, his pillow no substitute for the wholesome blonde who'd seemed so wonderfully real until he'd opened his eyes.

He set his juice on the table. Resting lightly on both hands, he leaned closer. Her pupils were dilated in the shadowy room, so that only a narrow ring of blue surrounded them. If she was wearing makeup, it was subtle. Her cheeks looked dewy, her lips pink and so kissable. Before the morning was over, he was going to sample them.

Either she didn't feel the current stretching taut between them, or she refused to acknowledge it. She told him about her parents' deaths when she was twelve, about her older brothers and the family business in a town called Orchard Hill. She didn't broach the subject of her late fiancé, Aaron somebody-or-other.

So Riley did.

“How did he die?” he asked, still leaning on his hands, still thinking about kissing her.

“A motorcycle accident. I'd just started my shift at the hospital when I got the call. A witness said a frazzled young mother late for work crossed the center line. She and her little girl died in the accident. Aaron died twelve hours later.”

“Sonofabitch,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “How do you do that?” she asked. “How do you make me feel as if you understand me? You don't even know me.”

“I know everything I need to know about you.”

He had her full attention.

“Do you now,” she said.

When her gaze dropped to his mouth, he knew she felt the current, too. “I know you carry a stethoscope in your shoulder bag. I know you were engaged in the fifth grade. You get drunk on three margaritas. And you make a habit of trespassing.”

With a small smile, she said, “I was tipsy, not drunk. And I knew I was going to marry Aaron in the fifth grade, but we didn't actually become engaged until years later.”

“How long has he been gone?”

She swallowed. “It was a year ago last October.”

“Are you seeing anyone now?”

“Of course not.”

He didn't bat an eye. The guy had been her first love, probably her only love. Riley wasn't looking to replace a dead man and she wasn't ready to fall in love again. She needed what the talk-show shrinks called a transitional relationship. Since Riley only wanted her in his bed, the sooner the better, this had all the makings of a perfect arrangement.

“Riley?”

“Hmm?” It wasn't easy to drag his gaze away from her mouth.

“Do you smell something?” she asked.

He sniffed.

Just then the smoke alarm shrieked. He raced to the stove as the first flames shot out of the frying pan. He smothered the fire with the lid but there was nothing he could do about the black smoke that escaped in belching clouds. He opened the window and the door then fanned the smoke alarm with a used pizza box.

Creeping closer with the trepidation of a month-old kitten, Madeline peered with him at the charred remains of their omelets. “Does it look done to you?” he asked.

She burst out laughing. Riley couldn't help himself. He threw back his head and joined in.

He roared, she chortled. It had been a long time since either of them had laughed like this, and they
wound up holding on to their stomachs, eyes watering, chests heaving, laughing so hard they hurt.

The smoke alarm stopped wailing before their guffaws quieted. In the ensuing silence, he said, “How does cold cereal sound to you?”

It started them both laughing all over again.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping tears.

“For what?” he asked.

“I don't know yet.” She returned to the table and took another sip of her orange juice. Tracing another scorch mark on the table top with one finger, she said, “This nightmare of yours. Did it start after your heart transplant, too?”

He didn't want to talk about his surgery.

Obviously interpreting his silence accurately, she said, “You might as well just tell me because now I won't be able to stop needling until I know.”

Releasing a pent-up breath of frustration, he said, “In the dream, I'm staggering blindly inside a derelict building that seems to go on and on. I have one hand over the gaping hole in my empty chest. With the other hand I'm groping the wall, searching room after room.”

Madeline felt her mouth go dry and the blood drain out of her face. “What are you looking for?” she whispered.

A full five seconds passed before he said, “My old heart.”

She was in dangerous territory and had been since the conversation began. She knew she wasn't going to like his answer, but, choosing her words carefully, she asked anyway. “Why, Riley? You have a brand-new heart.”

He stood a dozen feet away, feet planted, eyes narrowed. She could see a vein pulsing in his neck. And even though he lowered his voice, she heard him say, “Because I liked the old one better.”

She didn't pretend to understand the reason bad things happened. Half the time the phases of the moon and the unwritten laws of the universe left her blank and shaken. And yet she knew to her very soul that every choice, every situation, every life had a purpose.

Since Aaron's death, she'd been wondering what her purpose was. Maybe there was a good reason Riley's mother thought he needed a nurse. Maybe he needed to take ownership of his dog, of his house and of his new heart.

Maybe Madeline could help with that.

The thought took hold as she looked at the dog waiting for a name, at the furniture waiting to be unveiled and at Riley waiting for her to say something. Although she had no idea how she was going to accomplish any of this, one thing was certain. Her melancholy mood had completed lifted.

T
he more Madeline saw of Riley's house, the more she thought it suited him. Both were classic in design and revealed only a little at a time.

Dust particles floated weightlessly through the air in his living room, catching like faerie dust on the sunbeams slanting through the windows across the room. Madeline didn't need magic to imagine what the room would look like when the sheets were removed and the furniture unveiled.

She and Riley had eaten breakfast standing at the counter in his kitchen, ankles crossed, a bowl of cereal with milk and strawberries in one hand, spoon
in the other. Dining this way had become a common practice for her these past eighteen months. Tables were for families. And couples.

They'd talked about the weather and the Detroit Red Wings and a movie star who was in the news again, but she hadn't broached the subject of spending the remainder of her vacation in Gale. And she
wanted
to stay. The realization set off a mild thrum she thought might be gladness.

Already she was formulating a plan.

Riley may not have named his dog, but he treated him well, with a kind word, plenty of food and a soft green pillow next to the stove. In return, the dog adored him. He followed him everywhere and listened with rapt attention as if he understood every word Riley said. Encouraging him to choose a name would be fun. It wouldn't be difficult to remove the remaining dust sheets and rearrange his furniture, either. Riley's recurring dream was Madeline's biggest concern. She wasn't a trained counselor, but she was a good listener. Perhaps talking about it at greater length would help.

When they'd first met at the construction site yesterday he'd assumed she'd been hired by his mother. Madeline couldn't blame him for jumping to conclusions. After all, she
had
wandered onto private property, and apparently Riley's mother often meddled.
Aaron's mom had been the same way. Since her son's death, the lines beside Connie Andrews's mouth had deepened and her eyes had dulled.

Mothers had good reason to worry.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Madeline tried to pick up the vein of conversation. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You're the middle brother. Braden races boats and is three years younger and Kyle, a journalist, is four years older.”

Riley was taking her on a leisurely tour of his house. She wasn't surprised he'd pointed out the more prominent features of the home's horizontal form, the use of wood and stone and symmetry, but she found she was enjoying his anecdotal accounts even more.

“Kyle, Braden and I weren't raised together, per se, but we stuck together out of self-defense,” he said as they passed a period bathroom where she saw several pill bottles next to the sink. “Until Kipp came to live with my mother and me when I was fourteen, Kyle, Braden and I were the only males in three households of women. Other than one son apiece and a weakness for our father, the only things our mothers had in common was a mutual love for us, a passion for shopping and small, high-strung dogs. When Braden was ten, one of my mother's Pekingeses latched on to the seat of his pants and wouldn't let go. They had to sedate him.”

“Braden?”

“The dog. If you should ever meet my younger brother, don't let him show you his scar.”

“Trust me, I can handle gory,” she said. “His scar is bad?”

“It's barely visible.”

He'd done it again, made her laugh out loud. Their easy camaraderie made her wonder what she was waiting for. “I was thinking,” she said. “Since there's no place I have to be until next weekend, I'd like to—”

He turned around slowly, a marvelous shifting of long limbs and masculine ease, and met her smile with an expression that made her aware that they were now in his bedroom. Her heart beat a little faster and her mind went completely blank. She didn't seem to know where to look. Speaking coherently was out of the question. Evidently so was thinking.

Riley could see that Madeline was flustered. Much of what she felt showed on her face. A few minutes ago her blue eyes had darkened with something that had damn little to do with crown molding and original hardwood floors. If he were to harbor a guess, he'd say it was ghosts from the past. What she was feeling now was between the two of them. Something was happening here. There was curiosity, and if he wasn't mistaken, a mutual attraction.

And he was rarely mistaken about that.

As he'd shown her through his house, he'd begun to see it through her eyes.
What are you waiting for?
the untouched rooms seemed to whisper.

The answer eluded him even now.

Before moving in, he'd had the fourth bedroom converted into a master bathroom with heated floors, a steam shower and a bathtub for two. The king-size bed in the adjoining bedroom had down pillows and the most luxuriant cotton sheets money could buy. And yet he'd done very little entertaining here. Other than the few times Kipp had dragged him to a club, Riley had practically been a saint since his surgery.

He watched Madeline open a book he'd been reading. Her lashes looked dark against her pale skin. There was a slight indentation in her chin he hadn't noticed before. He could see the narrow ridge of her collarbone through her white shirt, and a little lower, the edges of her lacy bra. Anticipation stirred in his blood.

His sainthood was on its last leg.

Her gaze found his as he crossed the room. For a moment it was as if she wanted to climb right inside. It was heady, a little like making love without touching.

He wasn't mistaking the mutual attraction.

“You were saying there's no place you have to be
until next weekend,” he said, his voice sounding husky in his own ears.

“Yes.”

“And?” he asked.

“And I was thinking I'd like to stay here.”

The jut of desire settled low and heavy, the temptation to tip her face up for a long, deep kiss growing stronger by the second.

“Not
here
here,” she added quickly. “Here in Gale.”

He preferred the first here, but here in Gale wasn't a bad second option. “I'd like that.”

Madeline didn't know what was wrong with her. There was a humming in her ears and she was acting like an imbecile. She stepped away from him, testing her shaky legs to make certain they would hold her.

He assumed the stance she was coming to recognize, feet apart, hands on his hips, an effortless shifting of muscles and ease that did nothing to restore her equilibrium. “I should be going. Since I'm officially on vacation, I'd like to look for a cute little place to rent, maybe a cottage or a cabin near the water.”

“Madeline?” He spoke at the same time his phone rang on the leather-topped desk across the room.

“Take your call,” she said. “I'll let myself out.”

“Wait.” He went to the desk, but instead of an
swering the phone, he scribbled something on a notepad. “Kipp owns several rentals. He'd probably give you a good deal this early in the season. Here's his cell number. Here's mine, too.” He tore the top sheet off and handed it to her. “Call me when you're settled in.”

She backed up three steps and managed to leave the room without walking into the wall. She found her way to the kitchen with its marred table and the faint scent of burnt eggs and the quiet echo of shared laughter. She retrieved her shoulder bag from the back of the chair and made a beeline for the door and some much-needed brisk April air.

 

Ruby was just getting back from her last service call of the morning when Madeline pulled into the parking lot in front of Red's Garage.

“I thought you'd be halfway back to Orchard Hill by now,” Ruby said, jumping down from the truck's cab.

“I changed my mind.” Madeline got out, too, and closed her car door. “I've decided to stay until the end of the week and I was hoping you'd help me look for a place. To rent. If you're not too busy, I mean. I'll understand if you can't. I can always stay at the Gale Motel. Maybe I'll just go there now.”

“Would you breathe?” Ruby whisked her ball cap
from her head and let her curls loose. “I'd love to look at rentals with you.”

Madeline relaxed for the first time since setting foot in Riley's bedroom an hour ago. After leaving his house, she'd driven through the quiet streets of Gale, past impressive houses and churches and schools empty on this Saturday afternoon. She drove past Sully's Pub at the end of Main Street and the other businesses that made up the downtown district.

The note bearing Riley's and Kipp Dawson's phone numbers was still in her purse. And it was going to stay there.

She was in mourning—it sounded old-fashioned, but it was true. She doubted she would ever get over losing Aaron, but apparently she wasn't as numb as she'd thought she was. Her heart had sped up beneath Riley's gaze. For just a moment she'd felt—
gulp
—attracted to him. She'd panicked. Her stomach still did a somersault when she thought about it.

Driving aimlessly had helped put her reaction in perspective. She was human. And humans felt. Emotions, reactions, responses, things they were better off not feeling. It didn't have to mean anything. She liked Riley, and she wanted him to be happy. She wanted everyone to be happy. She couldn't be completely honest with him about her reasons for coming to Gale. She also couldn't sit idly by while he got
the wrong idea about her intentions. She'd decided the best way to keep a respectable distance was to find her own place to stay this week.

According to Ruby, there were dozens of cabins and cottages available so early in the season. Together they'd consulted the classifieds in the newspaper and online. They made several phone calls and compiled a list right there in the garage. Ruby's enthusiasm was a balm. Madeline was doing the right thing. Coming to Gale, finding Riley, deciding to spend the week here so she could help him in some small way, it all felt right again, like the marvelous discovery of something as essential to life as air and water.

Two hours and five appointments to look at rentals later, she was wondering if she should have done this alone. Not because Ruby talked a mile a minute—Madeline enjoyed that, but because “You can do better than that,” seemed to be Ruby's mantra.

Personally, Madeline would have been satisfied to rent the second-floor efficiency over Red's Garage or the attic in the house near the dunes, but Ruby had other ideas. “You haven't had a vacation in forever,” she said. “No
it'll do
rental for you.”

So far they'd checked five “it'll do” rentals off the list. Now Madeline was driving again and Ruby was directing her to turn right and left and left again.

“What do you think?” Ruby asked.

Madeline had followed Ruby's directions through narrow lanes and back alleys. They'd taken shortcuts that crisscrossed the hills near Lake Michigan until Madeline had no idea where she was. “I think I'm thoroughly lost.”

“Look.” Ruby pointed straight ahead.

A quaint little cottage sat at the end of a narrow lane that served as the driveway. The lot was small and lined on three sides by pine trees and arborvitae hedges. The lake glistened gray-blue in the distance and sea gulls glided overhead.

The cottage reminded Madeline of the ones children drew on construction paper. It had a roof pointed like a hat, a crooked brick chimney, two large windows that could have been eyes and a plain front door. A square for-rent sign with faded blue lettering leaned against the steps. The smoke curling from the chimney made it appear lived in.

“Did the owner say how much?” Madeline asked.

“The phone reception was patchy. The guy I talked to said he'd meet us here at two. We're early.” Ruby opened her door and swung out.

“Where are you going?”

“To look in the windows. Are you coming?”

Ruby was peering through the low window to the right of the front door when Madeline joined her. They stood out of the wind, the sun directly over
head, their hands cupped beside their eyes like field glasses.

“I like it,” Madeline said. “As long as it isn't too expensive, I think this could be the one.”

“This change of heart you've had about staying,” Ruby said, moving to the other window. “It wouldn't have anything to do with that gorgeous guy who accused you of trespassing then took you home last night. Oh, look, there's a wood-burning fireplace.”

Madeline changed windows, too. “It's not what you think. Riley, that's his name, has this mongrel dog he hasn't named and this great Frank Lloyd Wright house he barely lives in. I think I can help.”

Ruby looked at her as if she was waiting for the rest of the story. Madeline found herself confessing something she hadn't said out loud to anyone. “I just—I don't know—I guess I don't want to go home yet. Don't get me wrong. Everyone back home is wonderful. They are. I love them to pieces, but ever since Aaron died—Aaron was my fiancé. He died. I still can't believe it, but he did, he died, and now everyone is worried about me. The mailman, the mayor, the clerk in the grocery store, my brothers and the other nurses at work, they all pat my shoulder when they talk to me, and they watch me as if they're afraid I might jump off a bridge or shave my eyebrows the way the ancient Egyptians did when the family cat died.”

“They shaved their eyebrows?” Ruby asked. “Really? That seems a little extreme, don't you think? I guess I'm more of a dog person.”

Madeline blinked then giggled.
Something must be in the air here.
She was still smiling when she resumed looking in the window. It did have a nice fireplace.

“Trespassing again, I see.” The voice was deep and came from directly behind them.

They both let out a gasp as they spun around. Riley and his dog stood a dozen feet away.