Runaway Bridesmaid

“So, c’mon, Dean,” her sister wheedled as only she could. “You’ve just gotta tell me what this wedding present is.”

Dean finally tore his eyes away from Sarah and contemplated her sister with an oblique smile. “Oh, I’ve gotta tell you, huh?” he said, winking at Katey. “And why is that?”

“Oh, boy,” Lance interjected with raised hands and a laugh. “You do not want to know what this woman is capable of once she sets her mind to something. Might as well give it up now, while you still have all your toenails.”

“Lance!” Jennifer slapped him with her paper napkin. “You make me sound like Attila the Hun or something. I’m not that bad—”

“Yeah. You are.” Lance caught his fiancée in his arms, eliciting a tiny squeal. “That’s why I love you so much.” He sealed his left-handed endearment with a smacking kiss on her lips.

Jennifer tenderly grazed his cheek with two fingers, then faced Dean again. “So? You gonna tell me or sacrifice your toenails?”

Chuckling, Dean wiped his mouth and hands on his napkin and stood up. “It’s in the truck.”

“The truck!” Jennifer’s eyes grew wide as the watermelon rounds stacked on the plate in front of her. “You left my wedding present out in the rain?”

“Trust me,” Dean said, backing toward the driveway, “when I pack furniture, nothing short of a nuclear disaster is going to harm it.”

“Furniture?” By now Jennifer had jumped up from the table and zipped past Dean on the way to the Dakota, followed one by one by the rest of the family. “Lance said you had enough orders to keep your shop busy through Christmas…” She’d reached the truck and now danced with impatience. “But you found the time to make something for us?”

“Sure did.” Dean swung down the tailgate and hopped up into the bed where a lumpy, canvas-wrapped object nestled near the cab. After several minutes of peeling away layer after layer of protective covering, he picked up the object—which still wore its last layer, like a chaste slip—and jumped down off the truck with it. Now everyone followed Dean and the object up onto the porch, where he set it down and stepped away, nodding toward Jennifer.

“Be my guest.”

Jennifer hesitated, then slowly drew off the last layer of canvas. “Oh!”

The fine handrubbed finish of the mahogany rocker glowed in the last rays of the setting sun like the embers of a dying fire. A Windsor design, with delicate, smooth spindles splayed upward from the seat, the arms were gracefully curved, the rockers perfectly balanced. But everyone there knew just how difficult such a deceptively simple-looking object can be to make, because there was no room for the slightest imperfection.

Sarah blinked, then swallowed. She’d always known Dean was talented, remembering the beautiful pieces he’d build in his father’s workshop. But the care and attention to detail in the chair said it all. She’d always said he’d make something of himself. Never doubted it for a single second.

And would he have gotten as far as he had if he’d stayed? If he hadn’t gone to Atlanta, his talent would have withered like a seedling not given the proper light or food or water. As would have their love, eventually.

It all made sense. Now.

“That is the loveliest rocker I have ever seen,” Vivian, never one to flatter, allowed, and the smile that lit up Dean’s face was nearly Sarah’s undoing.

“Thank you,” he said softly, then addressed his brother and Jennifer, who stood with their arms around each other’s waist. “I just hope the two of you enjoy using it half as much as I enjoyed making it for you.”

“Oh, Dean…” Jennifer slipped away from Lance and took Dean’s hand, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek. “It’s absolutely gorgeous. Thank you.” She giggled and gestured toward the chair. “Can I?”

“Well, ma’am, chairs aren’t meant to be looked at, now are they?”

With another giggle, Jennifer slid into the chair, sighing in contentment. “It really is perfect.” Sarah saw Dean lean over and whisper something that brought a flush to Jen’s cheeks and a hand to Dean’s wrist as she nodded and smiled. Then Dean skipped down the porch steps and back out into the yard, where he was accosted by a vociferous little girl who just had to show him around the property before it got any darker. Vivian then dragged Lance off to help her with some chore or other, leaving the two sisters on the porch.

“So.” Sarah leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “What did he say?”

Her sister went crimson.

“Good Lord, Jennifer—what did he say?”

“Promise you won’t say a word to anyone? Not even Mama?”

“What on earth…?”

Jennifer cleared her throat, stroking the satiny arms of the chair with her fingertips. “He said that…he hoped I’d get to rock our babies in this chair.”

Sarah let out a whoosh of air. “Is that all? Perfectly understandable, considering the nature of the present—”

“Sarah. You don’t understand.” Jennifer leaned over and pulled her sister closer. “I’m late.”

“For what?”

“Sa-rah…” Jennifer waited. Expectantly, as it were.

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “You’re preg—?”

“Shh!” Jennifer madly flapped her hands. “Nobody knows. Not even Lance. It’s only three days. It may be a false alarm.”

Sarah squatted in front of her sister, grabbing her hands. “You little minx!” With a throaty chuckle, she added, “You ever been late before?”

“Not even ten minutes.”

They both dissolved into giggles.

“What’s going on?” Lance asked behind Sarah, making them jump.

“Oh, nothing. Just girl stuff.” Sarah got to her feet with her back to Lance, winked at Jennifer. “You going to tell him?” she mouthed to her sister, who gave a twitch of a head shake in response.

“Saturday,” she said, and Sarah understood.

What a wedding present, she thought as she made her way back to the picnic table. She rifled through the leftovers as if checking out the goods at a yard sale, finally plopping down on the bench with the last piece of apple pie. A pair of thin arms threaded around her neck. “C’n I show Dean the kennels?”

Her mouth full of pie, Sarah twisted around to Katey. And Dean.

“Ob cos,” she mumbled around mashed apples and piecrust, then swallowed and thought probably a smile was in order. For Katey, at any rate. “Of course,” she repeated. “Just don’t bother Mariah if she’s nursing, okay?”

“I know,” Katey said with a tolerant sigh, then took Dean by the hand.

Sarah’s heart wrenched when she saw Dean’s strong, callused fingers close so carefully around the little ones trustingly placed in his. Unthinking, she looked up, and found her eyes caught in his much the same way his hand held Katey’s—with a tenderness that spoke of trust and loyalty. And unbroken ties.

It had been a long, long time since she’d seen that look in his eyes.

She didn’t want to see it now.

“Come on, Dean.” Katey tugged at his hand, leaning all of her sixty-five pounds away from him. “It’s getting dark. Let’s go.”

“Okay, honey, I’m coming,” he drawled, turning to her with a wide smile. “Let’s go see those beautiful dogs your Mama’s raising.”

Dean shared the smile with Sarah as he swung Katey up on his back for a piggyback ride, then loped off toward the kennels, the little girl dissolving into uncontrollable giggles when he broke into a gallop. Sarah simply sat and watched, her chin sunk in her hands, as the glue holding together her broken heart disintegrated a little more.