The Wedding Gift. Sandra Steffen

enhanced was fine with him. And they wanted what he wanted. Half the time they were the aggressors. Madeline liked him—a man could always tell—and yet she’d ducked into her room last night without so much as a backward glance.

      The dog strained against the leash, dragging Riley from his musings. “What is it?” he asked. “What’s your hurry?” Normally the old stray poked his nose in a hundred different places. Today he wanted to run.

      Riley gave him the lead. They hit Elm Street hard, then Third, and finally the last stretch along Shoreline Drive. They were starting up the driveway when Riley caught a glimpse of Madeline’s pale blond hair before she disappeared behind the arborvitae hedge in his backyard.

      Well, well, well. She hadn’t left town after all.

      The dog gave a short bark then tugged against the leash again. “You want to show off for the lady?”

      For a mutt, he had good instincts.

      “Just remember,” Riley said as he matched his pace to the dog’s steady run. “I saw her first.”

      There was one rainstorm every April that spun the seasonal dial to spring. It lightened the sky, mellowed the breeze, gentled the air and left every living organism quivering with irrepressible enthusiasm.

      Yesterday’s downpour hadn’t been that storm.

      The pummeling rain had given everything in its path a good cleaning and the temperature was warmer today. Rooftops, streets, sidewalks, even the boardwalk leading to the lakeshore glistened in the morning sun. Under the surface, the earth was restless. Melancholy. Like Madeline.

      She’d forgotten to close the blinds in her room last night and had awakened in the sun-drenched bed, shards of sunlight boring holes through her eye sockets. A quick shower and two aspirin had tamed her headache, thank goodness for small favors. She’d wasted no time packing. She’d checked out of her room, picked up her car and said goodbye to Ruby.

      It was time to go home.

      She’d accomplished what she’d come to Gale to do, and more. Yesterday she’d seen Riley, she’d spoken with him, she’d even spent a little time with him. No matter what he thought his mother thought he needed, he was obviously physically fit, healthy and strong.

      She had only one thing left to do.

      With the jacket she’d somehow ended up wearing home last night now folded over her left arm, she pressed Riley’s doorbell again.

      When she’d picked up her car at Red’s Garage, she’d asked Ruby’s father if he knew where Riley Merrick lived. Five minutes later she’d driven away with his address, driving directions and a description of Riley’s house. Red O’Toole hadn’t been exaggerating. Riley’s house was a sprawling single story that blended into the surrounding hills. It had a low-pitched roof, deep eaves and wide porches. It wasn’t so large that he wouldn’t have had ample time to answer the door by now if he was inside.

      What now?

      She supposed she could have left his jacket on the railing, but she preferred to return it in person. Wondering if he might be down by the lake, she followed an old flagstone path around the house.

      The property was amazing, the lawn a gradual slope that leveled off just before it reached the water. Shading her eyes with one hand, she watched a catamaran drift slowly by, its bright orange sail rippling halfheartedly on the melancholy breeze. Several fishing boats trolled back and forth on the horizon, and sea gulls bickered in the foamy shallows.

      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.