Page 32 of Take Me to the Wedding

Brax held out his hand. “Let me enter the password for you.”

“I have. Three times.” He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. “It’s too hot in here.”

I exchanged glances with Gabe, who walked over to Tyler and sat down next to him. “Have this.” He handed him a beer. “And take a nap. Then we’re going to have a great time square-dancing and harvesting our own food and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. And Ani will love you for every minute of it.”

He grunted. Brax passed out more beers, popped his open, and lifted it into the air. “To a weekend of friendship and fellowship.”

After we toasted, Quinn said, “I think I’ll take a little stroll and see if I can find Sam.”

The hair on my neck prickled, but I blocked out my agitation. Sam was not my concern, no matter how many emotions, positive and negative, she incited in me.

I suddenly had a plan—I would find Lilly and have a talk with her before Sam could wreak any more havoc. Why waste time? I’d see if there was still something between us once and for all.

* * *

Samantha

My head still spinning about the luggage fight and everything that had happened on the drive, I walked into the big white farmhouse, where I was greeted by a middle-aged woman with glasses, sitting behind a beadboard-paneled counter. The counter was part of a sitting room where a boy and a young dog played on a braided rug in front of a brick-lined fireplace. It looked tidy and bright and homey, and for the first time, my reservations about farm weekend lowered. A little.

The dog, a yellow Labrador retriever that looked not far beyond the puppy stage, came bounding toward me with a rag knot toy in its mouth.

I bristled but pretended not to. I was pretty good at hiding my fear of dogs—unless they jumped on me. I turned toward the desk, white-knuckling the counter, and tried ignoring the dog but he—she?—kept nudging the rag toy against my leg.

The boy stood up. “She wants you to play with her.” He was tanned and skinny-legged, his face full of freckles. He bent down and rubbed the dog’s head. “Don’tcha, girl? You want to play.”

The dog bounded from the boy to me, shaking its head with the toy in its mouth, giving me an expectant look.

“She won’t hurt ya,” the boy said.

I smiled, but there was no way I could bring myself to touch the saliva-covered toy in the dog’s teeth. “Cute dog,” I managed with a nervous laugh. I drew the line there—because there was no way I could force myself to actually pet it—her.

But the dog persisted, looking up at me with dark brown, expectant eyes.

Jeesh.

The woman smiled. “Tater, take the pup outside.” To me, she said in an apologetic tone, “She could play that game all day.”

“Come on, doggie,” the boy said as he ran toward the door. “Let’s go.”

The pup did not take the bait. Instead, she dropped the rag toy at my feet and thumped her tail.

Oh help.

The woman leaned over. “Tater, take this dog out right now. Not all our guests are dog people.”

“She just wants to play, Mom,” the boy said.

I decided it would be easier to scoop up the saliva-coated toy and toss it than to cause conflict between mother and son. So I did. Clear to the fireplace. The dog immediately scrambled after it.

I tried to give a dog-lover smile, but I was a dog-fearer, and if I didn’t get out of there soon, that was going to come across loud and clear.

The woman smiled as she watched her son playfully wrestle with the dog. “She’s a foster. Four months old and not potty-trained. Tater and I are training her.”

Poor puppy. No family. I immediately identified. “What’s her name?”

“Unbelievably, the people she was with called her Pup—I think that’s an indication right there that they never intended to keep her. We foster for the Humane Society. Some people sadly don’t understand that puppies require consistency and work. So she’s here to learn some manners.” She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Marin Brown, by the way. That’s Tatum—he’s ten. We call him Tater.”

“Mom!” the boy protested.

---