BEVERLY BARTON - Whitelaw's Wedding

Hunter breathed deeply, savoring the smell of the earth and the abundance of verdant life surrounding him. Had his mother realized too late that what she had run away from was far better than anything she’d ever found?

Manda drank her morning tea on the patio of the house she had purchased eight years ago, shortly after acquiring her masters of education degree in community counseling. After Rodney’s death and her father’s six months later, Perry had sent her and Grams on a year-long trip through Europe. After the time she spent far away from Dearborn, her mind occupied with the wonders of the world, she had returned home to Georgia with a purpose. With love, comfort and support, she had survived the deaths of two people she dearly loved. She had wanted to spend her life helping others who were lost in the hopelessness of grief, as she had been. After acquiring her degree, she’d begun work as a counselor at the Hickory Hills Clinic. That’s where she’d met Boyd, who was also a counselor.

Oxford came bounding across the yard, wagging his tail and panting madly, after retrieving his favorite red ball Manda had tossed. The black-and-white springer spaniel had been a gift from Grady Alders last year on her birthday. Oxford, whom she’d named in honor of the saddle oxfords she’s worn as child because the dog’s oddly striped front feet bore a striking resemblance to the shoes, had become her beloved friend and confidant. She found herself often talking to him as if he were a person. Of course, he had no idea that he wasn’t. He slept at the foot of her bed on his own oversize, cedar-chips-stuffed pillow and had free reign of the house and yard. He ate table scraps along with choice cuts of meat she prepared especially for him. And she kept a supply of every dog treat product on the market, as well as an endless variety of toys. Oxford was probably one of the most pampered pets in the world, but why shouldn’t she lavish her love and attention on the animal? Unless Perry’s plan worked, she would never have the chance to become a mother and give all the love in her heart to a child of her own.

When the telephone rang, she made a mad dash into the kitchen, Oxford at her heels. Who would be calling her at seven on a Saturday morning? She lifted the receiver off the wall base.

“Hello?”

“Manda, dear, it’s Claire. I hope I didn’t waken you.”

“I’ve been up for a good half hour,” she said. “Oxford and I were outside soaking up some of this great springtime sunshine.”

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