Wedding Dreams: 20 Delicious Nuptial Romances

by Maggie Way

  Jerking upright, Elle asked, “What’s she doing?”

  “Just watch. Sigmund has been trained to wake his client when their sleep is disrupted by nightmares. I’ve seen this portion of the training. And while a little unorthodox, it’s effective. Emily is simulating a bad dream.”

  Sigmund shoved his muzzle right into the tight knot of Emily’s body, whimpering and licking her face. He gently pawed her shoulder, nudging her to her back. When Emily thrashed, as if caught in the throes of the worst nightmare ever, Sigmund nuzzled under her chin, putting his paw on Emily’s flailing right arm. As Emily stilled, Sigmund dropped to his butt, but continued to hold her arm under his paw. He crept in closer until he rested on all fours, laid his head on her chest and woofed softly.

  When Emily wrapped her arms around his neck, he whined quietly and licked her face. Elle could swear the dog had a smile on his snout. Emily sat up, squeezed Sigmund tight and scrubbed her fingers through the short hair between his ears.

  She scrambled to her feet, and led him back to the porch, a beaming smile on her face. “What do you think?”

  “That’s amazing. Sigmund would know before I do if Gage is having a nightmare?”

  Emily bobbed her head and curled her fingers around Sigmund’s collar. “Chances are really good. Dogs don’t think the way humans do. They are more attuned to emotion. Anger, fright, happiness. Since service dogs like Sigmund are tuned into the nuances of those emotions, they are fast to respond, offering whatever comfort they’ve been trained for. Plus, they are friendly, gentle and patient.” Emily kept her eyes trained on Sigmund while she spoke, obviously more at ease with the canine than with her human visitor. “Studies have shown that spending time with animals results in marked improvement in mental, physical and social well-being.”

  That made sense to her. It was like a service dog whose job was to help people who couldn’t see. A therapy dog helped people who’d seen too much. Like Gage. “What’s with the goggles?

  “Sigmund was over in Iraq for a time. The eye-gear was protection against sand and flying debris. He doesn’t like to be without them.” Emily’s smile broadened, but her attention remained on the dog, as though looking at humans made her too uncomfortable.

  Elle wondered briefly if the discomfort was why Sally’s daughter chose to work on the outskirts of town, with no company other than the dogs she boarded and trained. “Gage will have to go back to work soon. His job at the mine requires frequent trips underground.” Being trapped in what essentially amounted to a potential cave-in, like what he’d experienced overseas, left him anxious each time the subject of work arose. “He’s mentioned he isn’t looking forward to that. Could Sigmund go with him?”

  Emily’s fingers tightened on the dog’s neck and her gaze flashed to Sally’s face, brows raised.

  Sally reached a hand to her daughter, gently stroking her fingers along Emily’s forearm until she had their fingers laced together. “Ems, you knew when you fostered Sigmund, he’d have to get back to work sometime.”

  Lips pursed, eyes glistening, Emily bobbed her head curtly. “Too soon, though,” she muttered. After a sharp exhale, she trained her gaze on Elle’s shoulder. “Anywhere Gage goes, Sigmund can go with him. That’s the job of a pet partner. And he’ll know if your boyfriend is getting nervous probably before your boyfriend does.”

  This sounded exactly like what Gage needed. Something to help bring back the man she’d fallen in love with. “I’m sold. What do we need to do so that I can take Sigmund home?”

  Emily’s breath sped up and she shifted from side-to-side. “You can take him today,” she uttered through white-rimmed lips. “But Gage will need to bring him back a couple times a week to learn the commands and get settled into a routine.”

  Emily snapped her fingers near the dog’s ear again then pointed to Elle. “Move,” she commanded.

  Sigmund rose and trotted to Elle’s side and pushed his muzzle right into her cheek. Elle wrapped her hands around his head, feeling for the first time since the Denver airport, that maybe life with Gage might get back to normal.

  “Tell him ‘down,’” Emily instructed.

  “Down, you handsome fellow.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “Just ‘down’ will do. Sigmund isn’t your pet. He’s a trained professional and doesn’t need coddling.”

  “Sorry.” Contrite, she immediately pulled her fingers from Sigmund’s fur and folded her hands in her lap.

  “Emily.” Sally’s voice held a chiding tone.

  Color splashed across Emily’s cheeks.

  “How much do I owe?” Elle fingered the clasp on her purse. Could be a million dollars. She didn’t care. The fifteen minutes she’d been at Pooch at Play had convinced her Sigmund was exactly what Gage needed. She’d been trying to think of the ideal wedding gift for Gage. Couldn’t get any more perfect than this.

  It didn’t stop Elle’s gut from convulsing when Emily named her price. Dropping her chin to her chest and her gaze to her toes, Emily shuffled her feet. “I’ll get his stuff and a list of everything Gage will need to get his pet partner settled in his home.” She disappeared into the house.

  Elle didn’t bother to correct Emily that it was their home. For the past month, it hadn’t seemed like much of one, with her always tiptoeing around, as though walking on shards of broken dreams. Infinitely more delicate than eggshells.

  Twenty minutes later, Sigmund was in a crate in the back of her Forester, his bowls, leash, and a two-day supply of food tucked into the space between the cage and the window. “Thank you, Emily.”

  “This is only temporary. Until we see if a therapy dog is what Gage needs. But he’ll still need to get counseling. Sigmund can’t ask what Gage is feeling—he’ll only sense what he can observe from Gage’s body language and chemistry. Your man needs to talk about his troubles if he wants to get better.” Emily looked at Sigmund, whose nose was pressed against the wire window.

  “You’re right.” Elle accepted the paperwork detailing commands, a supply list, and a receipt for the six hundred bucks she’d just forked out for the dog, the supplies and the ongoing training. “Is it okay for me to come with Gage for your sessions?”

  Emily shrugged, and Elle decided to take that as a yes. She turned to Sally and hugged the woman. “You may have found a way for me to help Gage get better. Thank you so much. I really owe you.”

  Sally laughed. “Remember that next Christmas when we make those damned gingerbread cottages with the kidlets. I want nothing to do with the Royal icing.”

  “Deal.” Elle popped behind the wheel, started the engine to the accompaniment of a happy bark from the rear cargo area. “That’s right, Siggy. We’re going home.”

  Chapter Three

  Gage stepped out of the shower and slung a towel around his hips. It wrapped farther around than it had before deployment. He’d lost more weight since he’d been home. He turned from the mirror to avoid looking at his gaunt frame and unblemished skin, before he could begin to think about the mangled bodies of the men in his squad. Shoulders rounded defensively, he rested his butt on the vanity and gripped the edge, the hard Formica cutting into his fingertips. The pain helped distract his thoughts as he hung his head and willed his anxiety back into the tiny artillery shell box he’d created in his imagination. He’d read somewhere that burying the ugly thoughts before they took hold helped to stave off the physical symptoms that would accompany guilty thoughts.

  What a crock of bullshit.

  His heart thudded painfully against his ribs and blood roared in his ears. Felt like a falling rock hit him square in the chest and blasted every molecule of oxygen out of his lungs. His gut clenched as though twisting in the kind of auger that dragged rocks from the depths of the mines he’d worked in.

  Shit! Thinking about the mine right now wasn’t helping. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Images flickered on the back of his eyelids, stuttering like a stop action camera. A fireball, shattering glass, fallin
g debris, a massive dust cloud, rivers of blood. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his head reeled dizzily.

  Jerking his eyes open, he shoved away from the sink and bounced against the opposite wall, knocking to the ground the damned knick-knack shelf Elle had insisted on installing. The resulting crash drew a ragged moan from his lips as he slid into a crouch, back jammed against the rough plaster. He managed to slow his breathing, but took it too far. The sensation of floating free of his wretched form overtook him, until he seemed to be looking down on his huddled, shivering mass of tense muscles.

  “Gage?”

  Aw, fuck! Elle was home. She couldn’t see him like this. He whipped his head back until his skull jarred against the wall. Pain skidded through his body, but succeeded in jerking him from the fugue.

  Heart skipping in his chest, he attempted to call out to her, but only succeeded in croaking. He coughed to clear the boulder lodged in his throat and to force his heart back into a normal rhythm. “Elle, I’m in here. Be right out.” Not much better, but the tremor in his gut didn’t make it into his voice. Sometimes he had to grab onto the little things. Crashing to his butt instead of rising, he drew his knees to his chest, propped his elbows on them, and buried his face in his cupped hands, hoping the carbon dioxide he released would stop his labored breathing.

  “Gage, honey? Are you okay?” Hesitant tapping vibrated the door, just above his ear.

  Even that little noise reverberated around his brain like rifle blasts.

  Hell no, he wasn’t okay. He might never be okay again. “Yeah, Ellie. I’m good.” The lie tripped off his tongue, leaving bitterness on his taste buds.

  “Honey, don’t be mad, but I brought you a present.” The doorknob rattled, clicked then the door began an inward arc.

  “Baby, no!” He scrubbed his hand over his face and shifted until his back was in the corner between the shower and the wall.

  A brown and white bundle of energy streaked through the partially open door and careened toward him. Over the sound of canine whimpering, he found his face being slobbered all over.

  She’d brought him a dog?

  He pushed the animal’s muzzle away, but the critter returned immediately, licking away the salty sweat running down his face. His pulse skidded down a notch as the dog continued to slobber all over his cheeks. He was surprised at how rapidly his heart dropped into a normal rhythm and his breath eased. Instinct alone made Gage lift his arms around the dog’s neck and clench his fingers in the brindle scruff. He held on as the dog remained steadfast at his side, pressing his large head against Gage.

  Elle dropped to her knees next to them, tangled the fingers of one hand in his damp hair, and rested her other hand on his chest. She stroked a small, soothing circle on his pectoral and laid her forehead on his shoulder.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry,” Gage gritted out. “I’m a mess. You deserve so much better.” He should cut her loose. Let her find a real man, one who wasn’t reduced to a sniveling pile of goo by the slightest noise. A different kind of ache took up residence in his chest as he uttered the words.

  The dog’s fur bristled under his fingers as he tightened his grip. But rather than whimper or complain, the animal snuggled in closer, pressing his snout under Gage’s chin.

  Elle did the same on the other side, her soft lips caressing the muscle popping on his jawline. “Honey, I don’t want another man. I want you. And I want you better. That’s why I brought Sigmund home.” She dropped to her butt on the floor next to him, and twisted until they were shoulder-to-shoulder. “He’s my wedding gift to you. To us.”

  The brush of her soft skin sent warmth through him, heating the cold, barren icebox that used to be his soul. He straightened his legs and she curled her hand over his thigh. The tremors in his body changed to something more heated, more needy. His cock plumped under the casual touch, but he willed the arousal away. Now was not the right time. Although going mindless and losing himself in her sweet, willing body would be bliss.

  Dropping his hands away from the dog, he covered hers with his palm. The dog woofed quietly, then plopped onto its haunches, and put its paw on Gage’s other thigh. Between them, they anchored him, pulled him back from the precipice of the anxiety attack he’d been on the verge of moments ago.

  Other than the fact he was seated on the cold tile floor of his bathroom, buck naked except for the thin towel across his lap, he almost felt…normal.

  “Okay, you want to tell me why I suddenly have a dog?” A dog with a stupid name and wearing aviator goggles. What the fuck? Gage fingered the strap around Sigmund’s neck.

  “You need help I can’t give you.” She’d kept her tone light, but he heard the underlying despair. “I understand why you won’t go see my dad, but I believe you should reconsider. He can help you…help us get back to normal. In the meantime, Sigmund is a therapy dog.”

  Gage looked at the animal, taking in the dog’s limpid, alert brown eyes. White whiskers protruded from the animal’s beige snout. The brindle spots along his back and legs faded into cream-colored fur. The mutt was a beauty.

  Gage ruffled behind Sigmund’s ears and got a gentle head butt for his efforts. “What’s a therapy dog?” He’d heard of bomb-sniffing dogs and seeing-eye dogs. But a dog geared toward healing was new to him.

  “Sigmund is trained to help people with post-traumatic stress, like you. For example—”

  “I don’t have PTSD.”

  Elle leaned forward and angled her head back his direction, one delicate eyebrow arched. “Gage, you might not have been diagnosed with it, but, honey, you have all the symptoms. Nightmares, panic attacks. Obsessive behavior.”

  His breath sped up. “I am not obsessive about anything.”

  “How many miles did you run today?”

  He hung his head and heaved a massive breath. She was right. His daily runs might not be obsessive, but the distance he was compelled to go just to calm down, probably was. But what did he know? He was an engineer, not a shrink.

  “Don’t know,” he lied, knowing full well he’d run fifteen miles.

  Running seemed to be the only time he managed to shut out the helpless, frightened feelings. He’d started with three miles each day, but had been increasing it as the exercise lost its effect. Lately, he’d added more and more miles. The rhythm of putting one foot after the other, and focusing on his breathing, released all the demons chasing him.

  “Gage, we’re getting married in a month. I want the old you back. Sigmund won’t help me find the man you were before you were deployed. Honestly, I don’t think he exists anymore. I love you, regardless of who you are today. Sigmund can help the new you adjust and deal with the residual effects of the bombing.”

  Gage said nothing. The new him was a permanently fucked up mess.

  “Honey, you weren’t the only one affected by that bombing. I thought I’d lose my mind when I got the call. Waiting for the next call, the one saying they’d recovered—” Her breath hitched and her shoulder shook against his.

  He wrapped his arm around her and fought despair, knowing he was the cause of her anxiety.

  After a pause, Elle inhaled deeply and sank against him. “But Dad helped me through those forty-odd hours. And I let him, because I knew in my heart you’d be okay.”

  “But my men aren’t.” Agitation swirled through his gut and chest. She’d never understand the pain and remorse he lived with daily.

  As though sensing his distress, Sigmund crept closer and laid his big head on Gage’s thigh. The dog’s eyebrows lurched up and he raised his warm eyes to Gage’s face. His paw jerked on Gage’s knee, almost like he meant to soothe and calm.

  And son of a bitch if it didn’t work. Gage managed to tamp down the raw, helpless feelings.

  “I know, honey. But we can’t do anything about that. I imagine if any of them were in this room right now, they’d tell you to knock it off. You weren’t responsible for their deaths. Let’s put that blame where it belongs. At the feet of the ins
urgents who parked a car loaded with explosives in front of a building, trapped you in the rubble and killed your squad.” Elle brushed her hand up his chest and nudged her face into the crook of his neck. “Please, honey. Don’t let them destroy you as well. Sigmund is a wedding gift. Let me, and my dad, and Sigmund, help you.”

  It was so little to ask. Yet so much at the same time. But with Elle’s soft form pressed against him, and her even softer breath caressing his cheeks, he saw hope and promise for his future.

  Cupping the nape of her neck, he released a shuddering breath and nodded. “Okay, baby. Let’s get me fixed up.”

  Chapter Four

  He’d agreed. Elle’s heart had swelled and sung with joy when he’d nodded. She’d helped him to his feet, and held him close for the ten seconds he allowed before stepping out of her arms. Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them away. Little steps. Although he still wouldn’t touch her, he hadn’t shifted away when she’d curled in next to him.

  She laid her hand over his as he secured the towel around his waist. She’d seen the hint of an erection behind the thin barrier, and the vixen in her wanted to bring his arousal fully to life. Two weeks of being told not tonight had turned her into a sex-starved lunatic. She wanted his cock inside her, but would settle for his fingers, if that was all he could offer.

  Sidling around in front of him, she held his gaze as she pressed against his body. “Gage,” she breathed against his chest as she pressed her lips to the firm muscles under his skin.

  “Baby.” His voice came out a croak.

  She laved her tongue over his throat, alternating kisses and licks as she let her mouth trail toward his. Gage pressed his hands on her shoulders and she tensed, worried he’d push her away. But she kept up her single-minded journey. She swirled her tongue on the tender stubbly spot under his jaw.

  Instead of pushing her away, he smoothed his hands down her back, resting them where her spine dipped to the small of her back. Encouraged, Elle rose on her toes and sought his mouth. She skated her lips over his, then dipped her tongue in, stroking, seeking. Against her belly, his erection grew into a hard ridge. Silently caught between rejoicing and lamenting, happy to have him responding to her…disappointed she’d been the one to initiate their lovemaking, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled closer.