Dear Meli,

There's something so special about writers like you. You lift our minds and spirits and transport them to a beautiful place outside of ourselves, that is also somehow a mysterious place deep inside of us. Thank you for sharing your talent with us, for making us laugh and cry and feel such beauty with Meli's Stories. This story is a thank you card, a get well card, and a love letter all rolled into one. I hope you like it.

-Maggie (NewTwilightFan)

Puppy Love

I don't have many talents, but I can type like nobody's business. Seven hours of transcription work each day keeps the debtors away. When I'm bored, I surf the internet. When I'm feeling lazy, I sit out on my back patio with a book. When I'm stressed, I veg out in front of the TV with a bowl of Mr. Chun's chicken chow mein. I'm not afraid of people, per se. It's just that there's only enough room in my mind for me. I know that makes me a pathetic freak in my mother's eyes, but I'm okay with it. Happy, even.

Obviously, I'm not a very active person. I'm one of those people who scurries from the front door to the car, then from the car back into the house with a bag of take-out after a long day of typing. So what made me squeeze into my yoga pants and runners to go out walking at 9:07 that night? I don't really know. A touch of claustrophobia? Perhaps I needed to taste cool, fresh air after the oppressive heat of the late summer day. Or maybe it was the fact that my favorite jeans were starting to feel a tad snug.

Call it fate. Or luck. Call it divine Providence. You can call it whatever you like. That night I found love.

It was late on a Friday evening when I pulled my hair into a ponytail, took my keys, then scuffled down the steps of my two-bedroom duplex. Night was creeping in, swallowing the sky inch by inch, steadily turning it from dim blue to gray to black. I carved a big square through my neighborhood on foot. First I walked four blocks east, then turned left, walked four blocks, turned west, traipsed on for another four blocks, turned south, and kept on walking until the tail of my car was visible in the driveway a couple hundred yards in front of me.

I quickened my pace, feeling a little short of breath, but surprisingly good considering my general lack of fitness. Then I heard a sound then froze me to the core. It was an agonized whimper; a teeny, tiny, mewling cry of hopeless distress and pain.

I looked around frantically, driven by some powerful inner need to find the creature and ease its suffering. The sound seemed to be coming from a car parked up against the curb. As I neared the vehicle, I realized the cries were coming from beneath it, not inside.

Crouching down on the sidewalk, I peeked beneath the old sedan, straining to see into the dark shadows cast by the street lamps. I finally located the creature, a dark lump pressed up against one of the rear tires. I went around to the other side of the car and called out in a voice I didn't recognize; a soft, comforting, nurturing voice. The animal, I could now tell it was a small dog, scrabbled with its forelegs and pushed its nose toward my outstretched hand. I felt tears burning hot tracks down my cheeks. Something was very, very wrong. By the size of its paws, big floppy ears and the soft lines of its tawny face, I could tell it was only a few months old. As it pressed its nose against my palm, I could see how its hind legs dragged limp and helpless behind it.

"Shhhh, shhhh, honey. It's okay. I've got you," I whispered, my tears making my voice rough.

The puppy's whimpers grew softer, and I was overcome by a terror so deep and strong it seemed to grip my soul and crush it.

"No, no, no. Don't quit on me, buddy. Come on. We're going to get you some help."

Doing something, well, that quieted the terror somewhat. He cried out as I lifted him into my arms, and I cringed. The poor thing only weighed about twenty pounds, but I was so terrified of hurting him worse that he felt more like one hundred.

I was taking decisive action, but inside my head, I was a sobbing, blubbering mess. The poor creature was writhing in my arms, his forepaws kneading my chest. His left hind leg was twitching and circling fitfully, but the other lay limp and unresponsive against my arm.

There was no blood that I could see, but perhaps he had been hit by a car or bike. Maybe he was kicked or abused, then abandoned when the owner realized what he or she had done. That thought made my blood boil.

Somehow I unlocked my car without dropping my burden, and curled him up as gently as I could on the front passenger seat. For once I didn't scurry up my front steps, glancing back over my shoulder to watch for prying eyes. I didn't care if there was anyone else around observing me. I just didn't. Instead, I raced up the stairs, pushed the front door out of my way like it was the door of an Old West saloon, and snagged my phone and wallet off the chair in my living room.

When I slid behind the wheel and looked down at my charge, my heart sank. He wasn't moving. His head was tipped to one side, not in the way a dog lies while sleeping, or even stretching. It looked more like his head had rolled that way involuntarily, but he didn't have the strength or will to move it back.

"Oh, buddy. Don't give up now. We're gonna find a doctor. We can fix it. I promise."

A cynical voice inside said I was lying, that he was a goner, and I should just start digging a hole. I told that bitch to go fuck herself. She didn't know a damn thing. You see, I already loved him. I didn't know it yet, but the sounds of his cries had awoken instincts within me that I never knew I possessed. He changed me into a fighter, a champion, a friend and… for lack of a better term, a mommy. There was no way I was going to sit by and watch him get swallowed up by the pain. If he was truly doomed, he was going to go peacefully with me holding him close until it was time to let go. And I wasn't ready to let go yet.

I knew exactly where the animal hospital was. I passed it every time I drove to Sonic for my cherry lime-ade fix. Despite the hour, the lights were on, and the entrance was bright and welcoming. I eased into a parking stall, gritting my teeth when I hit the brakes a little too hard, and a whimper of protest rose up from the seat beside me.

I talked to him the whole time, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, as much to quiet the mayhem in my head as to calm him. It worked. He let me pick him up again, his big chocolate eyes locking on mine with so much trust and acceptance that I couldn't look away. I rushed inside, striding through the automatic sliding doors like I was the star of some prime time hospital drama.

A bored-looking young woman glanced up from her phone when the door chimed, and she took in the whole picture with a glance.

"Dr. Cheney, we have an emergency," she called into the intercom. "Rhodesian Ridgeback, three months, hit and run."

"Wait… how did you…?" I stumbled through my confusion.

"I've been doing this a while. You aren't his owner, are you?" she asked with sympathy, motioning me through a door into an exam room.

I shook my head. "But how did you know?"

"Your shirt. It's covered in dog hair. Most pet owners shy away from fabrics like that, the ones that attract hair like magnets. And it's black, which only makes it worse. You're dressed for exercise, but he's not wearing a collar or a leash, and it's kind of late for dog-walking anyway. I connected the dots. I'm Angela, by the way. I'm Dr. Cheney's assistant."

"Hi, I'm Bella. And you're right. I was out on a walk when I heard him crying. I've driven by your office so many times, but I never expected to be coming here myself. I'm not really a pet person." The truth was, I wasn't really a people person, either.

She was working efficiently as we spoke, helping me transfer the puppy onto a padded exam table with a raised lip. She covered him with a heated towel, her hand resting gently alongside his face. I watched as his tongue peaked out to caress her palm, like a greeting between creatures that don't need words to speak. He recognized something in her. Some sixth sense told him she was good and safe. She was going to help make things better. For one split-second, I was irrationally jealous. I told the crazy woman in my head to shut up, and took up a station near his shoulder, waiting for the doc to arrive.

"Hmmm. No collar, no chip. Of course, he's so young, I doubt the owner intended to have him out much yet. How did you get away?" she asked the puppy in a coaxing tone. "Did you go out on a puppy adventure all by yourself?" Angela kept talking as she moved about, taking the puppy's vitals and clucking sympathetically when he whimpered. "I had a Ridgeback when I was a kid. He was strong and crazy and the best friend a girl could ever have. And funny. He would bring my shoes to the table while I was eating breakfast and try to nudge them onto my feet. He always wanted to play fetch in the backyard before I left for school. It didn't matter what the weather looked like, he just wanted to run."

I smiled involuntarily at the idyllic picture that formed in my head. I had never considered myself a pet person, probably because my parents weren't pet people. I had a fish once. He was left over from a science unit about water habitats in fourth grade. I dutifully fed him (or maybe it was a her) smelly flakes twice each day, but the poor thing didn't last a week. My dad flushed the pasty-eyed carcass down the toilet, and I took it as a sign that I wasn't cut out to be a caregiver.

Perhaps I had been selling myself short. I didn't know the first thing about saving a dog's life, but I wanted to try. I glanced up as a stern-looking man entered the room, his washed-out blue eyes peering over a pair of gold-rimmed spectacle.

"Poor little man," he sighed, folding back the towel to take over the examination. "Hip fracture, possible femoral fracture. Did you get his weight?" he asked, turning to Angela.

"Yes. Eleven point eight kilograms."

I felt ignored, pushed aside, as the man focused all of his attention on the puppy. Squashing my annoyance, I stepped back against a wall to let them work. Angela prepared a syringe for the vet to sedate the puppy, and I felt the tears drip down my cheeks as his tiny body relaxed and grew completely limp. He looked dead except for the slow rise and fall of his rib cage.

"He's voiding. That's good, at least," the doctor commented, glancing at my shirt and pants.

I hadn't noticed before, but they were damp and smelled of urine. Funny... It didn't even bother me that much. I just wanted him to be okay. They carted him off to another room for x-rays, and I looked around for something to do. Eventually I wandered back out to the waiting room and sat down.

All of the magazines featured dogs or cats, gamboling around in back yards, lounging on microfiber sofas, playing ball, crowding around stainless bowls to eat brown slop that purported to be healthier that the other brands' brown slop. I had stepped into another world, a foreign culture that transmitted on a different frequency than me. Or so I thought until I flipped to another page. It showed a reddish-brown puppy sitting back on its haunches, looking up with large, trusting, sincere eyes as its owner stood, stirring a pot on the stove. That look, that complete admiration and love, I wanted it. I wanted it more than air.

Feeling a bit faint and very anxious, I started to pace. It have been more than half an hour. I was going out of my mind, anticipating the reappearance of Angela or the vet at any moment.

"Bella?" Angela called my name softly.

I whirled around and followed her back to the exam room. Brody, that's what I had started calling him in my head, was lying on his side, his body almost completely hidden beneath an worn, beige blanket.

"Is he…?" I couldn't even say the word.

"He's sedated. I thought it kindest, considering his injuries. I understand you are not the owner," the veterinarian continued, fixing me with the same impersonal stare he had leveled at me before.

I shook my head wordlessly, reaching out with a shaking hand to stroke Brody's ear. His fur was so soft, like a thousand silk fibers laid out beneath my fingertips.

But I want to be, I thought, biting my lip.

"Perhaps that will make this decision easier."

"Decision?" I asked, confused.

"You did a kind and selfless thing, bringing the dog here for treatment. Obviously we wouldn't charge you for any x-rays or diagnosis. However," and there was a protracted pause, "our little John Doe is going to require additional treatment, including pain management, 'round the clock care, hand-feeding, and assistance with passing stools and voiding, in addition to regular bathing since he won't be able to manage his own hygiene. His pelvis was fractured in three places. Fortunately, the bones are fairly well aligned. Barring any complications in his bowels or bladder, I would say he could be walking again in four to six weeks. He's obviously been well-fed and cared for up to this point. He's quite healthy, in fact. If he has careful nursing, he could heal without any long term side effects."

"But…"

"But, this is a huge financial investment. We could care for him here, keep him on kennel rest until the joint and leg can bear weight..."

"Until the owner comes for him?"

"With no identification, no chip, and no way of knowing if he was abandoned intentionally, we would be taking a big gamble. That isn't an expense our clinic can absorb."

"Oh." My fingers were still stroking his ear, letting him know that he wasn't alone.

"Miss…"

"Bella. Bella Swan."

"Miss Swan, this isn't a decision that anyone should rush into. I'm sorry for even putting it before you. You've already done more than most people would in your shoes. You have no responsibility to this animal, and neither Miss Weber nor I expect you to pick up somebody else's burden. You are free to leave at any time to carry on with your evening."

"I… wait… but what about him? If you can't… who… what will happen to him?"

I looked around frantically. Angela had her back to me, wiping down the countertops with antiseptic. Her shoulders sloped, and her head was hanging. I saw a single drop of clear fluid fall to the floor at her feet. Why was Angela crying? Surely they didn't plan to… they couldn't! Dr. Cheney had just said that Brody could make a full recovery!

If… if he had the proper care. If somebody took responsibility for him.

If…

Dr. Cheney's hand joined mine, stroking the soft, red-brown fur lovingly. And I realized something… for all his stiff and formal attitude toward me, a human, he had nothing but compassion for the creature in his care. He was practically oozing sadness and regret. He would do his job and ease the puppy's suffering, but as a business owner, he couldn't expend the resources on healing him. Somebody else had to step up. And there was nobody else in the room but me.

"Tell me what I need. Tell me what to do," I whispered.

"Miss Swan, I meant what I said. Nobody should rush into pet ownership. And you would be taking on far more than many owners are willing or able to do. It will be weeks before he can move independently outside of a kennel. You will, quite literally, be spoon-feeding and bathing him like an infant. Is this really what you want?"

"Yes. One hundred percent yes. I work from home. I live alone. I can take care of him."

The vets eyes bored into mine for several heartbeats before his expression softened. His lips turned up into a gentle smile, and he turned to his assistant.

"Miss Weber? Could you see if we have a travel kennel, some food, bowls, towels and toys we can loan to Miss Swan? At least until she determines what she would like to purchase herself."

He looked at me with an approving smile, something I never would have expected based on my first impression of him. I was glowing inside as they helped me load the still-sleeping puppy into a worn kennel lined with old towels. Angela filled two plastic bags with cans of soft food, rubber-tipped spoons and other odds and ends. The vet printed out an informational packet about Brody's injury, care instructions, and red flags to be alert for in case of further complications. They helped me carry everything to my car, then sent me on my way.

I left my contact information, and gave them permission to pass it on in the off chance that Brody's owner made inquiries. I confess, the thought of some stranger swooping in and stealing him away from me made my heart thump, heavy and frightened beneath my ribs.

The full import of what I had done didn't set in until I was pulling into the driveway on my side of the duplex. Mr. and Mrs. Myers had turned out their lights hours ago, and I was intensely aware of every sound I made as I carried my new charge and all the trappings of pet ownership into my house.

I didn't sleep that night. Despite the vet's assurances that Brody would make a full recovery, my paranoia kept my eyes and ears open. It kept me shifting fitfully on the couch where I lay beside the kennel. My hand continuously drifted over to rest against his chest and beneath his nose to make sure he was still breathing. I had set reminders in my phone to keep up with the water, food and medication intervals. In my efforts to keep up with every task, I must have forgotten to feed myself. Sometime on Sunday morning, I stood up to take the dirty dish and spoon to the kitchen and almost passed out. That's when I realized that I had bitten off a little more than I could chew.

The next time Brody drifted off to sleep, I gave myself an accelerated shower and breakfast, brushing my teeth in record time and washing two bowls of cereal down with milk that, upon further consideration, was probably better off going down the drain. I knew I needed to figure out a way to balance caring for my little darling with being human.

I had never pegged myself as the kind of person who would have their groceries delivered. I placed my first order that afternoon. I was so impressed when a truck pulled up two hours later with milk, eggs, meat and salad ingredients, among other essentials, that I didn't even balk at the twenty percent mark-up.

Brody was becoming more alert. With his increased energy came a very persistent whine every time I left the room. He shifted around inside his kennel, poking his nose out between the wires of the door. I made my trips to my room, office and bathroom as brief as possible.

My couch became my new command center, with my computer, headset and pedal set up at a folding card table. I took frequent breaks to care for Brody, changing his soiled blankets and washing his silky fur with a damp washcloth. My mother would have killed me if she saw me using the Egyptian cotton embroidered towels to clean a dog's sweaty coat. Frankly, I thought the luxury was better spent on my little buddy than it ever was on me. In addition to groceries, I emptied a third of my bank account ordering a doggy bed, custom bowls, and an entire arsenal of toys for Brody, already anticipating the day when he would be cleared to play in the back yard.

Angela called me on Tuesday to schedule a follow up appointment and to ensure I had everything I needed. When I told her about Brody's increasing discomfort and distress after each feeding, she let me in on a little secret. Apparently, the mixture of painkillers and immobility was causing another kind of immobility.

"If you want, I can come by in a little while with some puppy enemas. It's a little scary and gross the first time, but it's pretty easy. I can show you how."

"Uhhhh… Okay. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks," I said, then hung up with a frown. Brody was eyeing me funny, his head tilted a little as if to ask, 'You plan to stick what up my butt?'. Or at least that's what I would have been thinking in his position.

Angela proved to be an adept teacher. I narrowly avoided gagging as I disposed of the soiled puppy pad, but it was a close call. Angela smiled sympathetically.

"You're doing an incredible job with him."

"Really?" I asked, washing my hands again despite the fact that I had been wearing gloves.

"Really. When you come in on Friday, we'll take another X-ray to make sure the bones are knitting properly. Dr. Cheney will be so happy to see him back at the clinic. He talked about Brody here all weekend. I think he was far more relieved that you chose to keep the little guy than he was willing to admit to your face."

"I thought he blamed me, at first. Like he thought I was the one who injured him."

It hurt to say it out loud, but at the same time, I felt kind of vindicated. Knowing that the suspicion was gone, replaced with gratitude and respect, it made me feel lighter. I smiled down at Brody where he slept, finally comfortable again.

"I know Dr. Cheney takes a while to get used to, but he's actually a really incredible veterinarian. I started volunteering back in high school, and found that I couldn't stay away. It kills him a little each time we have to put down somebody's pet. But, despite how sad it is when a family has to say good-bye, the orphaned ones are so much worse. I think, if you had said no and walked away, he would have found away to take care of this guy. He knows how I feel about Ridgebacks."

Angela's eyes were damp, but she was smiling as she stroked Brody's head. Hearing the admiration in the younger woman's voice, remembering the way her eyes had followed Dr. Cheney's figure so closely when they worked side-by-side, I was pretty certain that Angela stayed at the clinic for more than just the animals. And if Angela's assessment of Dr. Cheney's intentions was correct, the good doctor had a special sort of admiration for his young assistant, too.

I surprised myself when Angela stood to leave, and I found myself pulling the taller girl in for a hug. She hugged me back and took her leave, promising to check in by phone again before Brody's appointment on Friday morning.

The next several days breezed by. I was sleep deprived, my nutrition and hygiene had taken a massive hit, but I was happier than I had been since before I could remember. Brody and I played all sorts of games, adapted to keep the patient safely in his 2-foot by 3-foot space, of course. He would bat at my feet while I watched TV, bump his nose up against the palm of my hand as I held it at different angles, chew on the squeaky duck toy I ordered off Amazon and try to steal the spoon from my hand after every bite of food.

If the old Bella Swan had showed up to observe the way we goofed around, she would have stood, shaking her head, completely confused. There was nothing inherently funny in anything Brody did, but I could not stop laughing and talking to him. And his eyes, my God, his eyes just melted my heart until it was a puddle of warm goo in my chest.

I showed up to Dr. Cheney's office on Friday morning, proudly carrying my boy in his travel crate, my arms shaking from the strain, but refusing to set him down until Angela looked up and acknowledged me.

When she didn't smile, I was confused. Her eyes darted nervously to the only other customer in the room, a tall gentleman who stood in his neatly-pressed suit, his hands clutching a stack of 8 ½ by 11 sheets of paper.

"Hey, Bella." She smiled this time, but she had a look like something really bad, but completely unavoidable, was about to happen. "How's our little man?"

"Itching to get out of the kennel and move around. He's been trying to stand up since yesterday."

My eyes slipped to the man, but he wasn't looking at me. His eyes were peering into the kennel which I had set down beside me. That's when I noticed that he didn't have a pet of his own. Who went to veterinary clinics without a pet? Maybe he was a sales rep for pet food or medical supplies.

He dropped down into a crouch and made a low, soft whistle. I was surprised to hear a happy whine come from Brody's throat.

"Hey boy, you scared me. I've been so, so worried about you. You're such a tough boy. How ya doin' Mace? I missed you like crazy!"

I looked up at Angela, my heart hammering in shock and terror. She shrugged miserably, tears brimming. I shook my head in denial and snatched the papers out of his hands. The color photo said it all. There was my Brody, a little smaller, sure, but those eyes were unmistakable. His face was pressed up against the man's cheek, happy, healthy and obviously loved.

"Miss Swan?" he asked, standing with one hand stretched out to shake mine. "I'm Edward Cullen, Mace's owner."

I reached out to mirror the gesture automatically, but pulled back at the last second. His smile faltered, and he looked down at the fliers that I was unconsciously crumpling in my left hand.

He looked back up at me, his eyes green and clear, while mine became blurred by crushed hopes and a shattered future. The puppy at my feet was batting at the door of his kennel, trying to get out, desperate to greet the owner who had neglected him and allowed him to be injured in the first place. It felt so wrong, so unfair! Why did he come into my life, open my heart, only to be snatched away without warning? I swallowed the sob that was lodged in my throat, and forced my hand the last few inches to take the man's.

"Yes. I'm Bella. Brody, errr… Mace, he's a really sweet puppy. One-of-a-kind."

"Yeah, he is. He's the best friend I never knew I needed. Thank you so much for rescuing him. I don't even know what to say beyond that. Miss Weber told me what you did, how you found him, brought him here and cared for him this past week. I owe you so much, more than I could ever repay. I just wish I could have been here to prevent it from ever-"

And that's where my anger made itself known. One week? A whole week his 'best friend' was missing, and he was only just now making the rounds with fliers? I was pissed. I was hurting, sure, but more than anything else, I was furious that someone so undeserving could have the love and affection of my dog.

My rage must have been painted all over my face, because Edward Cullen stopped talking and swallowed hard.

"Yeah, speaking of that. Where were you when some asshole hurt Brody and left him for dead?" To hell with Edward Cullen and his macho dog name. My boy answered to Brody.

"I… I was out of town. There was a series of meetings at out New York office that I couldn't miss. I had to be there in person. I never should have left Mace with my brother. He means well, but he doesn't understand what it is to be accountable or responsible. He feels terrible, he really does. Even so, it's going to be a long time before I can forgive him. Not only did he leave the door propped open while he was carrying stuff in from his car, but when he realized Mace was gone, he didn't have the guts to tell me until I got home last night. He said he didn't want me to be distracted, that he knew how important this deal was to me, but the fact is, he was terrified of how I would react. He knows how much Mace means to me, and he knew that I would be furious with him for letting him out."

"You're furious? I'm furious! Your brother is an irresponsible asshole. I would love to run over him with a car, see how he feels." I crossed my arms and held on tight, afraid that I was going to do more than raise my voice. This Edward guy was letting his brother off far too easily.

"Hey, I hear you. And if you hadn't been there, if you hadn't taken him in, saved his life, really, I don't think I would ever be able to forgive Emmett. But the fact is, it was my fault. I know my brother. I know how he is. I was desperate and made a stupid decision, and Mace paid for it. It'll never happen again."

I wanted to say, 'You're right, it won't, because he's mine, and I'm never letting you or your idiot brother near him again!', but Dr. Cheney opened the door and greeted me with a wide, genuine smile. When Angela directed his attention to Edward and introduced him as the puppy's rightful owner, Dr. Cheney's expression became cold as ice. I watched with satisfaction as the sharp-as-nails business man wilted with shame and guilt.

"Miss Swan, why don't you bring our star patient back. Let's get a couple of fresh images and see how everything looks."

I dismissed Edward's offer of assistance, and heaved the plastic kennel back into my arms, maneuvering it through the narrow door with effort.

But it soon became apparent that, no matter how little we all thought of the man, Brody adored him. As soon as he was lifted out of the kennel and placed on the exam table, his wide, adoring gaze became fixated on Edward's face. With no care for his suit pants, the man knelt down beside the table, bringing himself nose-to-nose with the puppy. He talked softly and gently to him as the vet completed his exam, then carefully sedated Brody to ensure he got the clearest images possible.

Edward and I waited together, my hurt and anger making the five feet separating us feel like a mile. He looked at me frequently, even started speaking several times, but I couldn't bear to respond until I knew that my little guy was healing properly. I knew surgery was a distinct possibility, and that scared me, even though I knew he wouldn't be my problem any more. The fact is, I hadn't thought of Brody as a problem, not even for one second. Of course, he was Edward's responsibility again, and it didn't matter how unfair that felt. It didn't matter that Brody owned my heart. Edward owned Brody, errrr Mace... whatever.

I wiped my traitorous eyes for the millionth time, wishing that he wasn't there to see my distress. He offered me a tissue, but I pretended not to see.

"Look, Miss Swan, I know you're angry at me. I'm angry at myself, too. I feel more guilty that I can possibly express. But I also feel relieved, grateful and so, so blessed. I can see how much you love him, how selflessly you've cared for him. I am in your debt."

"I didn't do it for you," I retorted, my voice biting and cold. That shut him up.

By the time Dr. Cheney returned, pushing the exam table on slightly squeaking casters, the room temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. He looked back and forth between Edward and me, before choosing to address the space between us.

"I'm very pleased with how well he is healing. I'm seeing new bone tissue forming already, with excellent alignment across the pelvis and through the lower spine. I admit, my original feelings were a little guarded, but our boy here is healthy, strong and overflowing with joie de vivre. If he can continue with the degree of care and attention he has been receiving this past week, I see no reason why he can't be chasing squirrels and frisbees a month from now."

And there it was… Dr. Cheney was laying the credit at my feet, and challenging the official owner to do as much for his charge as a complete stranger had. I looked over at Edward, and my heart took an uncomfortable dip into my stomach. He was looking down at Brody with such remorse that I couldn't help feeling sorry for the anger and blame I had directed his way.

"Could I speak with Miss Swan for a minute? In private?" he asked the doctor without looking up.

Dr. Cheney raised one eyebrow at me. When I nodded, he gave me an encouraging smile, then disappeared into the reception area, closing the door behind him.

"He's right, you know."

"He is?" I asked, caught off guard.

"The only reason Mace is doing so well is because of you. And the truth is, there's no way I can match it. I work twelve hours a day. I drop Mace off at doggy daycare at six in the morning, and don't pick him up again until they close. So, I guess it doesn't really matter how much I miss him while I'm gone. I can't give him what he needs right now. He needs you."

I was crying again, but this time, so was he. And that made me realize something. Love is something absolutely enormous, something too big for words. And there's room in there for mistakes, for missteps, just like there is room for compassion, forgiveness and a willingness to make things right.

"But he loves you," I said, truthfully. Brody had never greeted me the way he spoke to Edward. He was concerned when I left the room, and relieved when I returned. He trusted me. He needed me. But when he heard and saw Edward out in the lobby, Brody's voice was pure joy.

"He's got a big heart. I think he loves you, too."

"Shit," I muttered, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down my cheeks. I accepted the tissues Edward held out without thinking.

"He's got good taste in people."

"So he can't stand your brother?" I asked sarcastically.

"He tolerates him. We all do," Edward replied with a wry laugh.

"So where does that leave us?"

"Well, I generally pay twenty five dollars a day for the doggy daycare center. It seems crass to put a price on what you've done for Mace, but I would pay you double that to keep him during the day until he's back on his feet."

Fifty bucks a day was a lot of money. That was two solid hours of typing. It was a pretty generous offer. So why was I so offended?

"I can't accept that," I said, my voice cracking.

"Oh…" Edward said, looking down. His hand was resting on Brody's shoulder, long slender fingers curved lovingly over the reddish fur. Brody stirred in his sleep, the sedative beginning to wear off. "I'll ask Dr. Cheney about their boarding rates. And if they can't keep him here, I'm sure Mace's regular vet will be-"

"No! I… I mean, I don't want your money. I just want him to get better."

"Wait, you mean you would consent to keeping him during the day? For free? That's too much. I couldn't ask you to-"

"I'm not doing it for you," I cut him off, but I wasn't angry this time. Brody's tail was twitching in his sleep, and I caught it gently between my fingertips, stroking the tip with my thumb. It was another game we played.

"He's very lucky to have a friend like you," Edward said, smiling down at me.

That's when I really looked at him. His hair was almost the same color as Brody's but with darker brown low-lights and strands of gold woven throughout. His eyes were green and kind, and he had a way of looking at you that was both attentive and patient. He was calm, and gentle. I was starting to see why Brody liked him.

"Thanks," I replied, blushing.

When Mace-Brody opened his eyes a few minutes later, he looked from Edward to me as we stood shoulder to shoulder beside him, and he let out a contented, rumbling sigh.

And that is how I met my husband.

The Beginning