Always The Wedding Planner, Never The Bride Part 29

"You've been under a lot of stress," Emma said softly. "The move, the wedding, a new job and a new home, all the trips to the hospital."

"And I'm allergic to the love of my life," she wailed into her folded arms.

"No. You're not."

"And I can't find my wedding dress. . . . Either of them."

"It's only natural that, at some point, you'd go a little batty."

Sherilyn whimpered and nodded her head without looking up.

"I think a good cry is in order. I really do."

She knew how pathetic she sounded as she sniffled, "O-kaay."

"But while you do that, Sher, I'm going to go find your dog. And then we're going to call the veterinarian and find out if chewing up a cell phone-"

"He's not my dog," she pointed out weakly. "Please don't call him my dog. He's not my dog."

"I know you'd like to believe that," she said, rubbing Sherilyn's shoulder. "But, sweetie. He's your dog. More importantly, he's Andy's dog. And you've just evicted him."

It took a few seconds, but realization stabbed her, and Sherilyn's head popped up.

"Oh, sweet k.u.mquat! What have I done?!"

And with that, Sherilyn barreled toward the door, threw it open, raced out to the deck . . . hit a patch of ice and promptly went flying, tumbled down three frozen steps, and thudded into several inches of tightly-packed snow.

Stunned, she just laid there. All thoughts of her BlackBerry, retrieving Henry, having a bunch of crazy to make up for . . . all of it, gone.

Until a large, warm, pink tongue began slurping at the side of her face.

"Oh, Henry. Thank G.o.d."

After Emma finally managed to help her stand up again, and after half an hour of cuddles and apologies on the sofa, Sherilyn and Andy Drummond had a dog again.

And something else besides.

"Oh, Sher," Emma exclaimed as she helped her friend out the front door toward the waiting car. "Just take slow, deliberate breaths. I'll get you to the emergency room."

"Hotel," she managed as she climbed into the pa.s.senger seat of the Explorer. "Inhaler."

"No, Sher. We're going to the hospital. Just hang on, okay?" Sherilyn clutched her neck, ma.s.saging it as she tried to force air down her throat and into her lungs. Her heart pounded wildly, and the ringing in her ears partially drowned out whatever Emma had been trying to tell her.

"I . . . can't . . ."

"But the good news is you're probably not allergic to Andy at all!" Emma declared as she sped through the stop at the corner. "It's clearly Henry you're allergic to, Sher."

The reality of the revelation felt like a pile of bricks stacked on her chest. Or was that just her airways constricting?

"Shhh." Emma greeted Andy at the door of Sherilyn's hotel room with her finger over her lips. "She's asleep."

Andy carefully clicked the door shut behind him and softly approached the bed. Sherilyn always pulled her hair into a ponytail at the top of her head when she didn't feel well; something left over from her childhood, she'd told him during a bout with the stomach flu back in Chicago. True to form, her hair formed a teepee at the center of her head, scrunched together with a large gingham ruffled band. With her face tucked sideways into the pillow and her wayward hair pointing upward, she reminded him a bit of a sleeping Pebbles Flintstone.

Emma rolled her hand at him, and he followed her out to the balcony as she slipped into her coat. Once the door formed a solid barrier between them and Sherilyn, she began to explain in an almost-whisper.

"She was looking for her BlackBerry over at the house. She was in very close proximity with the dog, and she was having trouble breathing, closing up the way she does."

"Henry?" The implication wasn't lost on him, and Andy battled the disappointment.

"The doctor did some tests. The results will be ready in a couple of days, but we're pretty sure, Andy. It's Henry. Sher's allergic to the dog."

"Ah, man." He sat down on the cold iron chair next to the bistro table, and Emma leaned against the railing.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"She didn't want Henry anywhere near her," he said, shaking his head. "But I talked her into it."

"Well, you didn't know."

"I should have-"

"Andy," she interrupted him. Leaning down until she caught his eye, she repeated, "You didn't know."

He nodded. "I'll find a home for him."

She rubbed the sleeve of his coat. "I'm sorry, Andy. I know you really love him."

He smiled. "I love her a little more."

"Just a little?" she said.

"I'm a sucker for any shade of redhead. Always have been."

"Lucky for her you didn't fall for an Irish Setter then."

"Yeah. Close call."

Andy glanced through the gla.s.s and noticed Sherilyn sitting straight up in bed, her funny little ponytail pointing at the ceiling and her eyes turned stormy. When she saw him, she tried to smile, but it didn't quite make it all the way across her lips, and the corner of her mouth twitched a greeting.

"Brrr," Emma growled as they went inside. "It is really cold out there."

Andy sat down on the edge of the bed, and Sherilyn melted into his arms, burying her face inside his open coat.

"Andy, it's Henry," she said into his collarbone. "I'm allergic to Henry."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry."

He pressed his palm against the back of her head and smoothed her lumpy hair in an upward motion. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

"But you-"

"-love Henry," he finished for her. "And I'll put all of my efforts into finding him a really great new home."

She moaned and tossed her head against him.

"There are probably lots of people who would love to have a dog like Henry," he reasoned. "He'll have new digs in no time at all."

She made an indecipherable sound, sort of like, "Ihh."

"Hey. Did you find your BlackBerry?"

When she simply whimpered but didn't respond, Andy looked to Emma. With a reluctant shrug, she told him, "Henry."

"What about him?"

"He ate it."

After a full minute of silence, Andy's eyes just stuck on Emma's, a tiny little noise escaped out of Sherilyn. In another couple of seconds, she was b.u.mping against him, her face still buried.

"Honey?"

It wasn't until she looked up at him that he realized she was laughing and crying at the same time.

"Sherilyn?"

"My whole life was in that thing," she said, and a fit of slightly hysterical laughter followed before her face contorted again. "I'm really sorry about your dog, Andy. I really am."

Emma tilted one shoulder into a shrug as she told him, "She's been on the verge like this all day." Then she opened her eyes wide and mimed, "Losing it!"

Andy shifted, placed his hand under her chin and lifted Sherilyn's face to his. "Are you all right?"

Laughing, she shook her head emphatically. "Nope," she said, and she continued to giggle and cry in alternating spurts.

"It says here that you're allergic to aloe?"

"Yes." Sherilyn nodded.

"Don't see a lot of that."

"No?"

"No, it's a fairly unusual allergy."

"Ever since I was a kid. I was at a friend's house, and I burned my hand on the stove. Her mom tore off a chunk from a plant she had in the window and put the gel on the burn. Twenty minutes later, I was a large round beet with legs."

The doctor chuckled as she reviewed the pages on the clipboard in her hands. Adjusting her white lab coat, she sat down on the short round stool and wheeled it toward Sherilyn.

She held out a fat wooden Popsicle stick and said, "Open." Shining a light into her throat, the doctor peered inside. She then repeated the inspection into both ears and up her nose. Sherilyn wondered where the doctor might want to look next!

"And you're sure you didn't purchase any new body lotion or hair conditioner?"

"Nope."

"Sunscreen, facial tissues-"

"What, like Kleenex?"

"Usually the ones marked for bad colds or runny noses."

"No."

"Natural laxatives or digestive aids?"

Sherilyn arched an eyebrow. "Really? No."

Dr. Benson lowered the clipboard to her lap and leaned forward with a sigh. "I think it's pretty clear that your problem the other day was related to your allergy to aloe. But it would really help if we could determine the source."

Sherilyn shook her head and shrugged. "I really don't know.

I was sure it was my fiance's dog."

"What kind of dog?" she asked casually.

"A big, hairy one."

"The breed?"

"One of those sheepdogs," she said.

"An Old English?"

"Yes. That's it."

"And what made you think it was the dog?"

"It seems like every time I've had these flares, Henry has been somewhere nearby."

Dr. Benson descended into deep thought for a moment.

"Well, either Henry or Andy."

She arched an eyebrow. "Andy?"

"My fiance," Sherilyn said with a chuckle. "There for a while, I was starting to think I was allergic to Andy, and not his dog."

"Really."