Meg's Best Man: A Montana Weekend Novella by Cynthia Bruner

drew him cavorting in a creek.
    He was beautiful. She’d certainly want him as a friend.
    She glared at the drawing. Mouse the Montana moose would feel stupid and want to stay home from the wild mustang’s party. If it were her child reading this story, if her child had a wounded heart, would she want him to stay home or go to the party? Kids could be mean, whether or not they were trying to. Certainly they were cliquish. She’d want two things: for her child’s heart to be safe, and for her child to be brave.
    She’d put him in his favorite shirt, let him wear his favorite slippers, cover his face with mommy kisses, and give him a cell phone so he could call her every five minutes. Meg put her head in her hands. No wonder she didn’t have any kids. She’d warp them.
    Mouse would retreat to his favorite bog. He’d have a moss and cranberry sandwich. The eagle might fly by. That eagle knew a lot, because she had raised twenty-seven chicks. She would tell him that he just might have fun at the wild mustang’s party, and he should give it a try. And he should bring something that made him happy, so he would be happy even if everyone else was boring.
    Nothing makes a moose happier than moss. So he would dunk his antlers in the water and come up looking slimy and green. Or he would look like a Christmas tree.
    That’s it! It would be a Christmas party. Mouse would look silly, but he’d pick up cranberries, mistletoe, icicles, and all sorts of other decorations on his way to the party. By the time he arrived he would be the life of the party.
    And it would turn out that the fox liked cranberries and the wild mustang liked moss, and Mouse would share his snacks with them. Meg could see it now. There would be things the wild mustang liked to do with the moose, like run fast and jump fences. Maybe the fox and mustang liked their own games together, and the book would make it clear that it’s okay to have different friends and share different interests.
    Meg frowned. Clearly the book had a life of its own. It didn’t have anything to do with her own situation. She had no plans to wear moss to the wedding, it wasn’t Christmas, and it was definitely not okay if the wild mustang liked to cavort with the fox once in a while.
    She looked out the window and felt grumpy about the wedding, and when she looked back at the table she saw it covered with drawings. There was a story here, and images that made her smile. When Monday came, she would have something to tell her publisher. The sense of excitement and relief bubbled up inside of her. It came out first as a prayer of thanks, and then it ended up being a full-on Snoopy from Peanuts happy dance as she sang, “I have a story! I have a story!”
    Having that worry lifted from her shoulders was even better than drinking coffee.
    She remembered then that she had a couple instant coffee emergency packets in her cupboards. She boiled the water, made a cup, smothered the nasty taste in hazelnut syrup and milk, and enjoyed it. The taste of coffee made her remember her Bible. She plopped it down in the middle of the Mouse drawings and took her time reading. After a little James and a little Proverbs she was feeling imperfect but peaceful. She set down the empty cup and opened the one tall cabinet in her camper. It was ten inches wide and held all long things, including a broom, an extension grabber, a nice skirt, and one dress with the tags still on it. She pulled out the dress and hung it over the door to get a good look.
    It didn’t look like much on the hanger. It was gray with short, cap sleeves and a subtle silk ruffle along the neckline. But the fabric was gorgeous, rich and soft, and it fit like it was made for her. She couldn’t wear hiking boots with it. And she couldn’t drive her Jeep up to the crowded meadow in front of Joshua’s cabin. She stared at her boots, which were tucked under the edge of her bed. She should wear them with jeans, and a ponytail, something nice