Home Free - Fern Michaels [2]
Cleo looked first at the president, then at Gus before she dropped her head and her two front legs and bowed. Gus laughed. “I taught her that little trick in Iraq.”
“And she remembered.” The president opened the door. The two marines who had escorted Gus to her quarters fell into line until the president said, “No, Cleo will do the honors, gentlemen. She can find her way back.”
The president waited in the open doorway for a full ten minutes, until she saw her best friend trotting down the hall. Cleo let loose with a joyous bark and bounded into the room. She stopped in the middle of the sitting room, threw her head back, let out a loud howl, and flopped down and rolled over. She was on her feet in an instant as she waited for the treat she’d just earned. The president laughed and handed it over.
“Time to go to work, Cleo. We’ve got some serious business to deal with this morning. I think we’re going to be able to make it work. I am the president, so it better work.”
Cleo made a short, high-pitched barking sound that said she understood perfectly, and it was time to get their respective shows on the road.
Martine Connor wondered if she’d made a mistake in holding this meeting in the Oval Office instead of the Situation Room. She could still change her mind. Actually, if it hadn’t been November, she could have held the meeting outdoors, under one of the arbors. While it was brisk outside, the temperature, according to the weatherman, was in the high fifties. Definitely not too cold for a stroll around the grounds with no prying eyes and ears. And, Cleo needed to be walked. The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea of an outdoor meeting. She hated recording devices. No matter how many she dismantled, there would still be that one that would somehow find a way to come back and bite her.
Okay. She was going to switch plans. A nice brisk outside walk. Then a nice warm early lunch to take the edge off a meeting that wasn’t going to be recorded in any logs. She rang for her secretary, issued clipped orders in her best presidential voice, then broke the connection.
Fifteen minutes later, the president’s chief of staff escorted nine people, four men and five women, into the Oval Office. Martine was already wearing a lightweight jacket, her guests carrying either coats or jackets over their arms.
The formal greeting over, the president looked at the curious faces as they wondered what this unorthodox summons out of the blue was all about. She smiled. “I thought a nice brisk walk in the fresh air would do wonders for us all. Then, when we come back in, we’ll all have lunch.” She almost laughed aloud at the startled expressions she was seeing. “Follow me, please.”
As they walked along, the president began to rethink her plans yet again. Maybe this little meeting outside wasn’t such a good idea, after all. How could she talk to nine people unless she rounded them all up in a circle and stood in the middle? Cleo, sensing her dilemma, headed to the president’s own personal gazebo, which was lined with benches and contained a round wooden table. Weather permitting, she often had her meals served out there. She patted the big dog’s head as she stood aside to usher her guests into the gazebo. How did this magnificent dog know instinctively what she was thinking and wanting? She wondered if she would ever figure it out.
The president’s thoughts wandered for a few moments as she tried to figure out why she hadn’t told Gus Sullivan she’d agreed to mate Cleo next week. Did she forget on purpose? Or did she feel she’d overstepped her bounds and should never have done it without Gus’s permission? Regardless, it wasn’t going to work. The vet said that Cleo, in his opinion, was too old to have pups. So there was no need even to bring the subject up. If it wasn’t good for Cleo, then it wasn’t good for Martine, either.
Someone coughed, feet were shuffling. Her guests were getting antsy.
In a very unladylike, unpresidential move, the president perched on