Home Free - Fern Michaels [32]
“An itinerary is on the dresser, ma’am. You will have an escort at all times. Is there anything else I can do for you, ma’am?”
“No. Thank you very much. So, if I want to go outside, do I just . . . you know, go out and someone will join me?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s how it works. It is snowing harder now, so you want to be very careful and wear good boots or shoes.”
Maggie quickly unpacked and put her clothes away. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed to read through the papers that had been left for her. When she was sure she had the rules down pat, she changed her clothes and opted for a brisk walk instead of a run. She eyed the book about the history of Camp David sitting on a little table. When she got back, she would peruse it and have a cup of hot chocolate. As she switched outfits and laced up her boots, she wondered how things were going at Pinewood. She felt sad that she wasn’t there, but she had called before she left to come to the Camp. Annie had sounded . . . so upbeat and was actually giggling as she talked. She’d said all the right things and told her there would be other Thanksgiving dinners and not to sweat this one. “After all, dear, an invitation to Camp David is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, so enjoy it, and we’ll drink a toast to you at dinner.” Maggie’s eyes had misted over when she hung up.
Well, that was then; this was now. She zipped up her jacket, jammed a wool watch cap down over her curly hair, and ventured forth.
Outside, a marine fell into step behind her. She turned. “I’m just going to walk around and look at things. Is that okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And that was what she did for a full hour, the snow beating at her back and stinging her face, but she didn’t care. When she was done and back in Holly Cabin, her reward would be the book sitting on the table just waiting to be read and a cup of hot chocolate. She hoped the chef put the tiny marshmallows in his hot chocolate.
That was her intent, but it all changed the moment she passed by Red Oak Cabin to see a man in a motorized wheelchair, another man who might have been a male nurse or an attendant, and the biggest dog she’d ever seen in her life. She rushed forward. “Do you need some help?”
The huge dog yipped once as she moved to get between Maggie and the man in the wheelchair. Maggie immediately backed away when she heard the wheelchair-bound man say, “Easy, girl. She’s a friend. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here. Gus Sullivan,” he said, holding out his hand.
Maggie stepped forward, looked down at the outstretched hand, then raised her gaze to look directly into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her entire life. Her heart took an extra beat, then another, and Maggie Spritzer, hard-bitten ex-reporter, slave-driving editor in chief, fell totally and hopelessly in love.
The man stared at her intently, then he, too, smiled. “Will you marry me? I’m free the last week in February.”
Maggie laughed. “Funny thing, I’m free that weekend, also. The answer is yes. Maggie Spritzer, I’m the editor in chief at the Post. This is just a wild guess on my part, but is this gorgeous dog by any chance Cleo?”
Cleo yipped and offered her paw, which Maggie shook solemnly. Then she took charge the way she always did. “I think if you take him by one arm, and I take him by the other, we can get him up on the porch,” she said to the attendant. The marine can’t help us. They have to have hands free at all times.”
“I can stand. I can actually walk a little, but I can’t do steps,” Gus said.
“So you get a ride. City hall or the white gown, tux, and the walk down the aisle?” she quipped as she reached out to shove her shoulder under his arm. “I gotta