Home Free - Fern Michaels [33]
Gus Sullivan threw back his head and laughed. “I’ve always heard that women handle all the details, so whatever works for you will work for me.” A moment later he was back in the wheelchair and inviting her into Red Oak Cabin. Cleo nudged Maggie along.
Inside Red Oak Cabin, a fire was blazing in the fieldstone fireplace. A plate of sandwiches and what looked like a pot of hot chocolate were waiting on the coffee table. Cleo walked over, circled the table twice, sniffed everything, and barked sharply.
“That bark means it’s okay to eat this stuff. Cleo used to be my dog when we were deployed, but she’s retired now. I gave her to President Connor when I went back to Iraq. She lets me come to see her when I’m home, which is for good now. The docs tell me I’ll be walking when the spring flowers bloom. I can’t wait.”
“Maybe we should postpone the wedding till you can walk down the aisle,” Maggie said as she poured out the hot chocolate, and lo and behold, out came minimarshmallows.
“Okay. See how easy I am to get along with?”
When was the last time she’d had this much fun? Never, that was when. Maggie removed her watch cap, and her mane of corkscrew red curls sprang to life.
“I like a woman with a lot of hair, especially curly red hair. You hate it, don’t you?” Gus laughed.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I had an aunt who had the same kind of hair, and she always hated it.” He was laughing again, not at her but with her.
Maggie sat down on the floor so that she was at eye level with Gus. “Now that we’ve settled our marriage plans, the reporter, I should say the ex-reporter, in me wants to know about Iraq, Cleo, your past life, and your future. As your prospective bride, I need to know these things.”
“You want the short version or the long version?”
“The forever one,” Maggie said as Cleo nudged her to rub her belly.
They talked until midafternoon, when Gus’s nurse called a halt by saying it was time for therapy and then he had to get ready for dinner at Aspen Cabin.
Maggie knew she was being dismissed, and that was okay. She couldn’t remember having a more enjoyable time. She was on her feet in one fluid motion. She leaned over brazenly and kissed Gus Sullivan full on the lips, a long, lingering kiss that couldn’t have been taken in any way other than what she meant it to be. “See you at dinner,” she called over her shoulder as she tripped her way to the door. At the last second, as she was about to close the door, she called back, “When we return to the District, how about I do an article on you and Cleo and some of your buddies for our Life section? Maybe we can get the president to give us some quotes on Cleo. What do you say?”
“You got it, Maggie Spritzer.”
And she did. Oh, life was lookin’ so good. She could hardly wait to tell the girls that she was finally deliriously, hopelessly in love, and it had taken only the time for her heart to beat twice.
Chapter 9
“I think, Fergus, it’s time to get dressed for our guests. I told everyone to come anytime after noon, and it is noon now. It might behoove us to put some clothes on. What do you think, sweetie?”
No one had ever called Fergus Duffy “sweetie.” Fergus threw his head back and let loose with a bear of a laugh. And to think he’d dreaded this visit to the United States. “Well, you do hang out with a prudish bunch, so yes, let’s get dressed.”
Ninety minutes later, including a small interlude for a little tomfoolery, as Annie put it, the couple was sitting across from each other in the kitchen, sipping coffee.
“Fergus, do I look as sappy as you do?” Annie asked fretfully.
“Absolutely. Do you want to practice looking . . . oh, I don’t know, maybe stupid?”
“My girls would see through that in a New York minute. I know, let’s talk about something else. Tell me what you think of our president. I’m trying to figure out why she invited Maggie Spritzer to Camp David. The invitation came out of the blue three days before Thanksgiving. That alone tells me something is going on. The question is, What?