Dream Trilogy (71 page)

“Longer. I was trying to tear up the European circuit, and you were taking the Continent by storm.”

“Those were the days,” she said lightly and, tucking her arm through his, led him inside.

“Great place.” He wasn’t surprised by the elegance of the California Spanish, but he was by its coziness.

“Kate turned us on to it. You remember Kate Powell.”

“Sure.” They strolled out of the tiled foyer into a spacious room with a blazing fire and twin sofas in deep maroon. “How’s she doing? I heard she’s married now.”

“Still a newlywed. You’d like Byron, I think. We’ll have to have a party when you’re settled. Introduce you around.”

“I’m not much of a partier these days.”

“A small one, then. What can I get you to drink?” She glided behind a deeply carved bar. “Josh will be right down. He had a meeting run over.”

“Got a beer?”

“I think we can manage that.” From the small cold box under the bar she chose a bottle. “So it’s horses now.”

“It seems to be.”

He watched her open the bottle, pour beer smoothly into a pilsner. On the third finger of her left hand diamonds and gold flashed. Her hair was more gold, soft, flowing waves of it. And there were more diamonds at her ears. Still, he saw that it was her eyes that shined the brightest.

“You look good, Margo. Happy. It’s nice to see you happy.”

A little surprised, she glanced up. “Really?”

“You never seemed to be really quite there.”

“Apparently you were right.” She set the glass on the bar and pried the silver wine saver off a bottle of champagne. “But I’ve gotten there.”

“A wife, a mommy, and a shopkeeper.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Who’d have thought it?”

“And doing a marvelous job at all three.” After pouring herself a flute of champagne, she toasted herself in turn. “You’ll have to come by Pretenses, Michael. We’re on Cannery Row.”

“I’ll come see your shop, you come see my horses.”

“That’s a deal. I’m sorry about your house.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “No big deal. I didn’t like it anyway. I was more pissed off about the stables. I’d barely gotten them finished when I lost them. Still, it’s just wood and nails. I can buy more.”

“It must have been horrible. I’ve seen film of mud slides and the aftermath of some. I can’t imagine being in the middle of it.”

“You don’t want to.”

He still had moments when the image of driving rain, thundering earth, and wicked winds flashed into his mind. And the panic that came with the flash that he wouldn’t be quick enough, strong enough, smart enough to save what mattered to him.

“Anyway, I’m working on the plans for rebuilding, got a contractor lined up. It’s mostly just time and money.”

“I’m sure you’ll be comfortable at Templeton House until you’ve rebuilt.”

“It’s hard not to be. I met Laura’s kids today. Beautiful kids. The older one’s reserving judgment on me, but Kayla—” He chuckled. “She just moves right in.”

“They’re wonderful girls. Laura’s done a terrific job there.”

“She hasn’t changed much.”

“More than you might think. The divorce was hard on her. Terribly hard. But she’s got that strong Templeton core. You never met Peter Ridgeway, did you?”

“Nope.”

“Trust me,” Margo said and drank deeply. “He’s a bastard.”

“Sugar, you hate him, I’ll hate him, too.”

Laughing, she took his hand. “It’s good to have you back, Michael.”

“Moving in on my wife already, Fury?” Josh came in, an owl-eyed baby on his hip. “My kid and I’ll fight you for her.”

“I think he could take me.” Curious, Michael set his beer aside and walked over to study J. T. The baby studied him right back, then reached out and grabbed a handful of Michael’s hair. “Come here, slugger.”

Even as Margo opened her mouth, dozens of maternal warnings on her tongue, Michael nipped J. T. neatly out of Josh’s arms and settled him on his own hip. The natural move made Margo’s eyes blink in surprise, then narrow with speculation.

Enjoying the stranger, J. T. gurgled.

“Great job, Harvard.” Michael gave J. T. a quick nuzzle. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Josh grinned at his wife. “I had a little help.”

Laura did bring home a fuzzy little kitten. In fact, she brought home two. And a pair of lean, sharp-eyed toms. And a big-footed puppy with a spotted coat and an eager tongue.

The small zoo in her car caused her a bit of trouble but gave her a great deal of pleasure. She drove home with cats meowing bitterly in their boxes, kittens sleeping on the car mat, and an adoring puppy sprawled in her lap.

“Wait until the girls get a load of you.” Already in love, she stroked the puppy’s head. “And I guess if they fight over you, I’ll just have to go back and pick up a brother or sister for you.”

Laughing, she turned into the drive at Templeton House. So foolish, she realized, not to have done this before. Old habits, she mused. Peter hadn’t wanted pets, so there had been no pets. But Peter had been gone nearly two years. And that was two years too long not to have made some simple adjustments.

After parking the car, she glanced around at her menagerie and blew out a breath. “How the hell am I going to manage to get you all inside?”

She had a leash for the pup, which she attached to his brand-new collar. She held out no hope that he would understand the purpose. For a brief moment, she considered laying on the horn until someone came out to give her a hand. Which, she assumed, would send her new petting zoo into a frenzy.

So she’d deal with it herself. “You first,” she decided, and opened the door. The puppy cowered, sniffed at the empty space on the other side of her lap. Then, gathering his courage, he jumped. If she hadn’t been laughing so hard, she would have held on to the leash. But the pup landed in a sprawl and looked so surprised that she roared with laughter and the leather slid out of her hands.

He was off and running.

“Oh, damn it.” Still laughing, she sprang out of the car. “Come back here, you idiot.”

Instead, he raced in circles, then cut through old Joe’s pampered bed of narcissus, yapping joyously all the way.

“Oh, that’s going to be a problem,” she realized. Wincing, she walked around the car to retrieve the sleepy kittens. In the back, the toms continued to complain at the top of their lungs. “All right, all right. Give me a minute here.”

Inspired, she tucked a kitten in each of her jacket pockets, then hauled out the cat boxes. “You two are Michael’s problem.” Following the excited barks, she headed toward the stables.

The sight that greeted her when she stepped through the arbor of wisteria was worth every moment of annoyance. In the far yard, her daughters were kneeling on the ground embracing and being embraced by a wildly enthusiastic spotted mutt.

She took the picture in her mind, slipped it into her heart.

“Look, Mama!” Kayla was already shouting as Laura started toward them. “Come quick and look at the little puppy. He must be lost.”

“He doesn’t look lost to me.”

“He has a leash.” Ali giggled—a sound Laura could never hear often enough—as he scrambled into her lap. “Maybe he ran away from home.”

“I don’t think so. He is home. He’s ours.”

Ali simply stared. “But we can’t have pets.”

With a smile, Laura adjusted her boxes. “He doesn’t seem to agree with you.”

“Do you mean it?” Kayla rose. The expression of stunned joy on her face carved itself into Laura’s heart. “Do you mean he can be our puppy and we can keep him? Forever?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Mama!” In one leap, Kayla had her arms wrapped around her mother’s waist. She clung hard, fierce. “Mama, thank you. I’ll take such good care of him. You’ll see.”

“I know you will, honey.” She looked over at Ali, who remained still, staring. “We all will. He needs a good home and lots of love. We’ll give him that, won’t we, Ali?”

Inner conflict held her back. Her father had said pets were a nuisance, messy. They shed hair all over the rug. But the puppy was sniffing at her leg, wagging his tail and trying to jump into her arms.

“We’ll take good care of him,” she said solemnly. She started to step forward, stopped. Her mouth went lax in shock. “Mama, your pockets are moving.”

“Oh.” With a laugh, Laura set her boxes down, reached in and plucked out two furry balls, one silken gray and the other sassy orange, from her pockets. “What have we here?”

“Kittens?” Kayla squealed, grabbed. “Kittens. We have kittens, too! Look, Ali, we have everything.”

“They’re so tiny.” Gently, cautiously, Ali took the mewling gray. “Mama, they’re so tiny.”

“They’re just babies. Just over six weeks old.” Every bit as much in love as her daughters were, Laura stroked a fingertip down the sleepy gray. “They needed a home too.”

“It’s really all right?” Half afraid to hope, Ali looked up into her mother’s eyes. “It’s really all right for us to keep them all?”

“It’s really all right.”

“More!” Tuning in to the sounds coming from the cardboard boxes, Kayla pounced.

“No, those aren’t ours. Those are barn cats, for Michael.”

“I’ll take them to him.” Desperate to share her fabulous news with anyone who would listen, Kayla handed her kitten to Ali and hefted both boxes by the straps. Grunting a little, she headed toward the stables. “Come on, cats. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Do they have names?”

“Hmm.” Absently Laura stroked her daughter’s hair, then made herself look away from the comical picture of Kayla, bobbling along with two boxes full of impatient felines and a puppy racing around her legs in clumsy, big-footed circles. “They will have, when we pick them out.”

“Can I name one myself? Pick out the name all by myself? For the little gray kitten?” Ali lifted it to her cheek.

“Of course you can. What name would you like?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“It’s—I don’t know,” Laura realized. “I forgot to ask. It’s probably on one of the papers I filled out.” With one arm around Ali’s shoulders, she walked after Kayla. “The puppy’s a boy, and both big cats are boys because that’s what Michael wanted.”

“Because he likes boys better?”

Uh-oh. “No, honey. I guess he figured tomcats would be meaner, and he wanted mousers.”

Her eyes went huge. “He’s going to let them eat mice?”

“Baby, I’m afraid that’s what cats do.”

Ali pressed the little ball of fluff to her cheek. “Mine won’t.”

Kayla’s voice was already echoing in high, excited chirps, accented by the yaps of the pup, who had raced inside the stables with her. When Laura stepped in and her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw Michael and Kayla crouched together on the brick floor, taking stock of Templeton House’s new mutt.

“Looks like a good dog to me,” Michael stated, giving the pup an energetic scratch between the ears.

“So you can teach him tricks, right, Mr. Fury? How to sit and play dead and shake?”

“I expect.”

The pup sniffed curiously at one of the cat boxes and was rewarded with a spitting hiss. Yelping, he streaked away and cringed behind Laura’s legs.

“He’s already learned something.” With a grin, Michael opened the first box. “Don’t mess with a cornered tom. No, honey.” Michael took Kayla’s hand before she could reach in to pet the cat. “I doubt he’s in a friendly mood at the moment. Don’t like being cooped up there, do you, big guy? Let’s get you and your pal out.”

He opened the other box, then drew Kayla back. “We’ll just let them get the lay of the land. Once they’ve catted around some, they’ll settle in.” His eyes skimmed over Laura, lingered, then moved on. “Whatcha got there, Ali?”

“Kittens.” Ali’s hands and heart were full of them already. “Mama brought us kittens too.”

“Fuzzy little kitties.” As he walked to them, he ran his tongue around his teeth. “Cute.”

“Mama said I could name the gray one myself.”

“Then I get to name the orange one.” Staking her claim, Kayla took the orange kitten out of Ali’s hand and nuzzled it against her cheek. “Don’t I, Mama?”

“Fair enough. We’ll have a naming marathon after dinner. We’ll just get out of Mr. Fury’s way—”

“Can’t we show the kittens to Max? Can’t we?”

“Sure you can.” Michael winked at Kayla. “He’s a real softie.” When the girls raced off, the pup at their heels, Michael shook his head. “What the hell have you done, Laura?”

“Made my girls very happy.” She pushed back her hair. “And saved five lives in the bargain. Do you have a problem with kittens and puppies?”

“Nope.” The cats had leaped out of their boxes and were slinking around, growling softly. Michael reached over and stroked the nose of his sober gelding. “You ever do anything halfway?”

“I’ve been known to.” She unbent enough to smile. “I couldn’t stop myself. If you’d seen the girls’ faces when I told them that silly little dog was theirs . . . I’ll never forget it.”

With the same absent affection he’d shown the gelding, Michael stroked her cheek. He didn’t know if he was amused or annoyed when she jerked like a spring. “You need some training yourself.”

“Excuse me?”

“You shy easy. I appreciate you picking up the cats for me,” he said before she could think of a response.

“No trouble. The whole lot of them need to go to the vet. Shots. Neutering.”

“Ouch!” In a knee-jerk male reaction, he winced. “Yeah, I guess that’s the deal.”

“It’s the responsible choice—and it’s required when you adopt from the shelter. I have all the paperwork. Except I—”

“What?”

“Well, I didn’t think to ask about the sex of the kittens. I don’t know if they told me. It started to get complicated and confusing, and I think I’ve heard that it’s difficult to tell with young kittens.”