Page 29 of Booked for Theft

EIGHT

“Did Ajani forgive me for abandoning her?”

While the chef managed to make my eyes burn a little, I kept my tears to myself. I did need some milk and yogurt to ease the burn, and I praised the woman in a raspy voice, earning a laugh from everyone except the Secret Service agents, who maintained their stoic expressions.

After dinner, we were guided to a bedroom on the first floor. Named the Lincoln Bedroom, it featured a rosewood and walnut monster of a bed and other pieces of furniture from centuries long past. Magic kept everything in good condition, and we were promised the room could handle anything we could toss at it.

I waited for the President of the United States and his security detail to leave before heaving a sigh. “He thinks I have enough energy to do anything other than change into my pajamas, crawl into bed, and possibly cry—and crying is questionable right now. Generating tears consumes energy I lack.”

Bradley smiled, gave me a gentle kiss, and retrieved my suitcase, the smallest of them. “In good news, I did bring enough clothes to last you until Saturday morning. In bad news, I dressed you to suit me best. I wasn’t expecting to be staying at the White House, so they’re going to witness us in casual attire.”

“If President Castillo didn’t want to see us in casual attire, he wouldn’t have invited us to stay in his house. I honestly didn’t even know they let people sleep in the White House.”

“They open up this bedroom every rare now and again to those who’d like to stay here. I checked the schedule, and it isn’t one of the weekends they have guests, so it makes sense to put us here. The Blair House is likely occupied. I’m glad we weren’t put there, because I would have had to go hunt for some precious book to add to their collection. That’s a tradition; those who stay at that residence bring a title to add to the library, and the general rule is it should be a rare or relevant book. If I got a precious rare book for the Blair House, I’d have to get at least two for my librarian.”

Once in my favorite pair of pajamas, I slid between the sheets, hoped the duvet wouldn’t roast us to death, and freed an arm long enough to summon my fiancé to bed. “We can go walk around an excessive amount and hunt for used bookstores in the area before the foot doctors decide if they have to amputate my foot this time.”

Bradley laughed, obeyed my command, and joined me. As was our way, we wrestled for the right to be the primary cuddler, which he won with relative ease. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve had better days. There really wasn’t anything I could have done for him, Bradley. Not a single damned thing, even if I was right there when the heart attack started. There was cancer just squeezing away at his heart, and even if I could have cut it away, he still would have died.” I drew a deep breath to keep from crying. “And unless I had been right there, he was down long enough before they got CPR to actually work that his brain cells had already started to die. The CPR prevented damage to the other organs, but it was unlikely he would have woken up. I might have been able to stop that, but not the heart damage.”

“It’s not your fault, and I’ll keep telling you that until you believe it. Still, I’m sorry. You liked him, and then you ended up helping transplant his organs.”

“Yeah. At one stage, I ended up holding his lungs to keep them properly oxygenated. I had a lung in each hand, Bradley. That’s going to haunt my nightmares.”

“I’ll wake you up if it gets too bad,” he promised. “As we are scheduled to do tourism tomorrow, we shall prep your foot for possible amputation through clocking in numerous miles of exploration. If I tire you out enough, maybe you’ll sleep tomorrow night.”

“It’s worth a try. Did Ajani forgive me for abandoning her?”

“She did. I’m sure your parents will handle taking care of our cat, our goats, and our horses. As a hostage condition, you will be required to ride my horse for at least an hour.”

Since our return home, I’d learned I loved riding my horse, and my mother had made a critical mistake when purchasing my animal.

She hadn’t confirmed if the mare had been bred or not. After the first vet visit, we learned I’d be having a foal by the end of the year, and I refused to ride a pregnant horse. As such, Bradley and I shared his horse, a gelding who wouldn’t be causing any extra unintentional babies in our barn.

After conferring with numerous experts in the field, my mother and father had decided to purchase a stallion prospect, a yearling eager and ready to run races with an excellent temperament. With the right magic, which a friend of theirs possessed and was willing to use for a nominal fee, the animal could race and had an aptitude for it.

The last I checked, my mother was learning how to train her colt, she’s already hired a jockey with a soft hand but good performance record, and she was ready to prove her little babies could go the distance.

“Sunflower is never going to forgive me,” I complained.

“Sunflower will still love you best, I’m sure. She just has to be a mommy first, and if we get lucky, she’ll toss us a filly, and you’ll have two horses while I only have Majestic.”

I snickered, as Majestic had gotten his name from tripping over his own hooves and trying to act like nothing had happened. If Bradley had been given his way, the horse’s name would have been Majesty as Fuck. Our parents had vetoed his choice of names, and he’d defiantly dubbed him Majestic. “And if I get a colt, we’ll see what happens. We have the breeding records for Sunflower since we asked the previous owner, so the foal will be registered in any case. We might be able to do a foal swap. My mother has been talking with some other owners of her breed, and they will surely have an equal quality filly. If he has a good temperament, he might be a stallion prospect.”

“Your mother has corrupted you, I see.”

“She really has. Since you’re my social secretary until Sunday at the earliest, please do pen me in for an hour on Majestic. Should you fail to, you’re penning me in for buying another buckskin I can ride. If Mom is going to be keeping stallions in her new stallion barn, and we can find a good buckskin stud, I can help Sunflower’s breed.”

I’d been horrified to discover my mother and father had gone all in with my horse, purchasing a good mare from an uncommon breed, the Sorraia.

Sunflower had been imported from Germany before being sold to us, and while she was technically a dun rather than a buckskin, we called her a buckskin.

The foal was a bonus, and I still didn’t understand why the owner had neglected to mention Sunflower had been bred until we’d asked if there was a registration of the covering.

“I’m sure I can make one of those two things happen on Saturday, Sunday after the funeral if things are too busy on Saturday.”

“Then it’s a plan. I will look forward to this to help me get through the next few days. This is going to be a shit show,” I predicted.