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The Basset Hound’s wildly flopping ears would trip him any second. Wouldn’t they?
Lancelot reached the end of the hall long before Van, hesitating at the door to the stairs that some avidexercisersusedinsteadoftheelevator.Thedoor was open. It shouldn’t be open. It was a fire door. Now it was a freedom door. Lancelot raced through it.
VanheardLancelot’snailsclickingandskittering— fast — on the stairs. The dog must be down a good flight or two already.
At the door to the stairs, he was just in time for it to slam onto his nose. It figured, didn’t it? Somebody leaves the door open so a runt of a dog could run off, and while he was at it, skid against that door, which managed to close, wham bam, against the nearest nose.
Vanwantedtohowl.Instead,heshoutedbackover his shoulder. “Aunt Cynthia, phone Walden downstairs. Tell him to stop that dog!”
Van gave his nose one final gingerly rub. He shoved open the door and rocketed down the stairs. Suddenly, the park princess was a few steps behind him. He bet she’d made it through that door with no damage to her nose.
They burst out into the apartment building’s quietly lavish lobby, all serene marble and stately wood paneling. That calm atmosphere didn’t last long.
Walden took a flying leap for Lancelot. The man landed on his nose. The dog bounded away.
“Ouch,” Van said with heart-felt empathy. Make that nose-felt.
“Out of my way,” Mary ordered. “Your dog is getting away. He’s on his way back to my dog, I know it. That Lothario. That lusting lounge lizard.”
She threw herself after Lancelot. The way things were going in this race, Mary was likely to plant a dainty little foot squarely on Walden’s back. Van winced in anticipation.
But Mary leaped nimbly over the doorman and clattered on through the lobby.
Van shook himself together and followed. He spared a glance for the gaping look of relief on the prostrate doorman’s face.
That look back was almost a big mistake. Van turned forward again, barely in time to see Mary throw open the building’s heavy glass and brass front door.
Van leaped back with a defensive hand cupped over his nose. Once he was sure it was safe, he reopened the door himself and raced after Mary and the dog.
Lancelot veered to the right and bounded into a sea of ornamental grass. Expensive ornamental grass, if Van recalled correctly from the condo’s budget meeting. He winced at the swathe of grass Lancelot flattened as he barreled through.
“He’s heading back toward my house, just like I told you,” Mary yelled over her shoulder. “Oh no you don’t, you little gigolo!” She took a flying leap. She landed sprawling in the grass with an armful of struggling Basset Hound.
Van was close now, too close. At the last possible moment,hesidesteppedMary’swildlywavingheels. Or did he? Already off-balance, he skidded on the bruised, juicy grass. He teetered for a moment that feltlikeanhour.Nope,hecouldseenohelpforit.The only way to regain his balance would be to plant his own big foot on Mary’s pretty little hand. He couldn’t do it.
So, he went down on top of her. He might have to get used to rolling around on the grass with her.
He managed to brace his arms as he landed, so he didn’t knock the breath out of himself and crush her. In fact, he considered it a good landing. Maybe he could forgive himself for taking a moment to decide exactly how good a landing it was. Just what portions of her curvy little body had he fallen on?
He soon had an inkling. Her warm derriere was rounded nicely against his —
“Oh no you don’t, you big oaf!” Mary tried to wiggle, waggle, and squirm her way out from under him.
The wiggling was wonderful, but the waggling and squirming just didn’t cut it. He reluctantly held himself up far enough off the ground to help her work herself free.
She emerged with a miserable Lancelot clutched securely in her arms.
“At least things are a little different this time,” Van said. “That is, I assume they are. You are wearing clothes under your coat this time, aren’t you?”
Chapter Seven
The Plot Thickens
A
UNT CYNTHIA WAS HOVERINGat the apartment door when they arrived back, catching their breath. Van hoped she’d forgotten about tea. The longer he was around Mary Samuel the more likely he was to payattentiontothepersonaswellasthebody.There was something about her …
“Comein,children,comein.Asforyou,youngman — ” she shook her finger at Lancelot “ — go take a timeout.” She swept out her arm, pointing the way toward the far corner of the living room.
