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“Uhhh,” Mary said.
“What do you think, Van?”
“Uhhh,” Van said. He thought he saw where Aunt Cynthia was going with this, and it was absurd. Sure, itwouldsolveeverythingifhecouldturnresponsibility for his aunt over to a husband. But Aunt Cynthia wasanglingforMarytobethematchmaker,andthat wouldbringherfartoocloseforVan’speaceofmind.
“Well, I think it’s a fine idea,” Aunt Cynthia continued. “Here’s what we are going to do. Van, you are going to work with Mary on finding me a husband.”
Van shook his head.
“You are also going to do this book with Mary,” Aunt Cynthia continued.
“No. No. No.”
Aunt Cynthia overrode him before he could sputter out five more repetitions of “no.” “You will also fall in love, the book will be a bestseller, and Mary will be able to work at home on new bestsellers so she doesn’t have to leave your babies in daycare.”
Van gasped for air. The price of the Aunt Cynthia solution had just soared from too much to astronomical and unthinkable. “No book,” he blurted. “And definitely no babies.”
“Oh, pooh. I refuse to get married and leave you beforeIknowI’vefoundsomeoneelsetotakecareof you. But all right, if you’re going to be difficult about this,wecannegotiatelateraboutbabies.Fornow,no book from you, no husband for me. And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been wanting to get me off your worry-wart mind.”
Van finally sucked in half a lungful of oxygen, just enough to repeat himself. “No. No book. No babies. No. No. No.”
Aunt Cynthia patted his hand and beamed.
“We’ll see, my dear. We’ll see.”
Chapter Eight
Doggone It Anyway
A
WEEK LATER, VAN’Sphone rang. He gave his eardrum several inches of protection from the peremptory summons blaring out: “Come get your dog!” Followed immediately by a hang-up click that also bellowed volumes.
Lancelot wasn’t Van’s dog, but Van did feel a certain responsibility about his aunt’s dog and making sure he didn’t get near the Saint Bernard. He had to admit that, as uneventful days had gone by, he’d grown complacent. He’d stopped jumping to his feet andcheckingonLanceloteverytimethedogmoved. If Lancelot had landed on Mary’s doorstep again, she was entitled to blow steam out her ears. Van just didn’t want to be anywhere near her ears. Or any other part of her.
Van checked the apartment for one stubby-legged escape artist. No sign of the little devil.
As Van walked past the high-rise next door to Mary’s surrounded little house, he grumbled to himself, then knocked on her door.
She was a tiny thing, but she opened the door so quickly and so vehemently he took a step back. If a woman decided to punch your lights out … Could he kiss her into submission? Of course not!
He would not think about kissing anyone. Especially not Mary Samuel. “I don’t know how Lancelot — ”
Her eyes flashed with enough fire to liquefy lead. He took another step back. Only a small one. Who could blame him? She looked as though she wanted to grab his ear and haul him into her house that way. He found himself thankful for his height, and he pulled himself even taller. It wouldn’t hurt to keep his ear as far away as possible from the reach of her hand, would it?
She seized his arm instead and set off down her hall at double time. Even his long legs had trouble keeping up with her, but he had to. It was clear she’d dislocate her shoulder before letting him slow her down.
“Awpppp — ” he sputtered.
She all but skidded to a stop and glared up at him. “Quit your belly-aching.”
“Umm. Errr.”
“I promise you, you don’t want to make me any more angry than I already am. I have something I want you to see.”
Mary dragged him onward with a detour. “Watch out for the bit of quarter-round sticking out into the hallway,” she snarled. “Guinevere decided it needed chewing when she was a baby, and I haven’t been able to get it fixed yet.”
He let her pull him around the semi-lethal piece of wood, and she dragged him through the back door into a small yard.
