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“Coming,” Mary yelled.
He heard her clatter down the stairs. Guinevere woofedjoyouslyfromthebackyard.HehopedMary’s house hadn’t sprouted another trap for unwary —
He winced at the crash and ensuing cacophony. He pushedatherdoor.Itwasn’tlocked.Notagoodidea, even in Toronado. He’d have to have a good long talk with her about that, too. But not now. She might be dead. She was probably hurt. If she was either one, he’d kill her.
A mountain of coats were tumbled in the hall in front of him. Motion rippled through them. They heaved as a coat tree wavered to the surface and righted itself. Finally, Mary’s blonde hair and blue eyes swam into view.
He extended his hand, helped her up and took a deep breath in relief.
“I stubbed my toe on — ”
He glared, and she closed her mouth with a snap before she finished trying to explain what she hadn’t had time to fix this time. He’d check and repair later, and with any luck he’d have it done before she broke her fool neck. He liked its curves and hollows just the way they were.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“Oh.” She leaned against the wall, loudly not inviting him any farther into her house. “That sounds ominous. Men never say they need to talk. They say it about as often as they go on a road trip and get lost and say they will stop and ask for directions. You know what they do instead? They speed up. So they get lost faster.”
How did she know he didn’t like asking for directions? So what if, yes, he might put the pedal a little closer to the metal when he got lost? How else do you relieve the frustration?
“You know what else they have in common?”
“Huh?”
“Men saying they need to talk and asking for directions.”
“Oh. No, I don’t.”
“In both cases, the men have let the situations get so bad that wise women don’t want to hear anything more about it.”
“Oh.”
Lancelot whined from somewhere below Van’s knee. It was a polite but plaintive little sound, just enough to remind the humans he was here at the door too, and, gee whiz, he really wanted to go see Guinevere.
Van didn’t mind the interruption. His conversation withMarywasn’tgoingatallthewayhewanteditto. It had nowhere to go except better, but he needed to get his brain straight before he tried.
Van leaned over to pat Lancelot’s head. That should make her notice the hound was miserable waiting here at the door.
“Oh, all right. Come on in, both of you.”
Lancelot made a beeline for the back door. He danced with joyous impatience until Mary caught up to him and opened the door for his flying leap out to join his lover.
“Aww, look at them, Van, cuddling like that.”
Van was sure it was all exciting in a canine canoodling sort of way, but he didn’t plan to look at the dogs for long. Not while Mary wore a gloriously tight, peacock-blue blouse with a button that had popped open to create a mouth-watering neckline. With any luck, she wouldn’t notice for a long time what that button had done.
Mary led Van into the kitchen and sat him down. “Want some coffee?”
Van was thirsty, but not for coffee. He shook his head.
“Good. It’s almost suppertime. You’re taking me out.”
“I am?”
“You are. Since you ‘need to talk,’ I need food to settle my nerves.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, you know what’ll happen if we stay here.”
