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“You can’t be serious. You have no idea of the time that goes into carving one of these. If you really wanted one, it would cost you a not-so-small fortune.”
That whetted appetites and encouraged the well-padded wallets at the party to wave more money.
Suddenly, an idea struck Mary, and she whispered it in his ear despite the din around them. “You know thepaintingCynisauctioningofftobenefitJoe’sfree clinic? What do you think about adding another work of art to the cause?”
“You mean — ”
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Mary said. “I’ve seen what’s involved in producing one of these things. If you want to say no, do. It’s not just your time. This bed is a thing of beauty. A work of art this elegantly fit for its purpose is an amazing thing. Any one of these people would be lucky to have the chance to pay through the nose for one. What do you say?”
Absently, he flexed and stretched his hands, as though he was checking on how they would feel about that.
Mary had her second brainwave of the night. Van’s hands were speaking to her, even if the loveable lunkhead probably wouldn’t hear them until she taught him how.
ThePuppyPalaces—thesewerewhathewasborn to do. Or something like them. Works of art, yes, but also beautiful things meant to be used to care for and nurture others.
Sculpture? In cold marble destined to stand in a corner somewhere? Not on your life. Not for him. No wonder he’d never actually done any. He’d just dreamed of it. His hands had been waiting to discover boxes like this.
Van by nature was a caregiver, Mary realized with a sense of wonder. Not that he knew it. In fact, he’d deny it, vehemently. It showed with the dogs, though,anditevenshowedintheboardroom,where he had worked so hard to preserve the livelihoods of so many people.
Someone, something, somehow had buried his need to nurture so deeply that only the first few tendrils were coming out now in the art that Fate, with the help of two dogs and their improbable love story, had thrown his way.
Mary wanted to sing. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry.
“Okay,” Van said. “I loved making this whelping box.Whynotmakeanother?We’llauctionoffanIOU. I’ll take great pleasure in soaking some of the people here for a good cause.”
Mary all but shook herself. Deep thoughts would have to wait. She’d file them away with others that never left her, like how much she loved this man, how desperately she wanted to see him happy, how she’d let him go when that’s what would make him happy.
“Great,” she whispered close to Van’s ear.
She took a deep breath and raised her voice. “Listen up, people. Our star attraction, Mr. Buzz Cauldron, will need to take a break tonight, but we have a surprise for you.”
She windmilled her arms until they pointed toward Van. “You, ladies and gentlemen, for the first time ever, will have the opportunity to bid on the work of that up and coming master sculptor in wood, Mr. Francis Van Deventer the Fifth.
“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you, or you, or you, will walk away tonight with a promissory note for a whelpingbedlikethisone.”Maryflourishedherhand toward Van’s work of art in oak, with its tumbling bevy of cute puppies. “But, your bed, ladies and gentlemen, will be custom-made perfection for yourFifi.”
The chatter in the crowd around her took on a manic note.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, what you see here before you is the perfect place for your puppies-to-be, and let me tell you right now, it will cost you. But every penny will go to the free clinic run by the famous and respected Dr. Joe Weebler — and negotiations are pending for a free obstetrical consultation as well!” Mary grinned. “That’s for the lady of the household, mind you. Not for your dog.”
Little did they know Joe could be roped into delivering puppies too. Mary wondered how much that would go for if he ever did it for anyone other than Van.
The crowd laughed and applauded, and the jockeying started among those most dedicated to figuring out how much it would cost them to pamper their pets and one-up their friends.
With the crowd distracted, Mary, Van and the dogs set off in search of nooks and crannies in which the canines could spend the evening.
They found an empty cabana near the pool and figured that was about as good as it was going to get. The cabana even had an electrical outlet to plug in the warming floor in the Puppy Palace, and a door that could be closed if Guinevere and Lancelot had any trouble keeping the puppies inside.
Everyone settled in, except Lancelot, who sat on guard at the entrance to the cabana. Mary took one last look around to make sure everything was safe and secure.
As she did, the mini-orchestra — Cyn had friends in high cultural places, and she’d pulled out all stops for this charity ball — began the swelling notes of Buzz Cauldron’s signature song.
The applause grew thunderous, and Lancelot growled deep in his throat.
“Hey, buddy.” Van stroked the hound. “It’s okay, I promise. Your family will be okay. I know it’s noisy, but nobody here is going to hurt them.”
Lancelot raised his liquid chocolate eyes to Van’s black ones, which softened in seconds into limpid pools. Mary’s heart melted too. Again. The dog, satisfied, grunted and flopped down at the cabana entrance, his head relaxing onto his paws.
“Good boy.” Van’s hand lingered on Lancelot’s head.
