Home Free (9 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Home Free
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Fergus finished his coffee and very deliberately carried the cup over to the sink. He turned and said, “All we have to do is set the dining-room table, and we're done. That gives us around three hours till we have to be back down here. Are you up to giving that recital?”
Oooh, this is such fun.
“Fergus, are you partial to red or black skimpies?” Annie asked, bee-lining for the back staircase.
“I guess I'll put off getting that cat after the holiday,” she mumbled to herself as she whizzed through the bedroom to her dressing room, where
the pole
awaited her.
Fergus thought he was going to black out when he heard the runway music start. Who knew Thanksgiving could be so exciting?
“Yoo-hoo, Fergus!” Annie trilled. “You can open the door now!”
“Oh, my God!” was all Fergus Duffy could manage as he watched Annie take a running start and mount the pole as the music rose to a thrilling crescendo.
Chapter 8
M
aggie felt like she was, as her old grandmother used to say, at sixes and sevens as the marine assigned to her small party drove them in a security vehicle to the main lodge at Camp David.
Once, years and years ago, both she and Ted, part of the White House press corps, had been here. She was stunned to see how beautiful it was now, even though the trees were sleeping for the winter. She'd been here in the late spring, when the entire compound was awash in color, the flowers so profuse, the shrubbery so dense, it had boggled her mind at the time at how beautiful and serene the camp was. If she were the president, she would spend every free minute she had right there at Camp David.
She risked a glance at Jason Parker, who was rattling away to the marine driver, asking question after question. She was annoyed because she could have answered every single one of them. She was also annoyed at the way Jason was dressed. He could have attended an opening night somewhere in his fine cashmere suit and pricey shoes, not to mention all the jewelry he wore. She hoped he'd brought some outdoor gear, because Camp David was all about the outdoors.
Maggie half listened as the marine recited chapter and verse about Hi-Catoctin, also known as Camp David. It had originally been built as a camp for federal government agents and their families by the WPA back in 1935. Then, in 1942, it had been converted to a presidential retreat by Franklin D. Roosevelt and renamed USS Shangri-La. Camp David received its present name from Dwight D. Eisenhower, in honor of his grandson, David. A visit to such a famous place should have been researched by Parker.
They were proceeding down the Camp David entrance road to the Gate House, where she knew that identification would have to be shown regardless of the marine driving them and the fact that they had arrived aboard Marine One. Once through the gate, the marine would take them to the guest parking area, where a shuttle would take them to their assigned cabins. Each cabin, named after a tree, could sleep six to eight people. She wondered which one she would be assigned to. She did her best to remember the names and was surprised when she was able to tick them off on her fingers: Red Oak Cabin, Walnut Cabin, Holly Cabin, Hawthorn Cabin, Sycamore Cabin, Hemlock Cabin, Linden Cabin, and Maple Cabin. The cabins that were totally off-limits, if she recalled correctly, were Camp David's presidential lodge, known as Aspen Lodge, Witch Hazel Cabin, Birch Cabin, Rosebud Cabin, and Dogwood Cabin. She stifled a laugh when she recalled how upset Jason was when his camera had been confiscated, along with a list of other things that were no-no's at Camp David. He had been less than pleased when he was told a commemorative photo would be taken. The words
no such thing as coincidence
kept running through her mind. She asked herself, and not for the first time, how she had managed to get herself into what she was now going through.
In just a few short days, she had taken a real dislike to her companion, when, prior to her lunch with Nikki and Alexis, she had been seriously considering going on to the next level. Now she didn't even want to be in the same room with Jason Parker. Not even in the same city.
Would Jason Parker in his fine duds take the Raven Rock Mountain Complex Site R Tour included in the Camp David secret tunnel tour? Probably not. She complimented herself on bringing along her stout mountain boots, fleece-lined sweats, and the down jacket she was wearing. She knew, just knew, that Jason Parker had counted on making his own little travelogue for distribution to his clients.
Such uncharitable thinking,
she thought happily.
She continued to listen to the conversation as she stared out the car window at the lightly falling snow. The marine was saying that Camp David was alleged to be one of the most secure facilities in the world, as reported by a Department of Defense journal in 1998. The facility, he went on to explain, was guarded by one of the United States Marine Corps' most elite units, MSC-CD (Marine Security Company, Camp David).
Each marine was handpicked from the infantry field and subjected to a battery of psychological and physical tests before the successful candidates underwent specialized security training at the Marine Corps Security Forces School in Chesapeake, Virginia. A tour of duty for the marines was twelve months, and each of them was awarded the Presidential Service Badge.
Maggie risked another glance at her companion, who was looking even more irritated at everything he was hearing. When the marine got to the part that Jason would have an escort twenty-four/seven and would never be permitted to go off on his own, Maggie thought he was going to explode. What Jason did say was, “So, in other words, we're prisoners while we're here?”
The marine slammed on his brakes so quickly, Maggie was thankful she was wearing her seat belt. “Would you like me to take you back to where I picked you up,
sir
?”
“That means shut the hell up, Jason. Don't make me regret bringing you with me,” Maggie hissed.
Jason slumped back in his seat and pouted. He didn't say another word until the marine brought the SUV to a stop in front of Holly Cabin. Maggie was pleased. Staying in Holly Cabin was just right for the beginning of the Christmas season.
God in heaven, what did I ever see in that man? Maggie wondered as she hopped out of the SUV and stood waiting to see if she was to carry in her own luggage or if it would be carried for her. She found out in short order, so she hefted her bag out as Jason Parker mumbled and muttered under his breath. It looked to Maggie like he had a ton of rocks in his “gen-u-ine” antelope-leather suitcase. “And to think some poor antelope had to give up its life so you could buy this case to bring here. You should have remembered to take the price tag off the side,” Maggie sniped as she shouldered her Nike canvas hockey bag over her shoulder. “Just for the record, you're an embarrassment. Please do not hang around with me.”
Parker threw his hands in the air. “Why are you women always so bitchy?” Not expecting an answer, he picked up his bag and trailed behind Maggie, who was loping ahead to enter the door another marine was holding open for her. A third marine checked off her name and escorted her to her room, which was plain, neat, and a tad spartan; but that was okay. She hated clutter. She knew in her gut that Jason Parker was expecting the equivalent of the Lincoln Bedroom. Ha!
“An itinerary is on the dresser, ma'am. You will have an escort at all times. Is there anything else I can do for you, ma'am?”
“No. Thank you very much. So, if I want to go outside, do I just . . . you know, go out and someone will join me?”
“Yes, ma'am, that's how it works. It is snowing harder now, so you want to be very careful and wear good boots or shoes.”
Maggie quickly unpacked and put her clothes away. Then she sat down on the edge of the bed to read through the papers that had been left for her. When she was sure she had the rules down pat, she changed her clothes and opted for a brisk walk instead of a run. She eyed the book about the history of Camp David sitting on a little table. When she got back, she would peruse it and have a cup of hot chocolate. As she switched outfits and laced up her boots, she wondered how things were going at Pinewood. She felt sad that she wasn't there, but she had called before she left to come to the Camp. Annie had sounded . . . so upbeat and was actually giggling as she talked. She'd said all the right things and told her there would be other Thanksgiving dinners and not to sweat this one. “After all, dear, an invitation to Camp David is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, so enjoy it, and we'll drink a toast to you at dinner.” Maggie's eyes had misted over when she hung up.
Well, that was then; this was now. She zipped up her jacket, jammed a wool watch cap down over her curly hair, and ventured forth.
Outside, a marine fell into step behind her. She turned. “I'm just going to walk around and look at things. Is that okay?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
And that was what she did for a full hour, the snow beating at her back and stinging her face, but she didn't care. When she was done and back in Holly Cabin, her reward would be the book sitting on the table just waiting to be read and a cup of hot chocolate. She hoped the chef put the tiny marshmallows in his hot chocolate.
That was her intent, but it all changed the moment she passed by Red Oak Cabin to see a man in a motorized wheelchair, another man who might have been a male nurse or an attendant, and the biggest dog she'd ever seen in her life. She rushed forward. “Do you need some help?”
The huge dog yipped once as she moved to get between Maggie and the man in the wheelchair. Maggie immediately backed away when she heard the wheelchair-bound man say, “Easy, girl. She's a friend. Otherwise, she wouldn't be here. Gus Sullivan,” he said, holding out his hand.
Maggie stepped forward, looked down at the outstretched hand, then raised her gaze to look directly into the bluest eyes she'd ever seen in her entire life. Her heart took an extra beat, then another, and Maggie Spritzer, hard-bitten ex-reporter, slave-driving editor in chief, fell totally and hopelessly in love.
The man stared at her intently, then he, too, smiled. “Will you marry me? I'm free the last week in February.”
Maggie laughed. “Funny thing, I'm free that weekend, also. The answer is yes. Maggie Spritzer, I'm the editor in chief at the
Post.
This is just a wild guess on my part, but is this gorgeous dog by any chance Cleo?”
Cleo yipped and offered her paw, which Maggie shook solemnly. Then she took charge the way she always did. “I think if you take him by one arm, and I take him by the other, we can get him up on the porch,” she said to the attendant. The marine can't help us. They have to have hands free at all times.”
“I can stand. I can actually walk a little, but I can't do steps,” Gus said.
“So you get a ride. City hall or the white gown, tux, and the walk down the aisle?” she quipped as she reached out to shove her shoulder under his arm. “I gotta warn you ahead of time, I have a whole bunch of friends.”
Gus Sullivan threw back his head and laughed. “I've always heard that women handle all the details, so whatever works for you will work for me.” A moment later he was back in the wheelchair and inviting her into Red Oak Cabin. Cleo nudged Maggie along.
Inside Red Oak Cabin, a fire was blazing in the fieldstone fireplace. A plate of sandwiches and what looked like a pot of hot chocolate were waiting on the coffee table. Cleo walked over, circled the table twice, sniffed everything, and barked sharply.
“That bark means it's okay to eat this stuff. Cleo used to be my dog when we were deployed, but she's retired now. I gave her to President Connor when I went back to Iraq. She lets me come to see her when I'm home, which is for good now. The docs tell me I'll be walking when the spring flowers bloom. I can't wait.”
“Maybe we should postpone the wedding till you can walk down the aisle,” Maggie said as she poured out the hot chocolate, and lo and behold, out came minimarshmallows.
“Okay. See how easy I am to get along with?”
When was the last time she'd had this much fun? Never, that was when. Maggie removed her watch cap, and her mane of corkscrew red curls sprang to life.
“I like a woman with a lot of hair, especially curly red hair. You hate it, don't you?” Gus laughed.
“How did you know that?”
“Because I had an aunt who had the same kind of hair, and she always hated it.” He was laughing again, not at her but with her.
Maggie sat down on the floor so that she was at eye level with Gus. “Now that we've settled our marriage plans, the reporter, I should say the ex-reporter, in me wants to know about Iraq, Cleo, your past life, and your future. As your prospective bride, I need to know these things.”
“You want the short version or the long version?”
“The forever one,” Maggie said as Cleo nudged her to rub her belly.
They talked until midafternoon, when Gus's nurse called a halt by saying it was time for therapy and then he had to get ready for dinner at Aspen Cabin.
Maggie knew she was being dismissed, and that was okay. She couldn't remember having a more enjoyable time. She was on her feet in one fluid motion. She leaned over brazenly and kissed Gus Sullivan full on the lips, a long, lingering kiss that couldn't have been taken in any way other than what she meant it to be. “See you at dinner,” she called over her shoulder as she tripped her way to the door. At the last second, as she was about to close the door, she called back, “When we return to the District, how about I do an article on you and Cleo and some of your buddies for our Life section? Maybe we can get the president to give us some quotes on Cleo. What do you say?”
“You got it, Maggie Spritzer.”
And she did. Oh, life was lookin' so good. She could hardly wait to tell the girls that she was finally deliriously, hopelessly in love, and it had taken only the time for her heart to beat twice.

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