I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him. But I couldn’t stop the sob that tore out of me. He held me tighter.
“Pull yourself together, Sarah Booth. We have to make sure Tinkie doesn’t have a concussion, and she’s not going to want to go to the hospital.”
He was right about that. Everyone accused me of being hardheaded, but Tinkie could match me any day. She was simply better at manipulating than I was.
“Is Sweetie in the car?” I finally asked.
“She’s comforting Tinkie, but we need to go.” He took my elbow and led me to the passenger door. In a moment we were in motion and headed toward the emergency room.
To both of our surprise, Tinkie didn’t really protest. She sat placidly while the young doctor examined her, took X-rays, and pronounced that she had no serious injuries.
On the way back to the mansion, she called Oscar to tell him that she wouldn’t be flying home the next day. When she started to talk about Chablis, her composure broke, and I took the phone and explained.
“I want my wife and dog home,” Oscar said. He wasn’t angry, he was scared. “You two are going to get killed one day, Sarah Booth.”
I couldn’t argue with him. We’d both been hurt on numerous occasions. “I didn’t come here to get involved in a mystery,” I told him. “None of us did. But as soon as Chablis can travel, I’ll put them on the first flight out.”
“Is Chablis going to-” His voice broke.
I almost couldn’t answer. “We must believe she’s going to be fine. Nothing else is acceptable.”
“Send them home to me, Sarah Booth. Both of them.”
“I’ll do my best, Oscar.” I hung up, remembering a time in the past when Oscar wouldn’t give Tinkie enough money to ransom Chablis from a dognapper. He’d changed. We’d all changed, and now I’d give almost anything I had to guarantee that the little dustmop dog that I’d once abducted would get well.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’d managed to get Tinkie into bed, and Jovan, when she and Federico got home from dinner, loaned us a mild sedative. Because Tinkie was so distressed, I chose to stay in her room, at least for a while. Graf had volunteered to talk to Federico about the secret passages and a method of sealing them. Distraught by what had happened to Tinkie and Chablis, Federico would agree, I felt sure.
When we’d gone to the hospital, we’d told the attending physician that Tinkie had accidentally struck the side of her head. We gave no details. Federico didn’t have to warn me that the movie didn’t need another “cursed” incident. So far, we’d been able to avoid the paparazzi. Having the security people at the gate-while they weren’t exactly keeping us safe-at least deterred the most aggressive of the photographers.
After I was sure Tinkie was asleep, I took her cell phone and hurried out in the hallway to meet Graf. He’d been busy, too. He had two-by-fours and nails and a hammer. He was serious about blocking the passageways.
We started in the kitchen, hammering loud enough to wake the dead, a phrase that gave me mild discomfort. It was a good thing Graf was doing the carpentry work, because I had Tinkie’s phone in a death grip. I willed the veterinarian to call and give me a good report. Chablis had to be okay. She had to be.
After twenty minutes of hammering, the pantry entrance was blocked off, as was the dumbwaiter. Still clutching the phone, I started putting the canned goods back.
“Hey,” Graf said, grasping my shoulders as he swung me into his arms. “Chablis will be okay.”
I looked into his eyes and searched for the lie, the soft truth, rotten at the core, that he was peddling. All I saw was calm certainty. “How can you be so sure?”
He shrugged. “I’m not psychic or anything like that, but the vet looked confident.”
“He didn’t say-”
He put his finger on my lips. “Words don’t guarantee anything, Sarah Booth. You know that. But I’ll make a deal with you.”
My poor heart cracked wide open then. The last lingering doubts I felt about Graf melted. Here was a man who cared enough about my worries to bargain with me, even in a situation where he had no control. “Okay,” I whispered, “what’s the deal?”
“If the vet hasn’t called in another hour, we’ll drive back to the clinic. We’ll sit there until he has some word for us.”
“We have to work tomorrow. We’re both going to look like crap.” Even as I argued, something strange and wonderful was happening. Graf had touched me with the most precious of gifts-trust. He’d seen a great weakness in me, and he’d moved to protect it. By action, he’d shown that my feelings were safe with him.
He kissed my fingertips. “We’ll work, because we have to. What difference does it make if we stay awake at the vet clinic or here?” His arms pulled me into his chest, and I clung there, listening to the steady thrum of his heart.
I would have stayed forever, safe in the haven he created for me, but Tinkie’s cell phone rang. Graf took it from my hand and answered.
My first reaction was to protest, but I realized what he was doing. If the news was bad, he would tell me. I would not have to hear it from a stranger.
While I waited, I imagined Chablis, sun-glitzed hair rumpled by the wind as she hung out the window of Tinkie’s Caddy. I saw her romping through the fields of Dahlia House with Sweetie Pie, two unlikely friends. I remembered her bowed up and barking, protecting Tinkie or me or Sweetie. Even Oscar. She only weighed three pounds, but she had the heart of a wolf when it came to those she loved.
I couldn’t look at Graf, and his voice was a low murmur. When he grasped my arm, a sob escaped.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay, Sarah Booth. She made it through surgery and she’s doing fine.”
I made some sound that was only half human and flung myself against him.
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “We’ll be by first thing in the morning to check on her. Yes, a couple of days. I understand. Thank you again.”
We tiptoed into Tinkie’s room to share the good news, but the sedative had kicked in and she was out. Graf placed a call to Oscar. In a few moments he’d updated Chablis’s father on the good news. He snapped the phone shut and kissed me, hugging me tight. “I’d hate to see your reaction if the news was bad,” he teased.
I tried to speak, but the only thing that came out was a pitiful bleat. Instead of laughing at me, he cuddled me against him and stroked my head. “That little dog has everyone’s heart, doesn’t she?” he asked.
“She’s like Tinkie’s child,” I managed to get out. “And Oscar loves her, too. I’ll call him again in the morning. As much as he protests, Chablis is his family.”
“And well she should be.” He lifted my chin. His gaze was definitely wicked. “But maybe it’s time to start thinking about a real baby, Sarah Booth. I want that. I want to have children with you. I want a family.”
“Have you been talking to Jit-” I stopped just in time.
“Who?”
“Never mind.” There was nothing like nearly giving away a secret to dry up a girl’s tears.
“I haven’t been talking to anyone. But I’ve been thinking. Sarah Booth, I want a future with you. I never thought I’d hear myself saying these words to anyone, but you’ve changed me. When I see you in the morning with the sun slanting on your face and hair, I want that every morning for the rest of my life. I want to grow old with you.”
“We’re only in our thirties.” He had surprised me, and I wasn’t sure of my own feelings. I’d grown to care for Graf, and I was falling in love with him. But children? I’d been so busy fighting for survival I’d never given a child serious thought. Jitty was always on me to spawn, as she so lovingly called it. Somehow, I’d managed to think such decisions were far in the future, but Graf was right. I was thirty-four. My biological clock was marking the passage of the seasons.