"He's smart. Quiet-natured. Jack?"
At his name the horse pricked his ears. Soberly, he turned his head to Michael. "How old are you, Jack?"
In response, the horse stomped a foot four times.
"What do you think of the lady here?"
Jack rolled his eyes toward Laura and let out a quiet
and undeniably roguish whinny.
Charmed, Laura laughed again. "How do you get him to do that?"
"Jack? He understands every word you say. Want to take the lady for a ride, Jack?" The response was a decisive nod. "See?" Michael turned his own swift—and undeniably roguish grin—on Laura. "Want a ride, lady?"
"I—" God, she would love one, love to feel a horse beneath her again, let it have its head. Let herself lose hers. "I'd enjoy that, but I don't have the time." She offered Michael a polite, distant smile. "I'll take a rain check."
"Cash it in whenever you like." Too used to Thoroughbreds, he assumed, and shrugged. He'd take Jack over some finicky purebred any day.
"Thank you. I'd better get my motley crew inside. That is, if Annie lets us inside."
"She's a tough nut, Mrs. Sullivan."
"She's family," Laura corrected. "But I should have warned her before I started a small zoo."
"That small zoo is going to keep you up most of the night."
"I'll manage."
She managed, but it wasn't a walk in the park. The puppy whimpered and whined and, despite Kayla's lavish love, was satisfied with nothing less than Laura's bed. She knew it was a mistake, but she couldn't bring herself to banish him when he cuddled so hopefully against her side.
The kittens mewed, fretted, cried, and eventually were comforted by each other, and the hot water bottle that an already doting Annie provided.
As a result, Laura was gritty-eyed and foggy-brained the next morning.
She fumbled at the keyboard in her office at the hotel, cursed herself, then focused on the file for an upcoming writers' convention. Twelve hundred people checking in at approximately the same time, certainly on the same day, were going to present a challenge. Then there were the hospitality suites, banquet and seminar rooms, audio equipment, pitchers of water, requests for coffee services, catering demands.
Cartons of books were already arriving by the truckload. She appreciated the spirit of the planned book signing for literacy, as well as the headaches it was going to cause her and her staff.
Composing a memo one-handed, she picked up her ringing phone. At the sound of the conference coordinator's voice, she straggled not to wince. "Yes, Melissa, it's Laura Templeton. How can I help you today?"
And tomorrow, and for the rest of my natural life, she thought as the woman requested more additions, more changes, just a few more little adjustments.
"Naturally, if the weather's inclement and we're unable to hold your welcoming party at poolside, we'll provide you with an alternate space. The Garden Ballroom is lovely. We often hold wedding receptions there. It's still available for that date."
She listened, rubbed fingers against her temple. "No, I'm not able to do that, Melissa, but if we do book the ballroom, we'll provide another alternate. I realize we're talking more than a thousand people. We'll accommodate you."
She continued to listen, made notes that somehow became mindless doodles. "Yes, I'm looking forward to seeing you again, too. I'll be in touch."
Taking one breath, one moment to clear her mind again, she got back to her memo.
"Laura."
She didn't groan, but she wanted to. "Byron, did we have a meeting?"
"No." He stepped in, seemed to fill her small office with his size. "Aren't you taking lunch?"
"Lunch? It can't be noon."