CHAPTER 64 – HOMECOMING
British soldier Michael Findlater, freshly returned from the front lines with his victorious division, opened his front door with some trepidation. For one thing, he was afraid his wife would have done up the front room in streamers and banners in celebration of his homecoming. She seemed to need to do it every time he came home, so he bore up with it, but it was embarrassing. But, on top of that, he was unsure how she'd respond to the gift he cradled on his arm. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but now that it was too late he had his doubts.
"Hey, Fel, it's Michael, I'm home," he called as he opened the door. Not that he expected her to be home. The commander had passed along the message that everything was fine but she couldn't come pick him up and might not be home when he got there. The commander had suppressed a smile as he talked, which had been a bit disconcerting. But then, that particular commander was one of the few people on the planet who knew what Felicity really did for a living. The commander was proud of her, and also fond of her, and he did tend to smile when he spoke of her. But this time something had seemed different, almost as if he was amused. It was a mystery.
Michael had expected silence at worst, or Felicity's voice at best. Instead, he was answered by a yowly series of barks.
"Well, here now. What do we have here?" he asked a strange-looking mutt that was glaring at him around the back of a stuffed chair.
He glanced at the dining table. Felicity usually left him notes at his spot, if she thought anything might need explaining. Sure enough, here was a note: "WELCOME HOME, LOVER! The corgi is called Marti, which is short for Martinet. Don't be offended if she's standoffish at first. She's been mistreated in the past. I'll tell you where I've been when I get home, which could be anytime from between now and midnight, the way things have been going around here. Everything's fine. I can't wait for a hug. Well, obviously, I will have to wait, but you know what I mean. Love you oodles, Fel."
Michael broke out laughing. "My woman's something else, isn't she?" he asked the dog. "And you're no corgi, or I'll eat my hat." He knelt, and reached out a hand. "C'mon, now. Come and meet your sister."
Marti walked up to where she was just out of his reach, making it clear she didn't intend to come any closer.
The Yorkshire Terrier that Michael held against his chest doubled its quivering, so he cooed to it to calm it down. A buddy of his, who had bought a car with money made from selling Yorkie puppies, had set him up with this dog, saying she could more than pay her way. Michael wasn't holding his breath on that (he didn't like moneymaking schemes involving anything that could get sick or hurt), but he had thought Fel would like to have a dog around. "Hey, obviously I was right, for once, eh?" he said to the dogs.
"Make nice to each other while I go change clothes," he said, setting his tiny terrier down. The dogs stared at each other, then at him. "Oh, where are my manners? Kilnsey, meet Marti. Marti, meet Kilnsey. Marti, I wouldn't want this boasted around until Kilnsey has rediscovered her courage and her wits and deserves the honor, but she's thought to be at least distantly related to Smoky, the four pound hero of World War II, also known affectionately as Yorkie Doodle Dandy."
The dogs looked at each other again, and back at him. They looked more shocked than anything else.
"Oh, you're a pair, aren't you," he said. "Definitely not guard dogs, are you?"
Marti tentatively wagged her tail, but kept her distance.
Michael went to the bedroom, both dogs coming with him, keeping his legs between them. He laughed. It was a nuisance, but strangely flattering, too, that both dogs looked to him for protection.
By the time Felicity got home, Michael and the dogs were romping on the living room floor like longtime buddies. "Here, now, that's a happy domestic sight if ever I saw one," she said, as she came through the door. "Of course, it should be even better in a few months. Welcome home, daddy."
Michael looked up at her, blinking.
"Uh, lover, remember you coming home on leave not all that long ago?" she prompted. "We're facing consequences, as you might say. The reason I couldn't be here was I had an appointment with a baby doctor."
"You're pregnant?"
"I prefer to think of it as 'we're pregnant,' but I think you're getting the message." She rubbed her bulging tummy.
Neighbors up and down the hall heard the whooping. They were used to it. Felicity usually did give her man an enthusiastic welcome home – although, to be sure, it was usually her doing most of the squealing and carrying on.
Not Exactly Allies Page 65