“Clyde, I can’t miss Charlie’s opening. I could just…?”

“You’re not supposed to talk so much. You need to rest, and mend.” He kissed her on the cheek and rose. “The doctor will be in around six. He’ll have the CAT scan and X-rays. He’ll want me out of here, he’s not happy about so many visitors.”

He picked up a gym bag that he’d set on the floor beside his chair. “There’s a guard outside. When Dr. Hamry leaves, go to sleep. They’re bringing a cot in for Hanni, for the night. She’ll be along later, after the opening, in case you need anything extra. I imagine she’ll bring you some party food.” He kissed her again, tenderly. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He turned away and was gone, disappearing into the hall with his heavy gym bag. Why would he bring a gym bag to the hospital, he didn’t work out in the evenings. As he swung the door halfway closed, she glimpsed a uniformed officer sitting on a straight-backed chair, just outside.

What had she done to deserve a police guard? Or, what had she seen? That she did not remember?

She guessed she slept, because the next thing she knew, more lights burned, the room was bright, and Dr. Hamry stood beside her bed, touching her shoulder. His voice was very soft and caring for such a clumsy-looking big man. She had dreamed about cats. Cats talking. She imagined she could still feel warm fur against her neck and cheek.

N OT UNTIL HE was back in his yellow roadster did Clyde open the gym bag. “I hope you didn’t leave cat hairs on the bed.”

The tomcat stuck his head out, sniffing the cold wind, then stepped out onto the creamy leather seat, stretching luxuriously. “That’s better. I thought I’d smother in there. Did you have to zip the damned thing?”

“It has air vents. What do you think that screen is? That’s why I used the gym bag, so you could breathe.”

“This is your gym bag, Clyde. You put your sweaty clothes in here. The damn thing smells like a jockstrap.”

Clyde glared, and started the engine. Joe, as they headed for Ocean and home, was still wondering how that bogus, look-alike blue van had been slipped into the school and successfully hidden back in the trees behind the Stanhope house with not one of Harper’s patrol guys seeing it. He looked up when Clyde started to laugh. “What?”

“She thought you were Rock. On the bed.”

“Watch the road. You don’t have to look at me to talk. What’s so funny about that? Rock isn’t some scroungy mongrel, I don’t see being mistaken for Rock as an insult. Anyway, the woman’s half out of it.”

“You have a lot of sympathy. I should have left you in the car.”

Joe looked a long time at Clyde. “You think she’ll be all right?”

“If she lies still and does what she’s told.” Clyde glanced at Joe. “She kept talking about cats. You heard her. About talking cats, Joe.”

“She was out cold, after Betty hit her. Well, we thought she was.”

Clyde turned to glare at him.

“When she’s better, how much will she remember?” Joe said diffidently. Then, “You heard her, her thoughts are all mixed up.”

“Let’s hope,” Clyde said.

“She thinks too much like a cop to believe that stuff,” Joe said. “Talking cats? No way.”

“Charlie figured it out.”

“Charlie’s an artist and a writer. Charlie encourages her imagination, it’s part of her work. With someone like Ryan, who’s all facts and reality, something that far out would never wash. Not for a minute.”

“Ryan isn’t all facts and reality. That’s really unfair. Don’t you think it takes imagination to create the houses she designs?”

Joe looked at Clyde, and shut up. For once, Clyde was right. “Just for the record,” Joe said, “you were so shaken over Ryan that you damned near asked her to marry you.”

“I didn’t do any such thing. Now whose imagination has gone wild?” Turning into their drive and killing the engine, Clyde reached to stroke Joe. “That would screw up our lives. You could never utter another word in your own home.”

“Sometimes even a cat has to make sacrifices.”

Clyde looked surprised. “Not you.”

Joe gave him a long yellow-eyed gaze.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Would I have a choice? If things got too uncomfortable, I could move in with Dulcie and Wilma.”

“I wouldn’t ask her to marry me without settling it with you. We’re family, Joe.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, “it’s time you got married. You’re not getting any younger. You would be acquiring a live-in carpenter, electrician, and plumber. And Rock is a very nice dog, as dogs go.”

Clyde swung out and headed for the front door. Unlocked it, flipped on the lights, and scowled down at Joe. “I’m not marrying anyone for her talents at home maintenance.”

Joe leaped to the couch. “You’re not marrying her at all, yet. You haven’t asked her properly. She won’t remember that half-assed hint at marriage when she was just coming to. Talk about a coward’s proposal.” Leaping up onto the mantle, he looked hard at Clyde. “The problem is, you’re not sure Ryan wants to get married. And you’re scared to find out.”

Clyde sat down on the couch. Confirmed bachelor and tomcat looked at each other. It was Clyde who glanced away, and rose again, and headed for the kitchen.

And his bachelor mind was indeed full of questions. There were a lot of reasons why Ryan might not want to get married, at least in the near future. She was still recovering from a bad marriage. She wanted some peace and independence. She was a self-sufficient woman, busy building her own design/construction business. She rented a nice big studio apartment with the room and solitude to work uninterrupted on her blueprints and architectural drawings. Did she really need, or want, to be jammed into the same house with him, on a full-time basis?

He had talked with Wilma about this. Wilma was as close to an older sister as he’d ever have, he’d known her since he was eight and she was twenty-some, and he’d sought her opinions on many matters. Wilma’s judgment was clearly thought out, and sensible.

But in the matter of Ryan Flannery, Wilma had said only “I don’t know, Clyde. Just ask her. If she says no, don’t trash what you two have. Just swallow your pride and go on as you are. Stay the distance, and see where it leads. I like Ryan. Don’t blow your future chances.”

Wondering for the hundredth time what the hell that really meant, Clyde pulled a Mexican dinner from the freezer, stood staring at it, then realized how late it was getting and put it back-Sicily would have sumptuous party food. And anyway, frozen Mexican was reserved only for moments of extreme desperation, when the real thing was inaccessible. As he headed upstairs to change clothes, Joe trotted up past him, hit the desk, leaped to the rafter, and was gone through his cat door. Clyde could hear him galloping across the roof, double-timing for the gallery, the little freeloader.