The Very Virile Viking

  Well, that was certainly short and sweet. "I need you to do something for me."

  "Dream on, buddy. You aren't coming near my bed until I find out what you are up to. Even then, you might not be welcome."

  "Tsk, tsk," he chided. "I was not speaking of sex." I was thinking it, but I did not say it. Bloody hell, I am always thinking it when around you, witch of my heart. "I need you to gather Grandma Rose and all the children, except Torolf, and go stay in your apartment in the city for several days."

  That got her attention.

  She put the basket down on the ground, dusted off her hands, placed them on her hips—hips that look very nice, by the by, in a pair of tight den-ham braies, which mold her behind and slender legs and cup her woman place… not that I consider any of that significant—and said in a snarl, "Are you crazy?"

  "Crazy for you." Sometimes I astound myself. I can smooth-talk even in this modern language.

  "Ha! Don't you dare try that smooth talk on me. I know what you are up to."

  "You do?" Caught in the act of being smooth. Ah, well! He glanced down at his groin, where the only "up" thing on him was located.

  "Not that, you dolt!"

  "Oh." She is losing her sense of humor… fast.

  "You think you can Softsoap me, and I'll agree to anything you want."

  "Well, Softsoap did work in your shower when—"

  "Oh! You are such a brute for bringing that up now."

  A man will try anything. Trust me on this, sweetling. "Angela, can we start afresh? It is serious business I need to discuss with you. Events are building and I fear a climax here at the Blue Dragon sometime soon. I would not want you or your grandmother or my children to be at risk."

  Angela walked up and plopped down beside him on the bench. "Why don't you start by telling me what's been going on?"

  "We have been tracking Big Bird, and a trap has been set."

  "Huh? Who has been tracking?"

  "Dirty Harry and me."

  Angela put a hand to her forehead and counted aloud. When she got to ten, she said, "Who is Dirty Harry? And please don't tell me it's Clint Eastwood."

  "Flint who?

  "Not Flint… Clint. Aaarrgh! Are you deliberately trying to confuse me?"

  "Not deliberately." Well, mayhap a little.

  She scowled at him fiercely, and when he tried to put his arm around her shoulder, she slapped it away.

  This appears not to be my day. Actually, there have been few of those lately. Mayhap I need to hone my skills better. "Dirty Harry is the code name for Harry Win-slow, the private detective I hired to help catch Big Bird, which is the code word for Gunther, or whoever has been threatening the Blue Dragon."

  "You hired a private detective? Without consulting me?"

  "Yea, I did. And I got my driver's license today. Didst know that? Of course, I had to take the test twice. I almost hit a pole the first time. The policing man bit his tongue, drawing blood, and said a very coarse word. Mine is a license for foreigners living in this country, since I could not take the written test in your English—yet."

  This woman needs to learn that men are men and women are women. I am the leader; she is the follower. That is the way of the world. Angela was staring at him as if he'd grown another nose… or bigger ears, which would be disastrous, of course. His were plenty big enough, thank you very much. Or mayhap she had read his mind and did not agree with his philosophy of life.

  "Harry is a very nice fellow. In fact, when this whole investigation is over, he is going to take me out for a beer… to a local stripper bar. I did not want to ask him, but what is a stripper bar, Angela?"

  Of course, he knew what it was, having asked Harry, but he was teasing Angela, or trying to. Unfortunately she just glared at him.

  "Harry says the ladies there have tassels on their boobs. What are boobs?"

  "You're a boob," she said angrily. Then she inhaled and exhaled deeply, as women were wont to do when exasperated with their men. "Magnus, how could you get a driver's license when you don't even have a birth certificate?"

  "It helps when you know the right people. Leastways, that is what Harry says. He got those parchments for me, and for all my children, too. And social security cards, whatever they are. Why do people need special licenses in this land to be secure in their social lives? Oh, and work records… Harry got those for me as well. The papers say I was a Green Beret. And I was in the Witness Protection Program." He beamed at her, sure she would be pleased at his enterprise.

  She did not beam back. In fact, she murmured, "More like the Witless Protection Program." Mayhap she was not all that pleased.

  "Let's start at the beginning. Just whom did you hire, and what has he discovered?" she demanded to know.

  She is a demanding wench betimes. "I hired a private detective, and he in turn hired some professional hit men—"

  "Hit men?" Angela screamed in his ear.

  He rapped the side of his head with the heel of his hand as if to clear his ears. "I was just teasing, Angela."

  "This is no teasing matter."

  Yea, she is definitely losing her sense of humor, and the best place to restore it is in the bed furs. Unfortunately I couldn't lure her to my bed furs at this moment even if I had the smoothest tongue in the world. "Harry hired some professional security and detecting men. I realized the day Gunther came to visit that I needed help… that you needed help. I have often been a soldier for my king in the Norselands, but fighting is direct there. You lop off a head or pierce a man's gullet with a sword. Or he does the same to you. We use none of these devious attack-and-hide tactics. Well, actually, we Vikings employ a bit of that when out a-viking, but that is neither here nor there." I have got to stop rambling. I am beginning to bore myself.

  "How much is this going to cost?"

  Money, money, money! I am sick of talking about money. "You are not to worry about that, sweetling."

  "Don't call me sweetling. At this moment I feel anything but sweet toward you. And you can't keep shoveling out money on my behalf."

  Oh, really? Try to stop me. "We can discuss that some other time. What Harry and his troop have discovered thus far is very alarming. Not only did Gunther probably set fire to your vineyard, but he has sabotaged your good standing with bankers in the area. If you had gone to them for a loan to recover your losses, you would have been denied."

  "Oh, no!"

  "He is the one who lured your winemaker away, as well. He found him employment in the Franklands. 'Twas he who conspired to raise the price of the glass bottles you use for your wines. 'Twas he who was responsible for the bad brakes on that load of grapes that was lost last year when the truck careened off the road."

  "Is Gunther really that evil?"

  "I think so," Magnus said, taking her hand in his. "Harry's men are experienced in gathering evidence… Everything from fingerprints to car tracks to a paper rail, whatever that is. But Harry warns me that Gunther is getting desperate. He was moderate in his methods in the past because he thought he could afford to wait you out… that eventually you would surrender, being helpless women. But now…"

  "Now?" she prodded.

  "Now he perceives that my presence may change things. He is not sure who I am and what our relationship is, but to his mind I am here to save the Blue Dragon, and that he cannot allow."

  Angela quietly pondered all he had told her. He saw the moment understanding dawned. "Gunther is going to try to kill you. That's why you want us all back in Los Angeles. That slimeball plans to kill you. Ha! Over my dead body!"

  Methinks I am making progress now. Leastways, she cares if I live or die now. He smiled grimly at her vehemence.

  "Nay, not over your dead body… because your sweet body is going to be far from the Blue Dragon."

  It's not over till it's over…

  For two days Angela walked around like an automaton in her L.A. apartment.

  She went into her office both mornings, managed to show a half dozen homes, an
d even sold one, pulling in a hefty commission. But the rest of the daytime hours she spent with Grandma and the kids, all of whom fought the strictures of confined living. None of them wanted to go out, though, in case Magnus called, which he did once a day.

  When she asked how the "plan" was going, Magnus was always infuriatingly elusive in his answers. "On target." "Biding our time." "Do not worry." She felt like screaming into the phone at him, and she would have… if she weren't so very worried about him.

  To make matters worse, Darrell Nolan was being a real pain, now that he knew she was back in town. The man just wouldn't give up on signing Magnus to be the next big star in his stable. Apparently Magnus had taken to hanging up on Darrell on those occasions when Darrell managed to connect with him by phone. Even that rudeness didn't daunt the persistent producer.

  "Why don't we go to the mall?" Angela suggested in the late afternoon of the second day. If she had to put up with much more MTV, video games, the quack-quack of Lida's pull-along duck toy, makeup makeovers of Dagny and Kirsten in her bathroom, and general overall shrieking, Angela was going to pull her hair out. She loved Magnus's kids—each and every one of them, even the rascally Njal and Hamr—but all of them all at once in such a small space… well, even a saint's patience would be taxed. "We can have dinner at Chi-Chi's or Red Lobster. Even McDonald's… God forbid! Then spend an hour or so walking around the mall."

  "Quack, quack, quack…" It was Lida coming through on her established route, living room to bathroom.

  "How about if I stay here and take a nap while the rest of you go to the mall?" Grandma suggested. She was probably dying for a cigarette. But more than anything Angela was afraid Grandma would scoot back to the Blue Dragon, which she hadn't left for this long in more than five years.

  "Quack, quack, quack…" Lida was on her return trip.

  "If I go to the mall, Grandma, you go to the mall," Angela insisted. "Unless I can leave Lida and the duck here."

  "Quack, quack, quack…" Lida was passing through again.

  "I'll go to the mall," Grandma said.

  "Can I have my ears pierced?" Dagny wanted to know.

  "Well, I don't see any problem with that… as long as it's only one hole per ear." Lots of girls her age had their ears pierced, so Magnus probably wouldn't object. Heck, some people even had infants' ears pierced.

  Kirsten sat up straighter, suddenly taking her eyes off the Britney Spears video playing on TV. "I would rather get a piercing in—"

  "No!"

  "You did not even let me finish," Kirsten complained.

  "It doesn't matter. No piercings anywhere except the ears without your father's written permission."

  "Faðir said I could buy a bow and arrow," the sly little Hamr said. It was such a bold lie that Angela had to laugh.

  "Good. Show me his written permission."

  "He does not write so well. 'Twas a message he gave me in person."

  "Any witnesses to that exchange?"

  "Nay, just the two of us." The little snot was beaming. He actually thought she was buying his story.

  "Good try, Hamr, but the answer is no."

  "I'm thinking that we should get Rollerblades for everyone," Njal suggested. "I saw them on some young people when we were driving into town. They look like great fun."

  Rollerblading sounded harmless enough, but then Angela got a clear picture in her mind of all these kids Rollerblading around her apartment, or down the condo halls. "Maybe sometime later… when we're back at the Blue Dragon."

  "You are no fun," the usually quiet Kolbein commented.

  Luckily she was spared any more requests by the ringing of the phone. She was laughing when she picked it up. "Magnus?"

  "No, Miss Angela, it is me, Miguel."

  The fine hairs stood up on the back of her neck. "Miguel? What's wrong? Oh, God! Are those sirens I hear in the background?"

  "Sí, but you are not to worry. Mr. Magnus told me to call and tell you it is all over. Gunther has been arrested, and the police have taken him to jail."

  She exhaled loudly, not even realizing that she had been holding her breath.

  "There are six police cars here. My Juanita is making coffee for the men now… and sweet buns. Ay-yi-yi! What a scene it was here tonight, but it is all over now. Will you be coming back tonight or tomorrow? Juanita wants to know."

  "Tonight," she replied without hesitation. "Where is Magnus? Can I speak with him?"

  "That is the thiiiiiiing," Miguel drawled out ominously. "He cannot come to the phone."

  "Why?"

  "Because they have taken him to the hospital."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Falling for a fallen hero…

  By one a.m. Angela had dropped Grandma and the children off at the house and was on her way to the hospital.

  She knew from frequent cell-phone calls she had made to Miguel and Torolf during her return trip that Magnus had sustained a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Although not a deadly wound, it could have been if the bullet had entered only a few inches lower.

  She also knew from her phone conversations that doctors were still holding Magnus in the hospital emergency room, where he was resisting being admitted… even for overnight observation. Torolf said they finally had to knock him out with a tranquilizer just to settle him down for the examination.

  When she walked through the hydraulic doors leading into the emergency room, Torolf was waiting near the entrance for her. Standing next to him was a physically fit older man with a GI haircut, whom she assumed was Harry Winslow.

  "May Odin be praised, you have arrived," Torolf said, after giving her a quick hug. "Father is acting like a bear in a hunter's trap."

  "Ms. Abruzzi, so glad to meet you. I'm Harry Win-slow," the other man said, extending his hand.

  She wanted to ask for the details of what had happened, but she needed to see Magnus first.

  "You are not sticking another needle in me," she heard a male voice roar out suddenly.

  Magnus. Following the voice, she found him in a curtained area arguing with a hefty nurse who appeared well able to handle herself with the difficult Viking.

  "Look," Magnus was saying. "I pissed in a cup for you. I let you take large amounts of my blood to be tested. I let you sew up my wound, even though 'twas a mere scratch. No more bloodletting, I tell you."

  "Buddy, one more shot. That's all. You either roll over and show me your pretty butt, or I'll strap you down."

  "Angela!" Magnus had just looked up and noticed her standing there. He opened his arms wide for her to come to him. "Best you beware, healing maid, my lady is here now, and she will protect me from the likes of you."

  Thank God, he's all right. He couldn't be hurt too badly if he's roaring like this. Angela sat on the edge of the mattress, on his good side, and hugged him gently. She didn't realize how pent-up her emotions had been till the tears began to spill out with her loud sobs.

  "Angela! What is wrong? Has someone been hurt?"

  Is he for real? "You're hurt, you thickheaded fool," she wailed. "That's why I am crying."

  "Oh," he said, immediately followed by, "Get me out of here, Angela."

  Angela glanced over at the nurse, who stared pointedly at the needle in her hand.

  "One more shot," Angela told Magnus. "Then I'll go see about getting you released."

  "All right," he said, rolling over onto his stomach. "But then I am walking out of here, even if I have to wear this arse-baring garment."

  His behind was in fact bared by the hospital gown. And a fine-looking behind it was, too. Even the brusque nurse thought so. Angela could tell because the woman winked saucily at her after giving his butt a good once-over, then jamming the needle into the firm flesh.

  While he was dressing with Angela's help, Magnus spoke with Harry and Torolf. "You did a fine job, Harry. We ne'er would have been able to catch Gunther without your help."

  "Thank you. It's what I do. But you are the one who made yourself a target. C
an't tell you how much I admire your courage, man."

  "Target?" Angela repeated.

  "Yep, we set Gunther up. Magnus made himself very visible the last few days… at the Blue Dragon, around town. Had him boasting in bars and local stores about how things were going to improve at the Blue Dragon now that he was here. Despite all the evidence we had gathered, we needed to catch the perp in the act… which we did."

  Angela glared at Magnus, who gazed back at her with utter innocence.

  Calm down, Angela. You can't smack a wounded man. Inhaling deeply for inner strength, she said, "I love the Blue Dragon, but I never wanted you to put your own life on the line."

  "Sometimes a man must be a man.'"

  She rolled her eyes. Is there such a thing as an adorable male chauvinist?

  "We will discuss this later… that I promise you," she said, now that he was dressed and frankly looked a bit white-faced and weak, despite his macho bravado, "but for now, let's go home, honey, and put you to bed."

  "Will you come to bed with me?" he cajoled in an exaggerated little-boy voice.

  "No." She laughed. "You never give up, do you?"

  "Never." He laughed, too, then winced when that slight movement pained his shoulder. " 'Tis the third-best thing about a Viking."

  She wasn't about to ask him what one and two were. She was pretty sure she already knew.

  Sleepless in Sonoma… not… !

  The trouble at the Blue Dragon was over. All that was left was the cleaning up… both physically and legally.

  But first Angela slept till noon the next day, so exhausted was she by the night's events. Magnus was even worse… or better. He slept off and on for a full twenty-four hours. Every time she heard him up and about, whether just visiting the bathroom or brushing his teeth or taking a quick shower, she was waiting for him in his bedroom with a glass of juice and more pills. Sleep was the best aid to healing at this point, the doctor had said.

  It was one a.m. of the second night, and Angela was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine, working on the Blue Dragon account books. She heard a loud noise, as if someone had tripped over something, followed by what was probably a swear word in Old Norse. It must be Magnus.