Something moved across my back.
Shoving the quilt off my head, I not
only heard Kitty's angry meow and
hiss, but a persistent buzzing. When
I reached for the alarm clock on the
nightstand, my cherished calico sprang
off the bed, obviously peeved. As my
fingers fumbled for the off button,
my eyes focused on the red glow
of the numbers. It read a little
after three in the morning. Then
it dawned on me, the annoying
buzz was coming from my front door.
Sliding out of bed, I shivered from the cold and shrugged
into my furry robe and slid my feet into my slippers. I made
my way out into the hallway and down the open staircase.
What sensible person calls at such an ungodly hour? It had
to be Mitch.
I flipped on the porch light, but my fingers fumbled with
the door lock.
"Open the door, Fay. It's cold out here."
When I swung the door open, Mitch, a gentleman when it
suits him, took off his Stetson, exposing a mass of graying
waves. However, the gentleman didn't bother to wipe the
snow from his cowboy boots before entering my house.
I followed him toward the kitchen, deciding which question
to ask first. When he opened the upper cupboard door, where
I keep the hard liquor, I gritted my teeth.
"Don't do it, Mitch."
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