She stood back and watched as his hand curled around the brass handle, the other one raising his gun at the same time. He glanced at her meaningfully and motioned with his head toward the doorway. It was clear he wanted her to vacate the room if he said the word.
He opened the door slowly, and then all hell broke loose. "What the hell!"
"Get out! Get out!"
Marshall swore several more times before ducking, but Annie watched a blouse or something brush across his face and over his head as Harold flew over him. Temporarily blinded, he reached up to pull the garment off his face, but it clung to the day's worth of stubble on his chin. It was then that she recognized the white, gauzy garment as the nightgown she'd worn to bed the night before. Swearing some more, Marshall's free hand worked frantically at pulling the thing off his face. He finally found an opening and poked his head through.
His eyes went straight to Annie. He slowly lowered his gun. "Thank God I didn't fire," he mumbled under his breath. His gaze landed on Harold, who was sitting on Annie's slender shoulders.
"Are you kidding me? All this fuss over an ugly, black crow?" His tone held disgust and disbelief, nostrils flaring wildly as he sucked in air. "This is Harold?"
"I'm sorry if Harold scared you." Annie's lips were quivering violently as she tried to hold back from laughing. The sight of Marshall standing in her closet doorway, her nightgown hanging around his neck like a wilted Christmas wreath, struck her funny bone. He looked fit to kill. A burst of laughter escaped her before she covered it with the palm of her hand.