Peeling paint and cracked window panes--she didn't remember the place looking this bad twenty years ago, when she was last here. She'd only been six years old then. How could it have gotten so run down?

She shivered in the morning cold, wishing she'd worn something besides shorts and a sleeveless cotton top. Surely the dull gray fog should have burned off by now. It was the end of August, after all. Summertime in a seaside town. She hadn't seen the sun since she arrived two days ago.

Carefully placing her feet on the most solid parts of the porch, she approached the front door. Opening her purse, she fumbled for the key the lawyer had given her. She slipped the key into the rusty lock, where it stuck fast, refusing to turn.

"That's just terrific." She shook the door. "Am I going to have to break into my own house?"

As if in answer to her question, something soft and furry rubbed against her bare legs. She froze. It wasn't--it couldn't be--it was a cat! A very large cat, with long dirty orange hair.

Her breath came in short shallow gasps. Cats terrified her. She couldn't move, or even call out. She clutched the iron handle of the screen door and closed her eyes.

"Howdy," said a deep voice.

A talking cat? She opened her eyes in surprise.

Just inside the front gate stood a breath-taking vision of male perfection. The man couldn't be more than thirty, lean and powerfully built, with the muscles of a working man. His skin was darkened by being outside in the sun. Good news--at least the sun had to shine here sometime.