GONE TO THE DOGS by Marianne Stephens Romance Author

As a suddenly jobless and newly jilted fiancée, Katie moves from NYC to Kansas. Her new job is to help the financially struggling Yipsey Dipsey Company market and sell a new drink, Whoopsie, before the company goes bankrupt. However, there are others who would rather see the company sold.

She plans to ignore handsome fireman MIKE MARINO, who’s out to win her heart. She wants no ties to Kansas as she isn’t going to stay there. But Katie finds it impossible to escape the lust-filled mutual attraction pulling them together for passionate kisses and frenzied lovemaking trysts while the situation at Yipsey Dipsey becomes increasingly complicated.

Katie's determined to solve the mystery of who's really trying to keep her from doing her job after someone tries to kill her. Can she forget trying to prove she can do everything on her own and find happiness with Mike, someone willing to help?

REVIEWS

"Marianne Stephens creates a fabulously comical yet suspenseful tale. The characters are strong and the plot is easy to read. Events in the book keep your gears turning and the climax is a surprise. Stephens gets a gold star for Gone to the Dogs!"--reviewed by Nicole, Manic Readers.

"Gone to the Dogs is hilarious. What more could possibly go wrong for this woman?"

"...by Marianne Stephens is a mixture of mystery and comedy. Her characters work well together. Gone to the Dogs will make a great summer read, lying next to the pool. Fans of romance will not want to miss Gone to the Dogs"--4 Stars, reviewed by Anne Boling, ReviewYourBook.com.

"GONE TO THE DOGS is a funny, laugh out loud book. The story is part humor and part mystery and this book is a quick easy read that will leave you in stitches."--reviewed by Gloria Gehres, The Romance Readers Connection.

"Unconventional, Gone to the Dogs is in a class of its own. Stephens skillfully hones a witty and quirky imagination. This is a romance novel with ambitious ingredients of suspense, mystery and comedy blending well. The novel is an enchanting love story and surprising developments made it an exceptional one to read."--5 CUPS, reviewed by Delores, Coffee Time Romances.

"Suspenseful is the best word to describe Gone to the Dogs. Comical is another word to describe this book. Katie was such a real character. I loved Mike... The secondary characters were very well developed and the romances they developed made this book a complete joy to read. Ms Stephens has written a winner."--B+, reviewed by Shira, Simply Romance Reviews.

"Gone to the Dogs by Marianne Stephens is a hilarious romantic suspense. When you figure out which of the men has Katie's interest, you will be rooting for him, too. Ms Stephens does a good job building the suspense all the way to the end. I thoroughly enjoyed the story and loved the twist at the end of the story! If you want humor with your romantic suspense, you'll enjoy this book."--5 Angels, reviewed by Steph, Fallen Angel Reviews.

"Oh boy, this was a comedy true and true. Just reading about poor Katie trying to work in a place called Yipsey was hilarious. Then you have Mike, who is all man just trying to protect his woman was so sweet. Each time they were near they foold around, argued... This was a great read."--4 HEARTS, reviewed by Melinda, Night Owl Romance.

Up to about three weeks ago and enshrouded by a veil of naïveté, I figured my life cruised along at a normal pace and was encircled by tons of positive karma. Many labeled me an intelligent person ever-ready with a witty retort and a giver of sparkling conversation. But once those spoken words captured my full attention my brain fused, leaving nothing but clouded air swishing through my head.

The hunk standing before me who’d verbalized those five words aimed a one-dimpled smile at me as he’d uttered his diagnosis.

Dog? Underwear? Hell. Nothing had prepared me for this. It couldn’t be my underwear and the dog wasn’t even mine.

Forming reasonable words of response into a sentence became as difficult as speaking Chinese or rattling off quantum physics equations. With my brain glazed over in a fog, I opened my mouth only to have the moronic expression “Huh?” spew forth.

He smiled again with a much wider grin and leaned over the counter. He repeated each word in a quieter tone but with an added amount of emphasis. “Your dog ate your underwear.”

My ears tried to concentrate on his voice and words while my eyes focused on the man before me. His pearly white teeth matched the bright whiteness of his lab coat. Underneath I could detect a deep fuchsia-colored shirt topped off by a perfectly knotted multi-colored tie. Looking up to his head I noted a diamond-studded earring adorned one ear.

The head vet at Leawood City Vet Clinic presented a tray holding a dirty pair of women’s white thong underpants with red and blue stripes partially visible. He used metal tongs to unfold it for my perusal.

Disbelief rampaged through my brain again. That couldn’t possibly have come out of Aunt Phoebe’s Corgi, Precious Percy Wellington III. Uh-uh. No way. I uttered, “Impossible.”

A numbing type of shock registered in my head as I glanced from the mess on the tray up to the writing on the vet’s coat. His name was stitched with bright red thread. Doctor or not, the man had to be mistaken.

The vet’s gaze went back and forth between me and the tray. He quirked an eyebrow as he used the forceps to lift the dog’s former meal off the tray and asked, “This belongs to your aunt?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Mouth now dry, I fought to blurt out adult conversation. Dr. Winters undoubtedly waited on the verge of hysterics to judge my sanity.

No escape route existed for me short of bolting from the room and through the lobby to exit by the front door. I heaved a sigh. I’d have to play out this whole dog-underwear scenario to its bitter end and face Dr. Winters’ questions. Listen, talk and pay.

The first two would come as soon as my brain functioned reasonably again. The last would be more difficult to accomplish. All I had on me amounted to a whopping twelve dollars and fifty cents and by the looks of the price chart in the vet’s main lobby I’d need more than that.

So, what would he do? I prayed that maybe he’d transfer the warmth from his smile to a compassionate understanding that payment for Precious Percy would have to wait. If not would he hold the dog hostage until I came up with more money?

Precious Percy sat contently on the counter, oblivious to the chaos he’d created in the few shorts hours I’d known him. The vet stretched out his hand and stroked Percy behind the ear. The dog relaxed and chose a reclining position.

“Underwear attracts dogs. Especially women’s.” Dr. Winters shrugged. “Pretty fancy thong.”

Dr. Winters started scrutinizing me from top to bottom. The counter blocked part of his view so his curiosity required him to move slightly to his left and angle his head sideways.

I cringed at his eyeing me up and down. I knew what I looked like and it wasn’t pretty but more correctly placed in a category with something a cat would drag in after sliding its prize through a swamp somewhere. Twice.

I lifted my hand to run it through my three-day-old unwashed hair. It had to look dull, greasy and unappealing.

In other words, me. The woman I’d become. The one Roger described as he broke off our engagement, got me demoted and screwed up my life. All with my trusting adoring help. I’d been too complacent in our relationship and allowed my vulnerability to be sacrificed to Roger’s advantage. He’d stomped all over me and my career while betraying my trust.

I gave my fuzzy brain a mental shake and forced it to concentrate on the here and now. I had a more current crisis to consider.

I prayed my deodorant still worked. Somehow I just couldn’t recall if I’d used it during my cross-country road trip from New York to Kansas. I hoped the two squirts of perfume I’d spritzed on myself before knocking on Aunt Phoebe’s door hours earlier covered a multitude of body odor sins.

I’d changed clothes upon arriving at her house and while in a zombie-like trance absentmindedly donned whatever came out of my suitcase first. My outfit had consisted of a pair of orange stretch pants with a blue stripe down the side, a dark blue jeans shirt, black sports bra and clean underwear and socks.

The last two items were adorned with Christmas designs but I hadn’t cared. No one would see my Christmas tree design underwear nor my smiling elf socks. Staying put for days and not venturing out in public while remaining inside my aunt’s sanctuary of a home suited my plans.

The shower I desperately needed and desired never materialized. How could it? There was no hot water.

My aunt had arrived at her home from a one-year trial run of living in a California artist commune only an hour before I did. Luckily the water had remained turned on in the house as a way to prevent the pipes from freezing. However, easily distracted and horrendously disorganized, Aunt Phoebe hadn’t remembered to call the gas or electric companies before her move back home.

I would have called them myself but how could I? She had no phone service. Forgot that company too. My cell phone, the one that hadn’t seen its charger in a couple of days, remained dead somewhere in Aunt Phoebe’s house. So no phones, no hot water, no electricity.

The vet reached over the counter and patted me on the shoulder of my “Red Hats Senior Ladies” sweatshirt, some nightmare of red and purple fleece with swaying gold-fringed feathers sticking out of the hat emblazoned on the front.

“Here. This will keep you warm,” my loving Aunt Phoebe had offered as she thrust the sweatshirt into my hands to throw over my head. I needed something to wear after I’d removed my jeans shirt…the one the dog threw up on as I attempted to place him in my aunt’s car for our rush over to the clinic.

My vision blurred with the tears I valiantly fought to avert. I let out a ragged sigh and mumbled, “I can’t pay you right now.”

“We’ll find a way to work this out. I’ll get Percy comfortable and settled in for his overnight stay.”

A panic attack hit and I squeaked out, “Overnight?” Was the dog so critical he had to stay at the clinic? “Is it serious?”

Dr. Winters gave my shoulder another quick rub. “Relax. It’s just a precaution. The x-ray looked clear but I want to make sure he doesn’t have anything else lurking around waiting to make another surprise exit.”

“You can wait in the lobby while I bring Percy in the back. Bathroom’s the left door on the far wall. We’ll talk in a few minutes.”

His eyes held a true concern for my plight. Or was it pity? I no longer cared. I focused on escaping from the room and disappearing into a bathroom for a few isolated minutes.

I pivoted on my wet running shoes. I’d splashed into a mother-of-a-parking-lot pothole filled with muddy rainwater while carrying Percy from the car to the vet’s front door. My feet were wet and clammy with God only knew how many bug-infested microbes taking up residence under my skin. I sloshed in those damn shoes and created hideous squishy blurping sounds with every step.

No doubt about it. I’d be heard coming and going. The noise definitely heralded my upcoming presence with an echo similar to unmistakable farting sounds guaranteed to gain anyone’s attention.

Three large dogs of various breeds and two cats anxiously waited their turns to see one of the vets. Now you’d think that my shoe noise would fade and mingle into the calliope of barks and meows and become lost as the one source of entertainment for the ears.

After my fourth step from the examining room all animal sounds ceased. The squishing noises emanating from my steps succeeded in catching everyone’s attention. All eyes and ears, human and otherwise riveted on me and my trek across the room.

I utilized the slide and glide approach and that brought me closer to minimal blurping sounds. I searched for my bathroom destination and realized only about fifty feet separated me from my status as an unwilling amateur entertainer to the safe haven awaiting my arrival. Creating the image of what I must have looked like as a four-year-old uncoordinated ice-skating star I looked down and pushed my feet forward one at a time making sure they never lifted off the floor.

I exhaled a sigh of relief. Glides I could handle. My body relaxed and found contentment in my movements coupled with the knowledge that close proximity to my refuge was within sight.

Smug with my soon-to-be accomplishment I raised my head and stared at the bathroom door. I no longer felt the need to watch my feet as their movements were simple ones. I managed a few more gliding steps before slipping, falling on my rear end and sliding into the bathroom.

From my floor-sitting position I yelled out, “I’m all right!” then jumped up and slammed the door shut. The sounds of muffled human laughter and animal noises escalated in the lobby.

I prayed their appointments would go quickly and the waiting room would clear out in no time. How long could I remain in the bathroom unnoticed?

Prayers for normalcy and a return to my former existence flooded my head. While not exactly the same one, I wanted some semblance of my life back.

I rubbed the aches in my rear end while mentally attending to my bruised ego. It took massive amounts of energy to drag my body over to the ancient vanity sink and splash cold water onto my face. That action helped to rejuvenate my overly tired body and rekindled a shred of intelligence sleeping in the back of my mind.

Over the sink hung an ornately decorated mirror adorned with smiling cats and dogs. I stared at my reflection. Dark circles under my eyes emphasized my need for sleep. Premature wrinkles appeared on my thirty-one-year-old brow and screamed out with lack of care and too many worries. Void of any makeup as I’d mistakenly pitched most of it somewhere along the Long Island Expressway during a frustrating major traffic jam, my face looked hollow, colorless and as rigid as a Victorian portrait.

Okay Kathryn Cathleen O’Hara. Pity party over. Pull yourself together and open the damn door.

I sloshed more frigid water onto my face in the hopes it would start the blood circulating and I’d gain some type of colorful appearance. A vigorous rub helped the blood to flow and brought some color to its alabaster appearance.

I looked better. Much better. At least my face did. I cringed every inch of the way as I slowly tilted my head down to my toes. Red sweatshirt, orange stretch pants, Christmas socks, dirty wet shoes. Shit. Nothing in the bathroom could fix the combined miserable clown attire covering my body.

“Forget the appearance. It’s the brain that counts.” I winced even as those words of encouragement flowed from my mouth. Here I stood a rainbow of unmatched colors with an underwear-eating dog crisis and I tried to rally myself with a reference to intelligence.

I’d been in the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity. In actuality it probably evolved into a ten-minute hiding attempt. I listened intently for sounds from the lobby. Most of the animal noises had disappeared although I distinctly heard one barking dog and one meowing cat. After inhaling and exhaling a few times I gathered the energy and courage to creak the door open a few inches.

Yep. One Labrador and some white feline piece of fluff remained by their owners in the lobby. I closed the door again. I could wait this out. I’d been in the damn bathroom so long everyone probably figured I’d taken up residence and was redecorating.

After a quick look at my watch I noticed another five minutes had gone by. No sounds trickled in from the lobby so I nudged the door open again. This time I let out a “whoosh” of relief upon finding the waiting area empty. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

I pushed the door wide open. To hell with my attire, farting shoes included. To hell with my wrinkles, greasy hair and everything else unattractive about my appearance. I could now think straight and stay focused. Have an actual intelligent conversation.

Dr. Winters sat at a desk past the reception counter. I realized my “gaydar” missed the shirt, tie and earring connection when his phone conversation caught my attention and ended with, “I’ll always love you Jeffrey.” Sad-faced he turned in my direction and managed a smile before asking, “Feel better?”

Caring concern and warmth encircled his comment. His quick smile would normally have triggered an instinctive heart flutter if I hadn’t known he was off-limits.

I mustered up a smile and replied, “Yes thanks. I’m sorry for my behavior before. I’ve had a few rough days, not enough food or sleep and never expected a dog emergency.” I stopped thinking about myself long enough to throw out, “Are you doing okay? You sounded a little down on the phone. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

He stood up and that gloomy expression returned to his face. “Jeff and I were together for four years before he ended it six months ago.” He shrugged and continued, “Guess he’s moved on better than I have. Thanks for asking.”

Regaining his composure Dr. Winters strolled over to the counter with an air of confidence. “I’ve written down a few places you might look into. Great places for a meal and a bed.” He leaned in closer as if to whisper. “And don’t worry about Percy. We’ll keep him here as long as you’re homeless. Get yourself settled and come back for him. We’ll figure out a payment plan after you get a job.”

It happened again. Brain freeze. The word “homeless” catapulted my mind to turn to mush. My head went numb and all the energy I’d scrounged up after my pep talk in the bathroom puddled to the floor. It mingled in with the generous water marks my shoes left on the tile.

A glance out the window indicated daylight had faded into night. How could things look so peaceful out there when chaos reigned in my life? I’d had a miserable day so what the hell? Let the man think what he wanted. I didn’t have the energy or stamina to argue.

Homeless? Not me. I would live with Aunt Phoebe. Hungry? Not if you considered the added pounds that had found their way to my body courtesy of all the stress eating I’d done in the past weeks.

Jobless? Hell no. I had one lined up and waiting for me. My new career move entailed being demoted and reduced to advertising consultant for the Yipsey Dipsey Company trying to promote their new innovative drink, Whoopsie.

My new venture only had advantages for Roger. His effort to punish me further balanced with his need to soothe his guilty conscience over the crap he pulled on me. He probably basked in vindicated smugness at his offering me the job.

I’d be out of his way now giving him more time to schmooze, wine and dine the boss’s daughter. The one he’d dumped me for after two-timing me for almost a year.

I decided to be humble and accepted the good doctor’s charity as ending my clinic visit as soon as possible seemed wise. I gave what I hoped was a pitiful smile and threw in a few teary eyelash blinks for emphasis.

He placed the paper with my shelter information in my hand and then squeezed both hands when he encased mine in his. “Things will improve. You’re not alone you know. Others have been down on their luck too.”

Dr. Winters released my hands and took me—body beautiful and all—into his arms for a bear hug. He then stepped back and placed an arm around my shoulder.

He removed his arm and opened the door for me. “Here,” he added as he reached into his pocket. “Take this and get some clothes and new shoes.” He thrust a fifty-dollar bill into my hand and closed my fist around it.

Blurping my way out the door, I figured I’d try one attempt to return his money. I held out my hand to return his money but he just stood there shaking his head no. The man was undoubtedly content with the idea he’d helped a poor soul in need.

“Please keep it. And,” he added with a wink, “don’t worry about Percy. He’ll be fine. You can come and visit him until you’re settled.”

Again I found I could move my head up and down but couldn’t get my mouth to form words. He took that gesture for another “thank you”. Fingering my newfound wealth, I pushed my hand into my pants pocket and trudged outside into the cool evening air. I paid particular attention to avoid stepping into the pothole pond on my way to the car.

Even if the parking lot hadn’t been nearly empty it wouldn’t have been difficult to locate my aunt’s flower-decaled car. I’d been obligated to drive her bright lemon yellow early 1990-something Volkswagen Beetle since Aunt Phoebe worried poor Precious Percy would be stressed riding in an unfamiliar car.

It ran as best as could be expected considering its senior citizen status in people years. The car shook, squeaked and rattled as I drove. The fact that Aunt Phoebe had actually driven it from California and arrived in Kansas in one piece amazed me. When was the last time she checked the oil? Rotated tires? Applied elastic bands and chewing gum to hold her ancient means of transportation together?

The first thing on my evening agenda would be to let Aunt Phoebe know the state of things with Percy. After that? The possibilities were endless. I had fifty dollars in my pocket. Actually I had sixty-two dollars and fifty cents. A mind-boggling amount.

Maybe Aunt Phoebe and I would combine our funds and get a hotel room for the night. I had my credit card— No I didn’t. Roger had withdrawn all but a dollar from our joint account. He’d wiped out our savings and left me with a mere thousand dollars to start my new life. I’d found out too late that his new life centered around Miss Hot Pants Boss’s Daughter and that’s the future he’d been planning all along. I was merely a means to an end. The end belonging to Miss Vanessa Vanderbilt.

Luckily I owned my car, a three-year-old blue Jetta. I’d bought that prior to my engagement to Roger during one of my “to hell with payments and saving money I want it now” episodes. Even though we’d bonded as a couple soon after I never did get around to adding Roger’s name to the title. I thanked God for procrastination.

As I pulled into Aunt Phoebe’s driveway with her noisy sputtering car I wondered how the neighborhood would welcome the high-pitched sound addition on the block. A cursory glance up and down the street showed no curious stares peeking from windows and no angry mob with torches and clubs headed in my direction.

With a final gasp and backfire blast the car went silent after I turned off the engine. I took a deep breath and willed my body to exit my aunt’s noisy “hell-on-wheels”. Refuge awaited inside her warm and cozy house.

I retracted that thought. No heat. No light. No hot water. No phone. Warm and cozy it wasn’t. More like walls and a roof over my head. Period.

Flickering lights dancing in the windows of my aunt’s living room caught my attention. Candles. Good thinking Aunt Phoebe.

I’d be able to see my way to bed after digging through my backpack where I’d flung a few granola bars for the trip. Never ate them along the way but now they’d be appreciated like manna from heaven.

A few double margaritas to dull the pain of my last few days and especially my nightmare visit to the vet would have been a welcomed blessing. But Aunt Phoebe never did like to drink. Her “aura” needed “pure” surroundings.

Me? The stronger the booze the better my world. Drinking cold water would do to soothe my parched throat. I knew plenty of that existed in the house.

The smell of something burning assailed my senses as I approached the front door. The odor held a distinctive woodsy scent.

A panic attack jolted my body into action. My God. Was Aunt Phoebe burning down the house?

My heart pumped wildly with fright. I wrenched open the storm door only to have it pull out from the doorframe. Grabbing it with both hands I swiftly maneuvered it to the side and banged it carelessly against the siding.

All the while I acted as door mover I yelled, “Aunt Phoebe! Get out! There’s a fire!” Panic welled inside me as I pounded on the door and kept pressing the bell.

No answer came. More burning smells wafted from inside. I’d have to call the fire department and then run around the back to check for open windows or doors.

I pivoted and prepared to race to a neighbor’s. I managed three large running steps before someone came at me in hurried steps yelling, “What’s wrong? Need any help?”

She stopped her in her tracks as I screamed, “Call the fire department! I’ve got to get my aunt out!” She turned and ran home as I rushed to Aunt Phoebe’s back door.

A rusty gate impeded my progress so I had to do my track star imitation and hurdle over it. I landed past the gate with a thud but twisted the hell out of my right ankle as I landed on uneven ground.

Limping and wincing with each footfall, I tried the back door but found it too had been locked shut. No sign of my aunt materialized through the door window. The quiet calmness of her kitchen through shimmering lit candles sitting on counters crowded my view.

Why didn’t she hear me? Had she turned down that damned “Katie I don’t need it” hearing aid again?

I braced to break down the door with all my shoulder strength while ignoring the pain in my ankle. I stepped back for my run to the door, counted to three and raced toward it shoulder first and ready to hit solid mass.

The door swung open a second before my “senior ladies” sweatshirt met wood. I however had no time to stop my forward progression so kept right on going through the doorway. I passed my aunt and continued full speed into the refrigerator.

I blurted out a loud, “Oomph.” Both my head and shoulder ached and balanced the pain from my ankle. I inhaled a whoosh of air and screamed, “Aunt Phoebe! Are you okay? Where’s the fire? Hurry! We have to get out. The fire department’s on its way!”

Even in the minimal light from the candles I deciphered her questioning look of confusion. Oh no. She’d inhaled too much smoke, didn’t know what was happening— I stopped myself there. What smoke?

“Dear are you okay? What fire are you talking about? Where’s Precious Percy Wellington III?”

Yes she almost always called the dog by his full name. My aunt said it gave Percy an air of dignity and royalty. As if the act of eating thong underwear was the sport of kings.

She helped me over to a kitchen chair and her confusion transferred to me by some process of divine osmosis. I literally hurt from head to foot. In the distance I distinctly heard the faint sound of fire engines.

But something overshadowed those sounds. Music came from the next room. Something like sitars, tambourines and finger cymbals accompanied by a chant of some kind. But we had no electricity. We had something burning. Didn’t we? Was I going crazy?

I took my aunt’s hands in mine and hurriedly asked, “What’s burning? And where’s that music coming from?”

She laughed. “Wait a minute. I need to turn this thing up.” She adjusted her hearing aid. “Did you say music? Oh that. I was doing my meditation and one of my Mother Nature earth prayers. You know. For my darling pet. And to calm my nerves. And one special one for you. I put the music on to help me.” She gave a quizzical glance around the room. “Nothing’s churning in here although I’m not quite sure what that means.”

My brain had switched on and off so much in the past few hours that I wondered if it could permanently get stuck in the “off” position. I shook my head and a wave of pain paraded through my brain.

Huh? That’s what created the smell? And the music supplied background ambiance for her chanting?

Aunt Phoebe smiled a knowing smile and replied, “I know there’s no power. I have a battery-operated tape player. Where’s my Precious Percy Wellington III? Oh Lord. Don’t tell me something’s happened to him?”

At that moment fire engines screamed to a halt in front of the house. I gathered my wits—what was left of them—and cried out, “Percy’s staying overnight at the vet’s. Hurry! Get to the front door before the firemen break it down looking for us!”

Aunt Phoebe moved with some of the fastest steps I’d ever have imagined for a sixty-five-year-old aging hippie flower child. She outpaced me and my hobbled trek to the door. Flinging it open she faced a fireman who’d been in the process of starting to ram the door in.

“No! Stop! There’s been a mistake!” Aunt Phoebe took a deep breath and continued in a quieter tone, “I’m just burning incense. My niece thought the house was on fire. Poor dear. She ran into the refrigerator and seems to have hurt her foot.”

The fireman looked from her to me. He gave both of us a thorough scan before turning and yelling for his crew to relax. “False alarm.” He called for a paramedic to join him.

Incense. All that smell that greeted me as I got to her house minutes ago originated from whatever in her eccentric lifestyle she’d accumulated in the name of karma-enhancing stuff. “Aunt Phoebe. How much did you burn?”

In a flustered and slightly defiant tone she answered, “I just had to get rid of the musty smell in here so I lit lots of candles.” She looked around. “They do give off a calming sense of light. Don’t you think so?”

Calm? I was anything but calm. “The light does help,” I answered. Trying to sort through the pattern of logic thought according to Phoebe James would take monumental effort on my part.

She continued with her explanation. “I also burned all the incense sticks and loose stuff I had. Lots of it. Perhaps I went a little overboard?”

Noting her agitation I decided only one of us needed to have more stress. “I’m sorry Aunt Phoebe. This is my fault. I overreacted. Go sit down and relax.” I glanced at the nametags on the fireman and paramedic and asked them, “Would it be okay if we went into the kitchen?”

The kind neighbor who’d called the fire department came in and greeted my aunt. Apparently they knew each other so my aunt disappeared with her into the living room. The sound of her music diminished and I assumed she’d turned her tape player down a few decibels.

My hobbled trek to the kitchen abruptly ended when two strong arms scooped me up. I found myself in the sturdy grasp of our hero fireman and I had no time to object to being carried. I was gently placed on a kitchen chair.

I’d only been in Kansas half a day and already experienced close contact with three men. Dr. Winters thought me a charity case. Fireman Marino probably considered me crazy especially after he eyeballed my appearance.

Schwartz the paramedic no doubt labeled me one hell of a klutz after I described my leap over the gate and collision with the refrigerator. The Christmas elves on my sock smiled up at him when he removed it to check my ankle.

He confirmed what I suspected. Twisted ankle but no broken bones. Ice would be needed. My head injury would also require some ice to reduce the knot threatening to swell. My sore shoulder would heal after some careful treatments of heat and rest.

Pain medication? Couldn’t take anything too strong thanks to the bump on my head. I needed to be alert and feel every wince and twinge. Minor pain relievers would have to do.

Aunt Phoebe came into the kitchen and acted as if the men were guests in her home. “I do apologize for the mess here and not offering you gentlemen any refreshments.” She glanced around the room. “I’m not sure if I have anything and where did I put those glasses?”

Fireman Marino gave a lopsided smile I detected through my haze of pain. “Don’t worry ma’am. We don’t need anything.”

A flustered Aunt Phoebe twittered on. “We just arrived and Precious Percy got sick and had to be rushed to the vet and I couldn’t go out because of my ceraunophobia.”

Both men eyed each other with confused looks. Still hurting but anxious to explain I added, “Fear of lightning. That’s why I drove.”

During my ride to the vet’s while Percy howled I’d kinda wondered how she developed and embraced the whole Mother Nature earth regimen when lightning certainly fit right in. Aunt Phoebe hadn’t let that one small flaw in her personality stop her from following her true lifestyle calling.

To their credit neither laughed as others might have. Schwartz suggested our friendly neighbor might supply the much-needed ice bags for my head and ankle. Marino mentioned that the storm had passed and assured my aunt the rest of the night would remain peaceful.

I noted how their faces had softened in the dim light from her candles and their flashlights. When Marino inquired what had happened to Percy all eyes roamed from Aunt Phoebe to me.

She remained flustered at first but found her voice and answered, “Well I really don’t know. Katie hasn’t had a chance to tell me what happened but he has to stay at the vet’s overnight. Katie-cat,” she smiled at me and continued, “why don’t you explain it to all of us.”

Embarrassment flooded my body at the mention of my old nickname. Katie-cat. Kitty-cat. Meow, meow. How well I remembered the other kids taunting me over the dreaded nickname I hated as a child.

Forgetful Aunt Phoebe forgot important things like turning on utilities but she could recall the childhood name that haunted me and made my life miserable.

My head pounded. My shoulder ached. My ankle throbbed. And three people anxiously awaited my rendition of Percy’s saga.

With an air of resignation and with as much dignity and sincerity as I could muster I uttered, “The dog ate thong underwear and barfed it up at the vet’s. They’re keeping him overnight to make sure he hasn’t feasted on any more.”

All Aunt Phoebe could say was, “Oh my.” Schwartz and Marino looked at each other and coughed as they tried without success to hide their laughter. Eventually my aunt gave a few chuckles although I noticed a mixture of worry and relief cross her face. I didn’t see the humor in it since I was the one still living my now six-hour nightmare.

I needed to collapse in bed. These two men were having way too much fun at my expense and had to be politely shoved out the door. I wobbled to my feet and covered the pain rampaging through my body with an insincere smile.

“Thank you for coming. Sorry about the false alarm. I don’t want to keep you any longer. You’ve been most kind.”

I shot out my arm to shake hands with the men and that was my downfall. Pain ripped through me. I grasped at my shoulder and lowered my sore ankle to the floor. Placing more weight on it made me cringe with pain so I quickly pulled my leg up. As I lost my balance I reached out for something solid to stop my fall. I grabbed the shirtfronts of both men and steadied myself while pulling them nearer in the process.

As intimate as our trio appeared we could have passed for three eager participants about to embark on one hell of a ménage a trois. Damn. I’d had fantasies about two men and myself enjoying a wild and wicked night of passion together. This didn’t quite fit the scenario I’d envisioned. Being in pain and under the watchful eye of my elderly aunt didn’t stir any lustful cravings.

Aunt Phoebe suggested, “Maybe one of you should carry her upstairs. I don’t think she can make it on her own.”

Before I could protest, my load bearer—me being the load and Marino being the bearer—swooped me into his arms again. The jiggling and vibration from this motion caused my head to spin.

“I can walk. Please put me down.” I squeaked out my protest in a voice that even sounded weak to me. “Really. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He continued our trek up the stairs. “Don’t worry. I’m trained to carry a damsel in distress.”

Uncomfortable funny rumblings bounced in my stomach. They gradually grew in intensity and strength. I swallowed hard. Then again. And again. The feeling wouldn’t disappear but only became more persistent and determined.

The flashlight I held guided our way as Marino carried me up the unlit staircase. I swung the light from the stairs to a door to the right of the hallway.

With a smugness he’d probably regret my hero fireman replied, “Glad to hear you’ve changed your mind. Funny thing Katie-cat. I’ve heard that request a time or two but for other reasons.”

He shifted my body by heaving me upwards for a better grip. I clenched harder around his shoulder using my left arm to ensure my position. He’d been careful to keep my right leg outstretched and both it and my sore shoulder away from his body. My throbbing head dangled over his shoulder.

“No,” I whined, annoyed at his use of my much-hated nickname. “You don’t understand. I’m going to become another Percy in a minute.”

He let out a teasing laugh that at any other time I’d have found charming. Marino asked, “What? You want me to believe you’re about to eat underwear?”

That’s all I managed to say before barfing down the back of Fireman Marino. So much for rewarding my brave rescuer.