No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fit her skull through the opening. ‘My own…’ Must be an armhole. She shifted her body around, tryin... to fit her arm through the hole, but it seemed to have unaccountably vanished. ‘My, um…’ Maybe she should try the pants first. They were usually easier to get on anyway. Charlotte set the shirt down, trying not to think about how she was giving Paul a free look at her in just her underwear (and trying extra hard not to think about the fact that there. Hannah grew tense, she leaned the bat up against the garage on the way to the front door, feeling the earlier she ditched it, the better. Bill opened the door and stepped inside. ‘It’s me,’ he grumbled, setting down his bag and stepping out of his boots, ‘with visitor.’ ‘Who’s the visitor?’ someone asked. A young man, pretending to be harsh and wary, by the sounds of it. ‘Stray.’ It stung. She must have looked it, too, for Bill glanced at her and ruefully added, ‘Name of Hannah.’ A young. More

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