ached　the　house　she　didn't　bother　to　stop　at

the　door。　An　easy　lope　carried　her　into　the　kitchen；　through　to　the

living　room；　and　up　the　stairs。　No　sign　of　Ross…so　much　the　better。

Jogging　in　place　with　the　last　of　her　precious　energy；　she　piled　her

arms　with　fresh　towels　from　a　surprisingly　low　stack　in　the　linen　closet

and　went　to　her　room　for　a　robe。　There　she　stopped　dead　in　her　tracks。

Where　an　open　expanse　of　pale　lavender　quilt　had　been　when　she　had　left；

was　a　landscape　of　mate　artifacts。　And　clothes。　His　clothes。　He　had　made

himself　perfectly　at　home。　This　was　the　limit。

A　fit　of　fury　took　her　to　the　bathroom　door。　Better　judgment　stopped　her

on　the　threshold。　The　sink　taps　were　running。　If　she　barged　in；　what

would　she　find？　The　tremble　that　snaked　through　her　had　nothing　to　do

with　fear。　Rather；　she　conjured　up　the　image　of　Ross　shaving；　a　coat　of

white　lather　covering　his　jaw；　a　towel…her　towel　over　his　loins；　and

nothing；　nothing　else；　covering　or　covered。

As　she　stood　rooted　there；　the　shower　went　on；　the　curtain　clattered

back　on　its　hooks；　and　。。。　her　mind's　eye　saw　it　all。　The　towel　fell

away。　With　total　nonchalance；　he　stepped　into　the　shower。

Mercifully；　he　couldn't　hear　her　low　cry　as　she　whirled　back　toward　her

bedroom；　cursing　both　Ross　and　her　imagination　all　the　way。　But　she

couldn't　curb　her　curiosity　entirely。　Approaching　the　bed　with　an　odd

shyness；　she　studied　his　things。　There　was　the　leather　duffel　she　had

seen　earlier；　plus　a　larger；　flatter　suit　bag；　unzipped　to　reveal　a　pair

of　gray…blue　tweed　lapels。　There　was　the　smaller　canvas　case　that　had

contained　his　shaving　gear；　i