her。 She finally fell into a restless sleep； only to be awaken at
intervals by the creak of that bed。 It was nearly dawn when she realized
that she wasn't brooding about Jeff for a change。 On that ironic note；
and thoroughly worn out； she slept soundly。
What seemed only moments later； she was jolted awake by a thunderous
noise in the kitchen。 Livid； she bolted out of bed； whipped the chair
from the door； and stormed toward the source of the racket。
〃What； in God's name； was that noise？〃 she shouted； rounding the kitchen
door in time to see Mitch picking up the first of a scattered mess of
pots； pans； and metal utensils that covered the linoleum by the stove。
He wore a navy velour robe that barely touched his knees； and was
barefoot like her。 And disheveled。 And very； very cranky。
Shooting her a sidelong glare； he bellowed； 〃What kind of housekeeper
are you； piling things in the cabi like that？ Did you really expect
them to stay put once I opened the door？ And where in the hell is the
orange juice press？ My Lord； woman； get to it and clean up this mess！〃
Friends who knew Anne to be easygoing； even…tempered； understanding； and
acmodating would never have recognized the spitfire she suddenly
became。 It had been too long a day yesterday； too long a night last
night； too disturbing an ordeal for months； for an ounce of poise to
survive。