Without a word, Gus retrieved a crocheted afghan from a rocking chair at the other end of the long room. He tucked Miriam in like a child.
"Thanks."
Silently, Gus knelt down and pulled her practical pumps off and put them closer to the fire.
"At the risk of sounding as if I have an ulterior motive, you should get out of those wet clothes. I can probably scrounge up some sweats to fit you. My late wife was only slightly taller than you."
She resisted the urge to say her stock line: She's not late. She's not coming. Her nerves were frayed to think he would find the phrase funny.
"Did she make this?"
He nodded.
Gus went to find some clothes. The doorbell rang and Miriam heard a voice from above ask her to answer the door and he'd be right down. She opened the door to a pimply-faced tee
