Annie was startled from a dream of witching fairies and satyrs. The nightmare caused a bothersome premonition. She slipped an arm over the sleeping form of her lover. She had never been a morning person, but something awakened her early – a sound of gunfire and the blat of a jetboat taking off from the Cove, a quarter of a mile away.
Their recently adopted golden retriever, Chuckles, moved his muzzle from his crossed paws of soft fur. He woofed and leapt from the bed. Annie smiled and leaned over to pet his darling head. Not since her mother’s cat, Tigger, had she felt such love for a helpless fellow creature. Chuckles depended on them. She smiled then remembered the sound that had awakened her. Chuckles whined and gazed up at her with soft brown eyes.
She touched Mark’s muscular shoulde
