Robin had counted to twenty with her back against the solid wood door of her house, and still the desire to head on over to the picnic raged through her.
“It’ll be fun,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t have any food in the house, and she didn’t really want to go back to town right now. A nap sounded good, but her stomach gurgled and growled a warning that if she didn’t feed it soon, there would be a riot.
Misfit hadn’t even moved from her bed, so Robin spun and burst out of the house, calling, “Shane!” as she spilled down the steps. Surely he wouldn’t still be nearby. The man had legs as long as years, and he’d already been moving fast across the lawn when she’d last seen him.
After tumbling around the corner of the shed, she saw him standing a hundred yards away, across the field.
