Читать книгу A Soldier's Promise - Cheryl Wyatt - Страница 11

Amber stepped out of her car after returning from church. A cool breeze lifted hair from her face. Refreshing mist showered the air which smelled like fresh-cut grass.

She hadn’t gotten used to the humidity here yet, so thick you could chew on it. She lifted supplies out of her trunk, enjoying the fragrance of impending rain as Celia drove up.

“What is that smell?” Celia waved a hand across her face while holding the door for Amber. She passed by the foyer with the piled-high milk crate.

Amber caught a whiff and almost gagged. “Maybe the roof is leaky.”

“Tell your landlord. That smells moldy. You don’t need that with your allergies.”

Amber set the crate down and went to make lunch. “Yow!” She jerked her leg, half expecting to see a stinging scorpion attached to her ankle. Wait, Illinois didn’t have those.

“Cat! What was that all about?” She rubbed red puncture holes with circular motions. Psych lunged, digging an arsenal of sharp claws and needle-tip fangs into her tender flesh.

“Hey! What is your problem today?” She tapped his paws and nose until he let go. The cat flipped around in an unnatural spine bend and skittered across the carpet, snagging Berber into tufts as he went. “Great. You’re dying for me to lose the deposit on this apartment, aren’t you? Of course, if you bite me like that again, only one of us will leave here.”