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he was. The article he’d written about Blossom had been circulated far and wide. But the angel wasn’t a local. He’d met nearly everyone in town last summer when he wrote the article. Not this woman. She was stunning, if bizarrely dressed in a combat coat that must have pulled duty in WWII. She was the kind of long-legged beauty whose thighs could put a man in a hip-hugging lock sure to send him into bliss.
    You need to give your gonads a rest, remember?
    “Hugh Shaeffer.” He stuck out his hand, which she ignored. “I’m sorry about taking the apartment.”
    “You’re not sorry. You look pleased, asshole.”
    “Nice mouth.” Nice lips, actually—her language he could do without.
    “Glad you like it.” She turned back to Delia, who was snapping her gum and watching their verbal tussle. “He can’t have the apartment. It’s mine.”
    He turned to Finney and launched into a smooth series of lies. “Listen, I promised my editor I’d stay in Liberty until the feature’s written. I’m doing a nice follow-up on Blossom.”
    Finney planted her hands on her hips. “Whatever you need, Hugh. Mary has no use for the apartment. She moved in with Anthony right before they left for their honeymoon.”
    “Honeymoon… Mary and Anthony?” If Anthony was AWOL, Hugh couldn’t grill him about the websites until he returned. “When did they get married?”
    “Last Sunday. Damn if we all weren’t surprised.”
    “Where’s Blossom?”
    “Meade is staying with her at the house. I don’t think you’ve met Meade.” Finney grunted. “She’s a real piece of work, all pomp and circumstance. The queen of cosmetics—she owns a company in Beachwood. I’m hoping Blossom will torture her and hide the evidence. I love that child.”
    Hugh barely heard the comment. The commando angel was digging bills out of her pocket in an attractive and growing state of agitation. “I’m taking the apartment,” she announced, sorting the cash. “Delia, let me give you the rent.”
    Which was when Hugh realized she wasn’t carrying a purse. He’d never before seen a woman without her everyday gear—a purse slung over her shoulder or a bag so large it could hold his golf clubs. And there was something else, something about her that put his inner antenna on alert. He got the sudden premonition, the one that always started his thoughts whirling. There’s a story here.
    While he tried to get a handle on what had sent up his antennae, Delia approached the cook. “Finney, she was here first. This isn’t right.”
    The angel hopped off her barstool. “Not right at all!” She softened her tone as she cornered Finney. “Here’s my rent—and an extra fifty dollars. No. Make it a hundred.” She thrust the wad of bills into the cook’s eager fist.
    Hugh began perspiring when Finney stared at the money in a sort of rapture. Hell, if they got into a bidding war, he’d be broke when he did move in upstairs.
    “I’ll pay two hundred over the asking price,” he said.
    “Then I’ll pay three hundred.”
    Finney whistled. “Oh, my. Now I’m in a real quandary.”
    Delia tugged on her sleeve. “Uh, Finney… ”
    “Not now! I’m working through my quandary.”
    The waitress tugged harder. “We’ve been running the ‘Help Wanted’ ad for three weeks now, haven’t we? The only applicants have been teenagers. You’ve turned them all away.” She winked at the flustered commando. “Her references are good as gold. She’s an old friend of the family. I’ve known her forever.”
    The cook ran her fingers through her brassy blonde hair. “It’s true I can’t afford another hormonal teenager. All they do is break dishes and flirt with the customers.” Finney sized up the angel. “I suppose you’re old enough to be responsible, miss. I’ll let you share the apartment with Hugh if you promise there’ll be no misbehaving… and if you’ll wait tables.”
    Hugh shouldered his way between the cook and Delia. “Hold on. I