Sam came into the kitchen, barking and pawing at Audrey's leg. She was at the stove, heating a pan to make gravy to go with her breakfast. She impatiently pulled her leg away, shushing the dog.

Persistence was a trait Sam was well known for. He was a very single-minded animal, and when he wanted something, he usually persevered until he got it. Most of the time, what he wanted was a long walk, a scrumptious marrow-filled bone leftover from the stockpot, or a scratch behind his furry ears.

This was so much more important than any of those things, though, and Sam knew it. The man in the bed was awake!

Sam pawed at Audrey's leg again, whining. When she brushed him away again, her impatience more obvious, he did something he had never done to anyone in his entire life. He bit her hand. Hard.

Audrey pulled her hand away, startled.

"Sam!" she scolded, looking shocked. "What in the world has gotten into you? You're being positively obnoxious!"

Sam gave a loud bark and turned tail, trotting into the bedroom with his tail held high. Curious, Audrey remover her pan from the hot stove and followed.

The stranger was sitting up in the bed, rubbing his head with one strong, tanned hand, his eyes closed. Audrey's breath caught in her throat.

Sam barked again, looking from his mistress to the strange man and then back again, wondering who would be the first to speak.

Humans, he privately thought, were very strange creatures. His mistress, for instance, was looking shy and nervous, patting the curly fur on her head into place and trying without success to brush the flour from her jeans. What a time for preening! The stranger, meanwhile, was still rubbing his temples and had barely opened his eyes long enough to take in the bedroom or its other inhabitants.

Audrey cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. She began to play with the hem of her sweater, rolling it between her slender fingers. The man looked up, those blue eyes of his taking in her appearance from head to toe. He took his hands from his temples, resting them on the quilt in front of her.

In a voice husky from disuse, he spoke to her.

"I heard you," he said hoarsely, looking directly into those hazel eyes, so much like Eddie's. "I heard you when I was crossing the desert. You were singing to me on the wind."

Audrey didn't answer him. She met his eyes unflinchingly and stopped fidgeting with her hem. He had heard her singing to him! She suddenly felt naked, standing there while he stared.

The man opened his mouth to speak again.

"Who," he asked seriously, his face inquisitive, "is Jeremiah the bullfrog?"