Dead Beat Dates & Deities - Goddess of Tornado Alley Series Book One

Chapter Eight

The storm let up sometime during the night. Frank woke up late Sunday morning to a watery blue sky and two feet of snow huddled around her doors and windows. Her bruises had deepened in color, the skin around her eyes a deathly black and purple. She stood in her bathroom in front of the mirror and studied her image. Her hair was pulled up into a messy knot on the top of her head and her eyes were bloodshot and bleary "You're related to Aphrodite?" she asked her reflection. "How is that even remotely possible?"

Frank was still not convinced the conversation with the goddess had actually taken place. There was no denying that it seemed real, but she couldn't quite get there. She kept trying to appease that flicker of fear she felt in her chest—the one that burned bright and made her wonder if she needed psychiatric help—by reminding herself that she'd gotten a pretty good smack on the head. She'd seen the chunk of plaster she'd taken out of the statue with her forehead for herself the day before. Dr. Miller told her she had a concussion. She hadn't slept well in the hospital, and there was also the alcohol she'd consumed before her fall to take into consideration. She needed to lay off the margaritas, although she had to admit that a beef burrito with extra guacamole was sounding more than a little tasty.

There were some basic things she needed to know about Greek mythology. A research session was in order, but there was something she needed to take care of first. Her mail had not been collected in a couple of days, and there was no getting around the fact that she couldn't live without her catalogs. She knew all the paper was wasteful, but it was harder than hell to do any online shopping while soaking in the tub.

She bundled herself up in her parka and a pair of gray Joie Demelza boots, tightening the red laces up her shins as she formulated a plan to get to her mailbox without Muffin being the wiser. She covered her messy bun with a knit cap and pulled mittens on as the kitchen door slammed behind her.

After trudging through her back yard in knee high drifts of snow, Frank opened the back gate and threw a furtive glance to the right. There were some kids playing further up in a cul-de-sac, and one of her neighbors was clearing his driveway with a ferocious sounding snow blower, but there were no German Shepherds lurking about. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Frank slipped out of her yard and began the trek to the mail kiosk. Once she got to the street the going got easier. A snowplow had come through before the sun had risen, making the path less difficult to traverse. Her breath rose like a cloud in front of her face as she turned the key in the lock and pulled a stack of mail from the box.

She was about halfway between the stand of mailboxes and her property line when she saw Muffin's dark, furry head poke out from around the corner. His ears pointed skyward, and she was sure she saw his black eyes sparkle with malicious intent.

"Oh, man." Frank stared at the dog. Both human and canine took off at the same time, one of them yelling, the other barking as they raced toward the back gate. Frank's boot slid on the smooth, hard packed snow, then she hopped up onto the curb and her legs sunk deep in the mounds that had been pushed up onto the grass.

From the corner of her eye she could see Muffin closing the gap. She wasn't sure, but he looked like he was hungry. "Not today you dumb dog," she said as she pulled her legs up through the snow.

Frank reached the gate and had it pulled open when Muffin lunged for her, his bark loud and commanding as he pushed her hard in the back with his big front paws. Her boots slipped again and she flew forward, her arms splayed and mail sailing through the air. When she landed it was on her belly, and an ugly sounding grunt was forced loudly out of her body. Still, she'd made it back to the safety of her own yard.

She rolled over and saw Muffin peering in at her from the other side of the gate. He was wagging his tail, although Frank was convinced that it was in an act of aggression and not one of friendliness. He tipped his furry head to the side and Frank reached up with her foot to kick the gate closed. The latch clicked and Frank shoved the hat away from the bandage on her forehead. "Muffins are just ugly cupcakes," she yelled through the fence.