Maybe I didn't listen too good."I took Mom by the hand, wondering why I was feeling like an elementary school kid dragging a parent around for parent-...eacher night. "Come on. Let me show you the place."I looked at Dan. He raised an eyebrow in question. We communicate sometimes and I swear it's telepathy, and I was telling him to let me take the lead on this one. As I took her through the offices and out the back, I gave her the short version of 'show and tell'.We exited into the back parking. In her sensible, expensively impressive, day shoes she barely cleared the lintel of the door to her office. Actually, she had chosen the shoes for exactly that reason. Every time Abigail walked through that doorway, head high, as her mother had taught her, the top of her red, ringletted hair, which cascaded down her shoulders, would brush, caressingly, the underside of the frame, sending electric Morse code through her readily charged nerves. The message was invariably sensual. On rare. More

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