The doorbell rang just as Lorrlyne was rinsing her hands at the kitchen sink. She glanced toward the hallway, water still running, before reaching for a towel and drying her hands quickly as she crossed the house.
"I'm coming," she called, her voice carrying ahead of her.
When she opened the door, Willow stood on the threshold, hair drenched and clinging to her face and neck, rainwater dripping steadily from the ends. One hand was wrapped around the handle of the stroller, its cover pulled low. The rain had been falling since morning, a steady spring downpour that left the air heavy and cold, and Willow looked as though she had walked straight through it rather than around it.
Lorrlyne did not ask questions at the door. She stepped aside immediately, ushering them in with a hand on Willow's back. Willow paused on the mat, clearly aware of the water pooling beneath her shoes, then bent to slip them off, her movements stiff and apologetic as she straightened again.
