Phoebe's heart thumped as they approached Wyatt' s door. "This is kind of dishonest, don't you think?"

"Of course not. The cat is stuck, or he will be shortly. How else would I get him down?" Frannie stopped before the door and knocked smartly.

"Who is it?" a deep, oddly muffled-sounding voice asked from the other side.

"It's your neighbors, Frannie and Phoebe," Frannie said brightly.

"Come on in," the voice beckoned. "Door's unlocked."

Frannie didn't hesitate. Phoebe followed her inside, and both of them looked around for the source of the voice.

"Mr. Madison?" Frannie called.

"In the kitchen."

The women followed the sound of the voice into the kitchen, and Phoebe stifled a gasp as she laid eyes on the most delightful set of male buns she'd ever seen. It quickly became apparent why Wyatt's voice had been muffled. He had his head and shoulders buried under the kitchen sink.

"I'm right in the middle of something," he said, pleasantly enough. "If I let go, I'll flood the whole kitchen. Can I help you?"

Frannie, her gaze riveted on that wonderful butt covered with snug, faded denim, couldn't seem to articulate an answer. Phoebe jumped in.

"We're really sorry to bother you, but Frannie's cat seems to have climbed up a tree by your balcony, and now he's stuck. We thought you could get him down for us."

"I, um, can't right now." Wyatt seemed to be wrestling with a stubborn pipe or something. His muscles bulged as he applied pressure to a wrench. The wrench slipped. "Ouch. Damn it! Um, 'scuse me."

"How long do you think you'll be?"

"At the rate I'm going? Hours. Why don't you go on back to my balcony and see if you can get the cat yourself?"

That wasn't the plan! Phoebe looked at Frannie, who shrugged helplessly. "I guess we can try," Phoebe said. With luck, the cat would be too high or too low for them to reach.