He threw his head back and laughed at that.

Wouldn’t she have been surprised? Wouldn’t he! It wasn’t in his nature to go around kissing strangers.

He locked the rabbit in its large wire- and wood hutch and shook his finger at it. “It wasn’t nice of you to eat her skirt. Now I’ll have to pay for it, and I’m going to take the money out of your carrot allowance.”

Twenty – four hours later, Megan was practically flying down Duke of Gloucester Street. Her black shoes skipped over the brick sidewalk, her long skirt showed flashes of white petticoat as she jigged through a pile of leaves, and her thick, wavy red hair tumbled free, swirling around her shoulders. It was five o’clock, and she had just finished work for the weekend. She tilted her face up into the crisp air and wrapped her long black cape tight around herself. This was her favorite time of the year. Crisp apples, nippy mornings, pumpkins and leaves and… rabbits.

She stopped in her tracks and watched the big brown rabbit hop down Duke of Gloucester Street and disappear between two buildings. That was no ordinary rabbit, she thought. That was what’s – his – name’s rabbit, and it was on the loose, looking for clothes to eat.

She followed it into the little garden beside the bakery, becoming more furious with each step. Obviously, Patrick Hunter was an irresponsible pet parent, not caring if his rabbit got lost or run over by an oxcart or starved to death.

“Poor orphan bunny,” she said. She hefted the huge rabbit into her arms and grunted. Okay, so chances of its starving to death were slim. There was still the oxcart to worry about.

Martha Greenwald and Betsy Markham, fellow visitors’ aides, peeked into the garden and waved at Megan. “I see you’ve got Dr. Hunter’s rabbit,” Martha said.

“Doctor Hunter?” Megan repeated.

“He’s just moved into town. A pediatrician, fresh out of residency and cute as a button.”