Ron Goulart

“ Holman stopped as the lion crossed the kitchen between him and Nancy. "Don't panic, Nancy," he said in a calm voice. "If nobody moves, it'll go away."
Nancy smiled. "Why should he go away? It's only Shandy."
The lion nuzzled his head over the backs of Nancy's knees and made a growling, purring sound. The tip of his tail flipped against the smooth white stove.
Holman frowned at the lion and dropped back into his chair. "Shandy? The last time I saw him he was a St. Bernard dog."
Nancy rumpled the lion's mane. "Well, you know how Shandy is. He doesn't stay one thing for long. ”

“ Holman kept his back to the lion while he assembled his tent. And when he had it finished he went inside and didn't come out until Nancy called him for dinner.
The sky, up through the yellow-green leaves, was clear. The afternoon was warm, with a slight feel of coming rain. Holman locked his hands behind his head and half-closed his eyes. "And living alone by the woods is dangerous," he said.
Nancy laughed. "You've just eaten lunch in it."
Holman closed his eyes. "And how do you know what Shandy is? Maybe he's why this place got a bad name in the first place." ”

“ Wearing a pale blue cotton dress, tan and slender, Nancy came out of the ship and into the low-trimmed grass. She held up one arm and waved once, smiling. "Ken," she said and turned to roll up the rug.
Holman said, "How you been?" as he came near, walking at his usual pace.
Setting the rug carefully on the bottom step, Nancy looked up at him. "Fine. Yourself?"
"Not bad. Had a cold last week." Holman put his suitcase down next to the neatly rolled rug.
Nancy frowned. "You still don't eat enough greens. That's why." ”