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quickly and continued their slow, stately walk.
    Despite her blushes, her heart soared; she felt as though she could fly at least as high as those birds, as if nothing could touch her or harm her , could ever make her feel afraid or sad again.
    This beautiful man beside her — Shel — was now on a first name basis with her. No, more than that, on a friendly nickname basis. And he thought she was wise, elegant, and worth listening to. What in the world could be better than that?

Chapter five
    They rounded another gentle bend on the paved park path, talking quietly. Ellie stopped short in the middle of a sentence.
    "What…?"
    They both stopped and stared. In the little duck pond that lay ahead floated a bobbing dark sack.
    "Oh dear," said Mr. Silverberg — Shel. "I think…"
    Without conscious plan, she reached for his arm. "Is that…"
    A moving sack. A sack that probably held kittens someone had tossed in to drown. Some cruel person who hadn't even waited to see they were dead, simply left them to suffer.
    "Oh." Her eyes filled with tears. "How terrible!"
    Shel moved away from her touch, and she realiz ed he was stripping off his jacket. He handed it and his hat to her, then his wallet and watch. With a determined look on his face, he kicked off his shoes and waded into the cold duck pond. A few nearby ducks feeding on the grass quacked at him, as if surprised to see a man take their place.
    He waded in, rolling up his sleeves as he went. Ellie could only stare. Even with the weight of poor d rowning animals hanging over them, she couldn't help but notice the beautiful shape of him. The image stuck and stayed in her head: this man wading through cold water, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, head bare, determination in his every line. There was no denying how strongly the sight affected her. This image would forever afterwards represent masculinity to her.
    She moved forward carrying his jacket, still warm from his firm shoulders. "Be careful!" she called, nonsensically because he clearly was being careful. But he looked so set on his goal, as if nothing could ever stop him; it made her heart flutter with concern for him. As well as beat hard for quite another reason.
    "I am," he said, sounding as though he spoke through gritted teeth. "Almost… there." He grasped the sack and tugged, lifting it from the water, then turned and hurried back toward the shore, lifting the sack high and walking so fast he pushed a wave in front of him. It rose up, wetting his chest higher and higher. The look on his face was one of frowning concentration and ferocious indignation. He was at least as strongly affected by the sight of the drowning animals as Ellie was, although it didn't affect him in the same way.
    What would I have done if I was alone? There was simply no way she could have physically done what he did, so would she have stood there, watching, crying helplessly, or called someone to help — someone who might think it was perfectly natural to drown baby animals, and probably too late to help them anyway?
    I f he wasn't here….
    But even now it might be too late. She hurried to meet him as he moved onto the grass. His clothing clung to him in a distracting way that made her look away and blush, uncomfortable with the fact that she was seeing the outline of his body so clearly.
    He was on his knees in an instant , and there was no more time to feel self-conscious. He ripped open the sack and pulled out…
    Puppies.
    "Oh." She stared. They were so young. It looked as though their eyes were still closed. Or else…
    "Hand me my jacket," he said, and she did. He scrunched it on the ground and laid them on the dry cloth, ignoring the fact that it looked like a good jacket, not something to get filthy.
    The puppies were d readfully still, lying limp as dead rats. All but two. These struggled weakly, opening tiny mouths, uttering whining barks. They held their blunt muzzles raised, little paws trembling as they fought against