And then the doorbell rang.Mom and I looked at each other, neither one speaking, and I'm sure I was as pale as she. She clasped her hands, brought the... to her mouth, and nervously chewed on the second knuckle of her index finger. The doorbell kept ringing."What are we going to do?" I asked."I don't know." Her chin dropped to her chest and her forehead to her clasped hands. "I don't know," she said so softly I could barely hear.And the ringing continued -- the sound worse than someone scratching. A hand in the middle of her back was holding her from looking around, to see who it was, and was forcing her to stay there. Her only thought, from the suddenness of her attack, was some "cowboy" had followed her home, one evening, from her job, or a date, and was going to help himself to her goodies. It was a part of the job, but it was still humiliating to be forced by someone NOT of your own choosing. It had happened, before, though, and would probably happen again. She had been careless, and. More

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