“Thanks for the update, but I’m looking for Junior.”
She shifted the fussy boy. “Why?”
“I need to ask him a few questions.”
“It’d be a waste of time. Unlike his father, he ain’t gonna talk to you.”
“So does Junior still live here?”
“Not since Rollie kicked him out.”
I resisted asking if that’d happened after Rollie found out about Junior’s alleged involvement with Arlette Shooting Star. “Have you seen him recently?”
An anxious look flitted across her weary face. “He shows up when he knows his old man ain’t around.”
“Do you know why Rollie sent him packing?”
Verline shook her head.
“Did Junior mention where he was staying the last time you saw him?”
She averted her eyes, and then tugged on the boy’s diaper before she looked at me again. “I didn’t ask.”
I let it slide, even though I was sure she was lying.
An excruciatingly loud wail came from inside the house. Holy crap. Did that new little baby have a monster set of lungs. Then the toddler started shrieking and hitting Verline on the shoulder with his tiny fists.
“I gotta go.” And she slammed the door in my face.
And once again, Dawson wasn’t home.
The dogs were happy to see me. I rewarded their enthusiasm by playing fetch, whipping the tennis ball across the yard.
Over the past few months Shoonga and Butch had become best buds. Shoonga was clearly the alpha dog, since the ranch was his turf. Butch followed Shoonga around, content to follow his lead-except when it came to fetch. Butch turned fiercely competitive whenever a bouncing ball appeared. He’d knock Shoonga’s doggie mug into the dirt every chance he could. It amused the heck outta me seeing the two dogs yipping and nipping at each other, hackles raised, teeth bared and fur flying whenever that yellow fuzz-covered ball bounced.
Kind of reminded me… of Shay and me.
I petted and praised the pups, poured extra food for them on the porch, and entered my empty house.
The kitchen sparkled thanks to Sophie’s efforts. She’d left a note on the table about laundry.
Although Sophie had been doing domestic chores for our family since my mother had died, she was more than a housekeeper. She’d helped raise Hope and me. She’d taken care of the household and my father. This house seemed as much her home as mine.
Dawson understood my reason for keeping Sophie on the payroll, but he refused to let her do his laundry. I understood where he was coming from. It’d taken me a couple of months after I’d returned from Iraq to hand over my dirty clothes to her.
I figured he’d cave in. He hadn’t. So it made no sense to me why Dawson was perfectly content to let Sophie cook for us. Probably because she kept him well supplied with his favorite cookies.