her car too, which, come to think of it, was probably due.
“I think the Bodine boys could use some extra work.” Drew sat back in the booth, pushing the basket of chips toward Eileen. “They’re in shape, and they’ll have time since high school baseball is coming to a close.”
Pris tsk-tsked. “Eileen doesn’t have the money to pay anyone.”
Eileen nodded, confiscating Drew’s salsa bowl and digging in as if it was her first meal of the day. “I need a volunteer. Someone strong enough to hold her. Someone who can sing a good lullaby.”
“I’m busy,” Drew grumbled.
Wendy was watching them and smiling wanly as if happy to be sitting with them. “Is Rosalie okay?” she asked.
“She needs to lose weight,” Eileen said, having missed the subtext of the question while cleaning out the chip basket. “It’s affecting her eyesight.”
“Rosalie’s going blind?” Wendy’s forehead scrunched. “That’s horrible.”
“Eileen rescued a pig called Rosie,” Drew explained patiently. “We’re not talking about Rosalie Bollinger.” He raised his beer bottle, intending to take a drink.
“Rosie and Rosalie. I was mixed up,” Wendy said with a flash of a smile that was more than milk toast. “Have you seen Lola Williams’s window? A man riding a deer. It made me laugh.”
The salsa Pris had loaded on her chip fell to the table. Drew set his beer down untouched.
Shy, withdrawn Wendy had a sense of humor. Maybe things weren’t as grim as he’d thought. Maybe there was a personality to Wendy after all, buried deep down where only the most desperate of men could find it.
“I thought her window was funny too.” Eileen signaled the waitress for more chips. “I drive by it every day. Why is she doing it?”
“Who knows?” Drew’s sister was getting them off track. “Do you have any pets, Wendy?” Drew motioned to the waitress to bring him another beer.
“I have a tortoise. He lives in my basement.” Wendy slid a glance Drew’s way. “He’s not as exciting as a pig. He doesn’t need walking.”
Pris raised her brows, and Drew could almost tell what his sister was thinking: She has a pet she keeps in her basement…along with her personality.
Drew shook his head, brushing his sister off. Wendy had just given a big speech. He continued to be heartened and waited for Wendy to say more.
And waited…
“What’s your turtle’s name?” Drew couldn’t stand it any longer. This was almost a conversation.
“Archie. And he’s a tortoise,” Wendy said tolerantly.
Pris leaned back and studied Wendy. “How old is Archie?”
Wendy shrugged.
“How did you find a turtle…” Even Eileen was caught up in it now. “Er…a tortoise in Colorado?”
“I visited an animal rescue.”
Eileen frowned. “You haven’t visited my animal rescue.”
“I already have a pet.” Wendy took a bite of a chip.
“There’s logic to that, I suppose,” Eileen said, oddly supportive.
Pris’s eyebrows went higher, as if to say, Whose side is she on?
Drew gave Pris a very brief, very dark look.
“Have you heard anything from Jane?” Eileen asked, further proving she wasn’t with the program. She should’ve known the topic of Jane was taboo in front of Wendy.
Wendy blinked and then stared at Drew.
“I haven’t heard a word from her.” Drew brought the near-empty basket of chips closer and took one. “How am I going to walk a pig who can’t see?”
“Oh, she’s very docile.” Eileen took the bait. “She heels better than any dog I’ve rescued.”
“She has a leash,” Pris said with a superior expression, possibly imagining Drew walking her.
“Oh, you’ve taken Rosie out, Pris?” Drew bared his teeth.
“Nope.” Pris returned his smile in kind. “I just saw her leash.”
“Tomorrow,” Wendy said.
As one, the Taylors looked at her.
“You should walk Rosie tomorrow, Drew.” Wendy brushed the few chip crumbs she’d made to the side of the table. “Since she needs to lose weight.”
The woman he intended to marry wanted him to walk a pig? How could Drew refuse?
Chapter Eighteen
What are you doing here so early?” Eileen opened the door a crack on Monday morning and stared at Drew as if she hadn’t had her first cup of coffee.
Behind Drew, the last efforts of a weak spring storm spit at the cruiser’s windshield.
Behind Eileen, Rosie grunted in the same unwelcome tone as his sister’s greeting.
“I’m here to walk the pig.” He usually spent the hour after dropping Becky off at school making rounds, but if walking an overweight piece of bacon helped make Eileen’s life safer, it was worth rearranging his schedule. Besides, it kept him from driving past Lola’s house.
His sister didn’t open the door, smile, or