But, unlike Grandma Henning, Edna had shrewd eyes. He didn’t believe for a second that she’d come by to “meet” him. She was checking on her property, that was all.

“I admit it isn’t ideal,” he heard himself say. “The smell can be a bit much at times. But, as we discussed on the phone, it’s only for three or four months. I can get by.”

“Where do you keep the dogs?”

“In one of the coops in back.”

“If you have a moment, I’d really like to see them.”

He hesitated. He wanted her to leave—to go and mind her own business. Emmett had paid the rent through the next three weeks. But Lyman knew the best way to make sure he wouldn’t have any trouble with her in the future was to allay whatever curiosity, concern or worry had brought her here in the first place.

“Sure. I’m just getting started, so there are only a few. Emmett already found homes for the others,” he said, covering for the fact that he had no idea how many dogs Emmett had told her he was sheltering.

“I’m surprised Emmett quit, especially so soon,” she said. “From what I could tell, he was completely devoted to saving animals.”

Bishop, doing all he could to minimize his limp, led her around the building instead of through it. After all, the back door was boarded up, and she had to be aware of that. “It came as a surprise to me, too, but his father just died. He had to go back to Montana, where he’s from, to help his mother.”

“Oh, I see. So … you’re not going to replace him?”

“No. I’m here now, so I might as well stay. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to find good help.”

“Oh yes I would.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how my ex-manager left this place. I’ve been meaning to hire someone to get it cleaned up. That’s part of the reason I was hoping to meet you in person today. I know you’d be more comfortable here if that happened, and it would help me sell the property, as well. I wanted to see if you might be interested in doing the cleanup yourself, in exchange for a reduction on the rent.”

“Ah—no.”

“I understand.” She lifted one thin-skinned, blue-veined hand. “I can find someone else. I just don’t know who to call. I’ve been so overwhelmed by all the things that have to be done when you lose a loved one it’s been hard to think of anything else.” Her eyes grew misty. “Bernie and I were together for fifty-four years—since I was sixteen. I almost don’t know who I am without him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Bishop mumbled. That was what he was supposed to say, but he was hardly sympathetic. She thought she’d had it rough? He was tempted to tell her what he’d been through, what his mother had done to him and Beth, the way he’d been bullied all through school, what the brain hemorrhage had cost him. But he knew he couldn’t divulge anything about himself—nothing real, anyway.