“Hey, Brynne Bailey!” he called out, then started to sing, “Brynne Bailey, won’t you please come home?” J.P. took up the chorus, just as Cord saw Eli standing in the doorway.

Reactions from the few people there—except for Brynne—were good-natured. She merely groaned. “I am home, you dum-dums. Oh, not you, Troop, my darling. You’re the smart one here. I’ll bring you a treat in a little while.” The Lab wagged his tail excitedly. Eat and treat were two of his favorite words. Two of every dog’s favorite words.

“Trooper, don’t suck up to her,” J.P. said. But he wasn’t serious. Trooper was less a service dog now than a companion; he no longer wore the vest. At the age of almost nine, he’d reached retirement, but J.P. wasn’t giving him up. The dog still played a role in helping him maintain his stability. J.P. no longer suffered from the constant anxiety and frequent panic attacks he’d endured after Afghanistan, but as Cord knew, they could still strike and without warning.

Another good thing—Trooper was welcome everywhere in Painted Pony Creek.

As Eli approached, Cord asked, “Did you hear what she called us? Dum-dums!”

“Hmm. I’m sure she’s got her reasons. Maybe I should arrest you both for creating a public disturbance.”

Brynne reappeared to take their orders. “Sounds good to me. Now, what do you guys want?”

They all ordered that morning’s special, the breakfast burger. As she left, Eli announced, “All right, gentlemen, this meeting is called to order.”

J.P. glanced at Cord. “Is ‘gentlemen’ better or worse than ‘dum-dums’?”

Eli ignored them. “Let’s get serious. What do we do about…Zelda?”

“It’s Carly, not Zelda. She told me last night.”

“Fine. Carly, then.”

“Carly for short, Charlotte for long.”

“What’s her last name? Same as her stepfather’s, whatever that is? Or maybe Reba stuck with Shannon for her own kid.”

“Don’t know. Didn’t think to ask. I’ll find out, though.”

“Man, that stepfather and wife number two were real assholes,” J.P. muttered.

“I assume you’ll get her name from the birth certificate. Or maybe not, depending on when Reba married this jerk.” Cord took out a pen and began writing on a napkin. “Okay. Last name. What else?”

They waited until Brynne had dropped off their meals and left again.

“Education,” Eli replied, digging into his egg-topped burger with fries.

Cord added that to his list. “Yeah, I’ll bet she didn’t finish high school.”

“Bet Reba didn’t, either,” J.P. put in.

“The big question,” Eli went on, “is…what exactly does she want from us?”

Cord shrugged. “She wants a father. Her father.” He paused to take a slurp of coffee.