The Imposter by Suzanne Woods Fisher Page B

abandoned,” Katrina said. Her voice came out a little louder than she meant it to.
    Will looked at her in surprise. “I guess that’s true enough.”
    Andy sat down and faced the dog. “I think you need us, and we need you.” He glanced up at Katrina and smiled, and she felt her cheeks grow warm. He looked back at the dog and, leaning closer, scratched him behind the ears. “Okay with you?”
    The dog looked at him a long time, considering, his brown eyes searching Andy’s face. Andy scratched him under the chin and the dog lifted his head, then put a paw on his forearm. He smiled up at Katrina. “All right, then. He says yes. Let’s go home.”
    After they filled out the paperwork, they headed to the buggy with their new old dog. Andy lifted the dog into the buggy. “What do you want to call him?”
    â€œMe?” Katrina said. “You’re the one who should name him. You’re the one who needed a dog.”
    â€œBut you’re the one who spotted him. The dog that needed us.”
    â€œHow about . . . Keeper?”
    â€œI like that.” He laughed, a soft laugh that turned into acough. And then he looked surprised, as if he didn’t really laugh all that often. It surprised her, as well, to hear him laugh, so that she blushed and looked away. As he turned onto the road that led to Moss Hill, he said, “Are you feeling better?”
    The kindness, the way he looked at her with concern, made her eyes prickle. She ducked her head. “I guess.” She shrugged, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. “The reason I run to the phone shanty ten times a day is because of someone named John. We’ve been broken up for two months. You’d think I’d be over it by now.”
    â€œOr not,” he said. “It takes as long as it takes.”
    She looked down at her hands folded in her lap. “I think this particular situation is going to take a long, long time.”

    Rain had left the village of Stoney Ridge rinsed and clean, scented with freshly mown hay. The sky was bright, creamed with thin, swirling clouds. Jesse felt exultant, a song in his heart, until he realized he was late for work. Hank wouldn’t notice but Fern certainly would.
    Jesse found his working relationship with Hank to be ideal. Hank left him entirely alone and never followed up on anything. This particular morning had started as usual, with Hank drawling, “You know what needs doing, or at least should,” and disappearing off to somewhere undisclosed—most likely Edith Fisher’s—while Jesse faced tabulating the chaos of his unpaid accounts, which were numerous.
    Jesse’s apprenticeship was now concentrated on learning the ins and outs of the buggy shop’s finances. Trying to untangle Hank’s curious methods, if you could call anything methodical about Hank Lapp. His style of bookkeeping hadbeen what one might call casual, if in a generous mood. If not, sloppy and careless.
    In many ways, this sort of apprenticeship fit Jesse from head to toe. Each afternoon, when he knew farmers would be in the field and their wives near the house—a safer situation for the loathsome task of bill collecting—Jesse hit the road with his scooter and made his collection calls. So far, he had collected six outstanding bills without fuss or fanfare. Women were far more sensitive to the need to keep straight accounts than their husbands, he had quickly discovered.
    And Jesse had some spare coinage jingling in his pockets. The bill collection division of the buggy repair shop was turning a tidy profit. True to his word, Hank gave him a percentage of what he brought in, but the wage, while steady enough, did not seem to be a swift path to riches. The buggy shop ledger was always going to be tipped in Hank’s favor, not Jesse’s. Besides, money did not stick to Jesse, which was why a more substantial supply seemed such a