When he heard Carly’s shout, he whirled around and rushed inside. “What’s wrong?”
“She moved. I think she’s waking up.” Carly pointed at the black-and-white dog, perfectly still. “Really, she did.”
“Probably a nervous twitch.” Nathan clasped his daughter’s shoulder. “She isn’t going to wake up for a while. In fact, if I remember correctly, a little girl about six years old has a room that needs to be cleaned up.”
“I’m not little no more. I’m gonna be seven real soon.”
“Big girls clean up their rooms, too.” His daughter’s idea of cleaning up was sticking everything under the bed or into the closet.
Carly’s mouth twisted in a pensive expression, and she cocked her head to the side. “Do you have to clean up your room, Miss Fayard?”
“If I didn’t, I would never find anything I needed.”
His daughter tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Mmm. You know, I’ve been looking for my stuffed monkey. I wonder…” She didn’t finish her statement but flew out of the building and raced toward the house.
“I think she knows where her monkey is,” Susan said with a laugh.
“I hope so. If I’d let her, she would live in a state of disarray all the time. And I can hardly get her to bed without that monkey.”
“I wish you the best with that battle.” Susan opened her purse slung over her shoulder and dug around inside it. She produced a piece of paper—the back of a sales receipt—and wrote a series of numbers on it. “This is my cell number. Please call me if there’s a turn for the worse. Otherwise, I’ll be back out here tomorrow after church.”
His mouth dropped open. “But you don’t even know the dog. Are you sure you want to get involved so much?”
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