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quick look at the five puppies squirming and squawking in their box. The other dogs would have to wait for breakfast. The puppies needed feeding now. She bypassed the mudroom and pushed open the sliding door into the family room.
    Nathan sat in his boxers on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table, watching the History Channel and eating cereal. He must have been in the kitchen when she found the crate—but sure enough it was still open at the end of the couch. Why was he even up this early?
    “Why aren’t you still asleep?”
    “Why aren’t you?” he retorted, then shrugged. “Noise woke me up. Started thinking about Dad . . .”
    Their father had watched the History Channel with them so many times. She swallowed hard, wanting to comfort her baby brother but knowing he wouldn’t let her.
    Two tabby cats slept along the back of the sofa like bookends around Nathan. He cradled a bowl against his scrawny chest and shoveled Lucky Charms into his mouth, his favorite breakfast since he’d been a kid. Except it had to be doused in goat’s milk because he had a serious cow’s milk allergy.
    And the goat’s milk made her remember . . . Oh God, Mom’s puppies. She didn’t have time to milk the goat again, much less feed the pups and other dogs.
    Sierra ran past the island and into the kitchen. She checked the fridge and saw the container still had at least a cup left. Enough. Good. She reached into a cabinet under the sink and pulled out a box of rubber gloves.
    “Nathan, the animals need to eat. All of them. But the puppies on the porch need you first and since you’re awake you can help. You can feed five at a time if you put goat’s milk in the fingers—not cow’s milk. Poke a small hole in the end of each finger of the gloves. They don’t have teeth yet. Just be careful they don’t suck in the latex. Keep the fingers full.” She dropped the box on the coffee table next to his feet and a basket of gnawed-up tennis balls. “If you drink the last of the goat’s milk, have fun milking Sookie. Okay?”
    “Five puppies? Really?” He started shaking his head.
    Sierra clapped his face in her hands and guided his no into a yes. “Really. Or you can feed them one at a time if you’d rather. Or go chase down Dad’s dog.”
    “Fine. Whatever.” He shrugged free, then tipped the bowl up to his mouth to slurp the leftover milk. He smacked his lips, burped, then said, “Dog hopped the fence and ran for the woods.”
    She froze in her tracks, halfway to the door. Anger fumed inside her that her brother could care so little for something that meant so much to their mother. Fighting with him wouldn’t find the dog, though. Heaven help them all if her brother decided not to talk because he felt she was unjustly picking on him. “How do you know which way Trooper went? And how long have you been keeping that to yourself?”
    “Saw him go over about a half hour ago.”
    “You didn’t think it was worth telling anyone before now?” Sometimes she wondered if her brother wasn’t just a sad nerd, but some psycho after all. “Did you happen to see exactly which part of the woods he ran into?”
    “Yep.”
    Little shit. “Care to share?”
    “He was running around the yard for a while—”
    “How did he get in the yard?” If Nathan let him out unsupervised while the dog was still new, skittish and unfamiliar with regions, heaven help her she would—
    “Gramps let him out late last night after he mowed the lawn.” Nathan shoved off the sofa and started for the kitchen, the cuckoo chirping quarter after. “Trooper climbed the fence, jumped over and hauled ass past the picnic table there, along the path that leads out to the main road. He’s probably halfway back to Iraq now.”
    “That’s so helpful to know.”
    “You asked.” Nathan tossed his bowl in the sink so hard the old pottery piece must have broken. “Guess I better feed the rats.”
    “They’re puppies.” What made her even bother