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eyes narrowed on Annelise, who’d reached for a second cookie. “For tonight, why don’t you bring them on down? I’ll toss them in for you. You look plumb tuckered out.”
    Oh, she wanted to. It would be nice to let this grandmotherly soul pick up the slack for her. But, Annelise couldn’t. “That’s okay. I appreciate it, but I have to get groceries anyway, so I’ll do it all at the same time.”
    “Nonsense. It’ll take you twice as long. You run upstairs now and get them.”
    “They’re filthy.”
    “Imagine they are. From the looks of those hands of yours, you worked the business end of a pitchfork most of the day. Tossing manure tends to make your clothes want to get up and walk away. But believe me, my machine’s seen worse.”
    “I seriously doubt that. Put those clothes of mine in your machine, and you may never be able to use it again.”
    She flicked a hand at Annelise. “Do as I say. Then you can ask the rest of your questions while I get them started.”
    Annelise gave in. Heading upstairs, she walked straight to the bedroom and scooped the offending articles off the floor. Not wanting to get too near them, she stuffed them in a plastic bag from a convenience store she’d stopped at for lunch the other day.
    She shook her head, wondering when a cellophane-wrapped sandwich, a bag of chips, and a soda had come to constitute a meal. But when in Rome—
    Back downstairs, Dottie opened the louvered doors to her antiquated laundry. She held the bag over the washer and dumped in the whole mess. Then her hand dipped into the tub and came back out with a lacey bra and thong.
    “Whew! Pretty expensive looking little thingamabobs. Don’t know I’ve ever seen anything prettier. Can they be machine-washed?”
    “I don’t see why not,” Annelise said.
    “Okay.” Dottie sounded skeptical, but she added detergent and softener, then closed the lid and turned the dial to start the machine.
    Annelise watched carefully, tucking the procedure away for when she made her first trip to Mabel’s. As much as it pained her to admit it, she’d never done a load of laundry. A silent, invisible army of household help ensured she had clean undies, pressed clothes, fresh linens on her bed, and on and on.
    Even on the road, she hadn’t needed to worry about it. Her sorority sister’s housekeeper had washed some things for her before she’d left, and one of the hotels she’d stayed at had laundry service.
    Embarrassed heat flushed her face. She’d taken so much for granted. Well, no more. She could and would take care of herself.
    “Finish your milk and ask away, sweetie.” Dottie sat back down at the table, snagging a cookie for herself.
    “I think you’ve managed to answer all but one question already.” She fidgeted in her chair. “I wondered if it would be all right if I painted the rooms upstairs.”
    “Honey, I flat out love you.” Dottie grinned. “That place needs a fresh coat of paint worse than an orphaned puppy needs a home. If you don’t mind doing the work, I’ll be more than happy to buy the paint.”
    Annelise laughed. “That’s okay. I can afford it.” She caught the dubious look on her landlady’s face. “Honest.”
    “If you’re sure.”
    “I’m positive. Despite the fact that I went off to work today, money isn’t a problem. I must be really looking down on my luck, though, because Cash tried to give me an advance this morning.”
    “You’re a puzzle is what you are, dear. I know enough to realize that motorcycle you’re riding cost some major money. I’m also honest enough to admit the place upstairs isn’t the Ritz.”
    “No.” One corner of Annelise’s mouth turned up in a half smile. “I’ve stayed there, and you’re right. My new home isn’t the Ritz. That said, there are things here in Maverick Junction I can’t find at the Ritz.”
    “Such as?”
    It irritated her no end that Cash Hardeman and his dancing green eyes were the first things to pop into her