Ally followed slowly, her arms clamped defensively in front of her. Giving Duchess and Hank plenty of room, she finally reached the foyer. Lingering next to the newel post, she asked, “And what if that’s not the case? Then what?”

Hank shrugged. “Kurt’ll put out the word to other veterinarians in the area. I’ll notify the Laramie County animal shelter, the newspaper and any other organization I can think of, till we figure out where she belongs.” He strode past Ally into the kitchen, with Duchess right on his heels.

Ally followed, again keeping wide a berth from the two of them. She watched Hank pull a stoneware bowl out of the cupboard, fill it with water and set it on the floor in front of the dog.

Duchess lowered her head and drank thirstily.

Ally lounged against the aging laminate counter. “How do you know she wasn’t just dumped in the country because her owners decided they no longer wanted her?”

Hank shot her an astonished look. “Seriously?”

He went to the fridge and, for lack of anything better, pulled out a package of smoked ham and several slices of bread. He crumbled them on a plate and set that in front of the dog, too. It was just as quickly and efficiently demolished.

“Seriously,” Ally replied in a flat, no-nonsense tone.

Hank debated giving the dog more food, then decided to wait an hour, rather than overdoing it initially and having the food come right back up.

He headed for the living room, and motioned for Duchess to follow. Once there, he glanced out the window at the increasingly gloomy sky, then walked over to build a fire in the grate. The retriever collapsed beside him while Ally lingered in the doorway once again. “Well, for starters, I can’t imagine anyone no longer wanting such a beautiful, loving dog,” Hank said. “Duchess’s temperament and behavior indicate she has been very well cared for up to now, wherever her home was. So it follows that whoever bought her the collar must be missing her desperately, wondering what’s happened to her. Especially now.”