Free Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything by Nancy Martin Page A

No way!”
    â€œShe likes to have her ears scratched.” I demonstrated, and Miss Ruffles quit struggling against me and closed her eyes in bliss.
    Travis Joe sucked on his Popsicle, unconvinced. “My mama says she poops all over the yard.”
    â€œShe’s a dog. She has to poop somewhere. Besides, I clean up after her.”
    Travis Joe smiled. “You said poop.”
    â€œSo did you.”
    His smile grew more confident, and he went back to sucking on his treat. “Mama says Miss Ruffles has to go so Aunt Poppy can have her wedding here.”
    It wasn’t my place to tell him the wedding plans might still be in limbo. Or would Posie’s wishes outweigh Honeybelle’s now? I said, “Aunt Poppy’s getting married, huh?”
    Travis Joe nodded. “I’m supposed to carry a ring on a pillow. My brother’s too old.”
    From the porch, Trey said, “I’m not too old. I’m just not nerd enough to carry a stupid pillow.”
    Travis Joe said, “Mama says they’re going to have the wedding in Miss Honeybelle’s rose garden, then put up a tent behind the swimming pool for a party with barbecue and dancing, but no swimming.” He looked longingly at the pool. “I went swimming in that pool on the Fourth of July.”
    â€œI remember,” I said. Mostly, I remembered how Travis Joe had been ordered to stay in the shallow water, where he repeatedly edged closer to the deep end. His mother shouted at him often to stay where his feet could touch bottom. At the time, I’d thought she was overreacting. Behind Posie’s back, Honeybelle had urged Travis Joe to push the limits his mother put down.
    Travis Joe said, “I want to go swimming now.”
    Trey said, “Mom will pitch a fit if you get wet.”
    â€œLeave me alone!”
    â€œBite me.”
    Travis Joe turned to me, eyes steely. “I want to go swimming.”
    â€œDid you bring a suit?” I asked.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen you’ll have to swim naked.”
    His eyes popped wide. “I can’t do that! You’re a girl!”
    â€œSo?”
    Without further argument, Travis Joe gave up on the swimming idea. He sucked on his Popsicle for a minute before saying, “Nobody’s going to swim at the wedding. Mama wants to have floating candles in the water.”
    â€œThat sounds pretty.”
    â€œMama says a magazine won’t come take pictures of everybody if the wedding’s at the country club. The country club’s boring. Not pretty enough for a magazine. So she wants the wedding here so they can take pictures of the roses and stuff.”
    I thought about that and decided Honeybelle had been very proud of her home and her decorating and certainly her rose garden. Had she objected to the magazine coverage? If so, why? I couldn’t very well pump Honeybelle’s grandson on the subject, though—especially now that Miss Ruffles was back to being intrigued by his shoelaces. If she got her teeth onto those, it would be only seconds before she was chewing on his toes.
    Travis Joe finished off his Popsicle and said to me, “How old are you?”
    â€œTwenty-nine,” I said.
    â€œMy mama says you’re too old to be a dogsitter.”
    I was surprised to be a topic of conversation at Posie’s home. I said, “I like taking care of Miss Ruffles. We play together. Want to throw her ball for her to chase?”
    Travis Joe shook his head.
    â€œC’mon,” I said. “Give it a shot.”
    I picked up her tennis ball and bounced it once off the terrace before catching it in my hand. Miss Ruffles was instantly on alert, forefeet splayed, stub high. Her excitement almost made Travis Joe chicken out. But I gave him the ball, and after just a moment of hesitation he threw it clumsily. Miss Ruffles took off like a rocket and grabbed the ball on the first ricochet. She brought it back and obediently