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“There you are, buddy.”

The scruffy cattle-dog mix stepped into view. He looked much the same as he had the last time she’d seen him—brown coat covered in dust, narrow body, suspicious eyes, and ears that belonged to a dog approximately twice his size.

He froze when he saw her.

Jodie crouched.

“Remember me?”

His expression suggested he did and remained undecided about whether that was good news. He took a step back.

She held up the meat. His eyes followed it. His tongue lolled out of his mouth.

“Ah-ha. Yeah, now I’m interesting.”

He took one step forward, then another, lowering his head, his entire attention focused on the hamburger.

Jodie put the hamburger on the ground, then backed away and sat down in the dirt.

The dog looked from her to the meat and back again.

“I’m not watching,” she told him. She turned her head toward the pasture.

For almost a minute, nothing happened. Then she heard the faint scrape of paws against dirt.

Come on, buddy. I know you’re starving.

Jodie kept still.

The dog crept forward, stretched his neck as far as physically possible without committing the rest of himself, and snatched the meat. He jumped back.

But he didn’t run.

Oh, look at you, brave boy.

He swallowed without chewing.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

The dog took a tentative step toward her. Jodie held her breath. She slowly extended her hand, palm down.

He got within a foot of her and sniffed her fingertips.

Then, before she could talk herself out of it, Jodie brushed her fingers over the top of his head. The dog went perfectly still. For one miraculous second, he allowed it.

Then he shot away from her and disappeared around the barn.

Jodie sat in the dirt grinning like an idiot.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

She turned.

Hank stood several yards away, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You saw that?”

“Sure did.” He looked toward the corner where the dog had vanished. “That’s farther than I ever got.”