1 #2
Jonah slowly extended the back of his hand toward the dog’s snout, and its nostrils flared. “Hey there, buddy,” he crooned. “It’s okay.”
The dog’s eyes darted toward where Drew stood, and Jonah followed the animal’s gaze. “Why do you have a gun?” he blurted, apparently seeing the weapon for the first time, and Drew looked down at the shotgun in his hand.
“Seemed like a good idea,” he explained.
“He thinks you’re gonna shoot him!” Jonah hissed.
Drew wouldn’t normally care what a random dog may or may not think, but this time, an odd surge of guilt rushed through his veins, and he tucked the barrel behind his leg—just in case.
The animal’s gaze jumped back toward Jonah the instant the threat was out of sight.
“We should take him somewhere,” Jonah said.
“Maybe he’s just resting,” Drew countered.
Jonah narrowed his eyes. “Does he look like he’s just resting?” he shot back. “He’s probably having a heat stroke or something. I mean, look at him!”
Drew studied the animal again. Its eyes were glassy, and it looked half starved; he could almost count the ribs that jutted out along the sides of its body.
He felt something like pity stir inside his chest. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs—they were useful, hard-working creatures.
He just didn’t really think of them as pets.
“An animal hospital is going to want somebody to pay for him,” he pointed out.
“Maybe he belongs to someone, and they’ll come get him,” Jonah argued.
“He’s not wearing a collar.”
Jonah gave him a no-nonsense glare from his position near the ground, and Drew sighed out loud. “Fine, I’ll hold the branches and you get the dog,” he said.
“I’ve already got them. There’s no sense in me moving; you get the dog,” Jonah insisted.
Drew pulled off his hat and wiped sweat from his brow with the back of one arm before tugging the cap back into place.
Carrying a half-dead dog down the side of the road hadn’t been on his list of things to do for the day, yet somehow, here he was.
He set the safety on his shotgun and laid it carefully on the ground.
“Okay, dog,” he said cautiously before bending down.
“I’m gonna pick you up, and you are not going to bite me. Okay?”
The dog didn’t answer, of course, but it also made no move to defend itself as Drew reached out and laid a hand along the hard edges of its rib cage. Their eyes met, and for a moment he could almost hear what the animal was thinking.
I trust you, it seemed to say.
Drew swallowed, vaguely disturbed by this sentiment. Why had this creature been so totally abandoned that it had to put its life in the hands of a stranger and hope for the best? And how did it still have enough faith in humanity to do so?
“Okay,” Drew said again, this time more to himself than anything. He skimmed his hands along the dog’s mud-covered body, leaving smears on the animal’s filthy coat. This was truly the dirtiest dog he’d ever encountered. And it stank.
“Try to scoop him,” Jonah instructed.
Drew gingerly slipped one arm under the dog’s head and leaned closer to do the same with its rump.
The animal groaned slightly but didn’t struggle as he hauled it off the ground.
It didn’t weigh nearly what he’d expected, though he supposed that wasn’t surprising since it was basically skin and bones.
“Grab the gun and go open the door,” he told Jonah, who leapt to his feet and hurried on ahead.
Drew carried the dog back to the vehicle and climbed into the passenger’s side. He shifted against the bench seat, trying to give the animal as much room as possible. “I hope you know where the nearest vet is,” he told his cousin. “I don’t want to snuggle this thing any longer than I have to.”
Jonah shut the door he’d been holding open and then hurried around to climb behind the wheel. “Look at you, being all heroic and whatnot,” he teased, starting the engine.
Drew shot him a look that could whither the crops in the field. “Just drive.”
Luckily, Cypress Valley was a small town, and ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a building sporting a giant, metal veterinary symbol on the front facade.
“I’ll help you get out,” Jonah said, and he hurried to exit his side of the vehicle. Then he rounded the front end and yanked his cousin’s door open. The dog, which had barely moved during the drive, whimpered as Drew slid carefully to the ground.
“Shh, almost there,” he found himself whispering, though Heaven only knew why. It’s not like the dog knew where they were going.
Jonah ran to open the clinic’s glass door, and the bells overhead tinkled merrily as Drew entered with his load.
A receptionist jumped to her feet behind a nearby desk. “What happened here?” she asked, her eyes wide. She picked up a landline phone and muttered something into the receiver before smacking it back down onto the cradle.
“We found him,” Jonah explained. “He ran in front of our truck and collapsed in the bushes. I don’t think we hit him. There wasn’t a noise or anything, but he’s not doing good.”
His last words were punctuated by the crash of a swinging door that obviously led to the back rooms. “Oh, poor baby!” a young woman cried as she laid eyes on the group in the lobby.
She had a smear of dirt along one cheekbone, and the pink fabric of her scrubs was covered in animal hair, but something about her made a rash of goose bumps break out along the back of Drew’s neck.
She felt familiar, somehow—like an echo from some alternate reality—yet he couldn’t quite place her.
A long braid of red hair swung behind her when she turned to hold the door open. “Bring him here. This way!” she ordered.
Drew did as he was told, eager to put the dog down.
“Over there,” she directed, pointing to an empty table in what was apparently the exam area. A small space to the left boasted the kind of overhead lights used in operating rooms, and a large machine nearby bore a sign that said DANGER: X-ray Radiation.