Damn animal was frightened and using the grizzled stumps as cover because they were far, far larger than he was, but he was also starved: Going by the way that little black nose was sniffing the breeze, clearly the smell of the turkey was calling him.

The dog took a tentative step out. And then another. And another.

It walked with a limp.

Jim reached to the side slowly, putting his hand on the sandwich. Popping off the top of the roll, he pushed aside the languid lettuce and the Styrofoam tomato, and picked up a slice of turkey.

Leaning down, he extended the meat. “Don’t taste like much, but it won’t kill you. Promise.”

The dog circled, closing in with that gimpy front paw, the spring wind lifting its wiry coat and showing sharp ribs. The thing had its head extended as far as the neck would allow, and its back legs were trembling as if they were ready to leap into a retreat at any second. Hunger, however, pushed it to go where it didn’t want to be.

Jim stayed still and let the animal inch closer to him.

“Come on, son,” Jim said roughly. “You need this.”

Up close, the dog looked exhausted, and when it took the turkey it was with a swift snap and a back-away. Jim got another piece ready, and this time the animal came more quickly and didn’t move away so fast. The third piece was accepted with a delicate mouth, as if the animal’s innate nature were not what its experiences had turned it into.

Jim fed the thing the roll, too. “That’s it.”

The dog planted its butt in front of Jim, curling into a sit and tilting its head to one side. There were smart eyes on the thing. Smart, old, tired eyes.

“I’m not a dog person.”

Evidently, the dog didn’t understand English. In a leap that was surprisingly graceful, it propelled itself up into Jim’s lap.

“What the…” Jim lifted his arms out of the way and stared down. “Jesus, you don’t weigh much.”

Duh. Probably hadn’t eaten in days.

Jim put a tentative hand on its back. Christ. All he felt was bones.

The whistle blown meant lunch was over, so Jim gave the dog one stroke before putting it back on the ground. “Sorry…like I said, not a dog person.”

He grabbed his tool belt out of the cab and strapped it back on as he walked away. The look over his shoulder was a bad idea.

Shit, the dog was under the truck, behind the back tire, and those old eyes were on Jim.

“I don’t do pets,” Jim called out as he went off.