“Okay,” I called over the noisy truck. I pointed down in the direction of the front pasture. “We start over there.”

Ezra sat on the passenger’s side, exhausted, clearly relieved to be sitting down. For a moment I caught a glimpse of the boy in Gramp’s bed, lost between life and death. I saw a ghost, leaning his head back against the truck cab. Then the ghost was gone.

Ezra never took his eyes off my hands and feet, watching as I went from first to second. I stopped the pickup outside the front pasture and began unloading hay. Ezra stood in front of the truck and watched, already too weak to help move another bale.

I motioned him into the pasture to join me.

He stepped back, a look of alarm crossing his face. He was afraid to get in with the sheep.

“They won’t bite, you know.”

With a little coaxing, Ezra finally came in. The sheep scattered away, shuffling toward the opposite fence.

The puppy stayed beside him, staring adoringly at Ezra. He wagged his tail over the white glazed snow.

When I’d distributed hay, filled the salt feeder, and satisfied myself that all was well in the pasture, I turned back to the truck.

“Well, Ezra. Time for the next delivery. Ready to drive?”

He pointed to himself. “Now?”

“Ayuh.”

Ezra climbed into the driver’s seat. I showed him what each pedal and knob was for.

“Push the clutch in, press down the brake, and turn her on,” I said. “When you’ve got her running, let up on the brake, let out the clutch, and give her some gas. If she feels like stalling, push in the clutch till she evens out. Got it?”

Ezra took a moment more to study the knobs and pedals. Then he pushed in the clutch and turned the key. The engine caught on the first try and held. Ezra grinned wide enough to unhinge his jaw.

I let the puppy out of the pasture and led the way on foot, making the rounds of the farm. Ezra followed slowly behind me in the truck, not too smooth on the pedal, but good enough. Hardly stalled out more than four, five times.

We fed the sheep in all four pastures. Ezra, who hadn’t been off his deathbed a month yet, looked exhausted but happy in a way I’d never seen before.

At the end of the morning he drove the truck back to the shed and parked it.

The puppy leaned against him and Ezra ruffled the thick white fur.

“When are you going to name that dog?” I asked.

Ezra stooped and the puppy bathed him in kisses, knocking off his hat in the process.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Ezra said.

“So?”

“What do you think about—Shep?”

His first name for me.

I nodded. “Perfect.”

“Shep!” Ezra tried out the name. “Here, Shep!”

The dog turned to Ezra and bounded over.

Ezra laughed. “Look, Nyle. He knows his name.”