Hunter does the same thing, and the men tilt the chest against the truck’s tailgate. Hunter attaches a winch from the front of the bed, starts cranking it. Slade pushes. Red-faced and grunting, they muscle it flat into the truck bed. “Can’t work for that heart-attack-waiting-to-happen no damn more. Not after this. He finds his feet, confronts me, it won’t be in his favor. I’ll finish what I started.”

“I hear you. I’d join you, but I need the cheddar. Least you’re taking Ruby. Good on you, brother.”

“Got two rules my dad and granddad taught me: don’t wrong a woman and don’t mistreat an animal, no matter the circumstances.”

Being a traveling salesman, Hunter’s dad was on the road full-time. He was good. Could read people. Had a knack for judging character. Was always obsessed with how good he was at selling and at understanding others. Helping them when they were down on their luck. Hunter’s mother had run off when he was three or four. Wandering soul, a stripper. Dad told him she wanted to be a model, wasn’t ready to be a mother. He was left under the guidance of his grandfather Monday through Friday, and his father on the weekends. When his father came home, he would make time for Hunter—what little there was. Tried to teach him things, telling him stories from the road. Things that Hunter made little sense of. He was more interested in dogs and minibikes. Granddad bought him a Yamaha YZ80 to ride on the farm trails when he wasn’t teaching him about breeding, training, and hunting hound dogs. Or sighting in a rifle.

Slade tells Hunter, “Fair enough.” Offers his hand, and they shake. “Been an honor knowing you, brother. Don’t be a stranger.”

Pressing the clutch with his left foot, Hunter shifts into reverse, easing the clutch out and pressing the gas. Ruby sits lapping Hunter’s shifting hand with her coarse pink tongue. “I know, girl,” he says. “You deserve better than this. Shoulda done this long ago. My heart ain’t been into it for a while.” He rubs her silky ears. Shifts into first. Then second. Revs the 350 small-block. Hits third, then fourth gear. Then he’s crossing over the clean blacktop streets of Rutherfordton, North Carolina, passing brick buildings, historical relics occupied by modern businesses: law office, bank, bar, and coffee shop all in one. Greasy-spoon diner. Hunter takes in the small-town beauty and early-morning aromas of breakfast through the rolled-down window. Ruby lifts her head, inhaling the waft of bacon, eggs, pancakes, biscuits and gravy. Smiling to himself, Hunter feels a warmth after saving Ruby from Ox’s abuse. Hanging a right down a street that becomes a country road out of town, he feels the tires move from smooth blacktop to rougher, potholed county roadway.