Montana Gold. Genell Dellin

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      Shane was down on the floor on his stomach now, looking into the dog’s eyes, murmuring to it and stroking its head. Well, maybe all this nonsense would be worth the time it took. Fifteen minutes ago the kid had been mad as hell and hurting and all strung out. Maybe this would change his mood so that he’d listen to Chase and go home to his mother without much argument.

      Yeah, right.

      Chase took out his knife, slit open the dog food sack, and poured some into the bowl while Elle took the heated milk out of the microwave. She was so close he could smell her scent, which sent an ache running through him that made him want to cry. She smiled at him again as she took the bowl from him and added the milk.

      Out of here. As soon as the dog ate or didn’t eat, he and Shane were out of here.

      Elle took the food to the dog and set it in front of him, and then she and Shane conferred as quietly as if they were doctors with a seriously ill patient. Was this ridiculous or what? How in the hell had this happened?

      It was pitiful, though. He felt sorry for her, she was so crazy about the dog. She squatted down, dipped her finger in the milk and offered it to the dog, then Shane did the same, but the ungrateful mutt didn’t so much as lift his head to sniff at them. Instead, he looked at them with pathetic eyes.

      “I’m going to put a drop of it on his tongue,” Elle said.

      But the dog locked his jaws shut and she had no luck with that. She stood up, walked over to a chair and dropped into it as if she’d been hit in the gut, staring hopelessly at the dog. Chase caught a glint of tears and felt that old treacherous urge of a man who saw a woman in tears: he had to do something, anything, to fix the problem.

      “You can’t force it down him,” he said, his voice coming out flatter than he’d intended. “Elle, he’s a stray dog you found on the highway.”

      She swallowed hard and stared out the window into the empty blue of the Nevada sky.

      “I’ll get away from him,” Shane said, standing up and walking away. “Don’t anybody look at him. Give him some privacy and maybe he’ll eat.”

      But that didn’t work, either. The dog never moved.

      Shane grabbed the fast-food sack from the top of the microwave and looked inside it. Without a word, he returned to the dog, squatted down beside him, took out the remains of a hamburger, opened the wrapper, and laid it down.