Tina edged closer, her breath held tight, every muscle tense. The dog lowered his head, lips peeling back in a warning snarl. But he didn’t lunge. He pressed harder against the blanket instead, as though shielding it with his very life.
The lump beneath the fabric was heartbreakingly small. Rounded shoulders, narrow taper—unmistakably shaped like a swaddled infant. The thought struck her so hard her vision blurred. A small infant, here, on the roadside, only a dog standing between it and the world.