The day went on as usual after that, as far as chores were concerned. But everybody was quieter. Tense. I did know that Clare

insisted on Evan putting some ice on his hand, and then some antibiotic ointment on the cuts. After that, Evan went outside to

work, just as though it was any other day.

I helped Hannah with things inside the house, and then later I offered to take Isaac outside for a walk in his stroller. Hannah, who had been

quiet, and pensive, seemed appreciative of my offer.

I pushed Isaac down our long driveway, talking to him about the trees and the clouds, just as though he would understand every

word I said. He babbled his happy baby talk to me in answer.

Once I was pushing the stroller back again, I saw Guthrie near the barn, his head underneath the upraised hood of his truck. There wasn't

anybody else around nearby that I could see, so I took Isaac out of his stroller, and carried him over to where Guthrie was.

"Hey," I greeted him.

"Hey," he said, without looking up from what he was doing.

"Something wrong with your truck?" I asked.

"No. Just checkin' the oil."

"Oh."

Isaac, close enough to reach out, tried to grab hold of Guthrie's shirt, and Guthrie paused to look at him.

"Hey there, Scooter," he said, and poked Isaac gently in his belly.

The baby laughed out loud in joy.

I sat Isaac up where he was sitting on the edge, and as observant as he is, he kept looking all around.

"Have you talked to Kenny?" I asked Guthrie.

"Nope."

"Adam didn't seem angry when we were fixing breakfast together," I said, hoping that he would go on and talk to me.

"Maybe not to you," he said.

"So he was mad?" I asked.

"He wasn't happy," Guthrie said cryptically.

"Oh." I waited a couple of moments, and pulled Isaac's hand back from reaching toward the oil rag that Guthrie had

laying there.

"Did you get into trouble? For having Kenny here?" I asked.

"Got a long lecture," Guthrie said, peering down into the motor.

"Oh," I said, thinking that wasn't too bad. Before I could say that, though, Guthrie went on,

"Told me to stay home this weekend. I think he still feels as though I was drinkin'."

I hesitated, wanting to say something that would make Guthrie feel better. "Maybe he doesn't," I said.

"Doesn't matter," Guthrie said. Then, "Watch out. I'm gonna slam the hood down."

I picked Isaac up and stepped back, as Guthrie closed the hood of the truck.

He started wiping his hands with the rag then, and I studied his face, feeling worried.

"Why doesn't it matter?" I asked him.

"If he wants to think it, there's nothin' I can do about it," Guthrie said, and even though he tried to sound

unbothered, I could tell that he was upset.

I knew how he felt. It feels so bad to have somebody think something about you that isn't true. Especially when

it's one of the three, Adam, Brian or Crane. I'd been in the same position myself. I wanted to tell him that I knew he didn't mean

it about it not mattering. It did matter. A lot. But I decided to keep my comments to myself.

After a couple of long moments of silence, I said, "It's about time for Isaac's nap. Want to go fishing?"

Guthrie sighed a little. "Oh, I don't know, Har," he said, without enthusiasm.

"Come on," I coaxed. "Unless you think I'll out fish you."

"No chance of that," he scoffed, and I was glad to see the grin on his face.

"So?" I asked, waiting. "You want to?"

"Yeah. Sure," he said.

So we went. Guthrie and I. We sat on the banks of the creek, and fished. I'd changed to shorts before we went, and

now, sitting there, I took off my boots and then my socks, plunging my feet into the cool mud on the side.

During the next hour, at some point, Ford wandered down to join us, a fishing pole in his hand.

"They biting today?" he asked us.

"Naw," Guthrie said.

After awhile, Ford laid back on the grassy slope, putting his arms under his head and closing his eyes.

"Tell me if I get a bite," he told us.

It wasn't much longer after that, Guthrie and I heard Ford snoring softly.

Guthrie heard it first, and nudged me, nodding towards Ford. We grinned at each other.

"Some fisherman," Guthrie said. "If he gets a bite, I'm gonna snag it and tell him I caught it."

"Sounds fair to me," I said.

After another few minutes, with neither of us getting even one nibble, I pulled my feet up, covered with creek mud.

"Look at my feet," I told Guthrie, holding one out as if I was going to touch him with it.

"Don't even think it," Guthrie ordered.

I giggled, and put my foot down again. Then, feeling mischievious, I swiped a handful of the cool mud, and scooted

over to Ford, letting it drip onto his shirt.

When his eyes popped open, I scooted back. "Have a good nap?" I asked him.

Ford sat up. "Did I get a bite?" he asked, reaching for his fishing pole. When he saw the front of his t-shirt, dotted with

mud, he said, "Gosh darn it, Guthrie!"

"Don't blame me," Guthrie protested.

I'd reseated myself, and was reeling in my line, and preparing to recast, when Ford said, "Alright, Har," in a threatening sort

of way.

"What?" I asked him, widening my eyes.

"Listen to her," Ford said to Guthrie. "Miss Innocence." He mimicked me, "What?" in a high-pitched voice.

"I don't sound like that," I protested.

"Now I'm really gonna smell like fish," Ford said, taking a sniff of his t-shirt.

"Maybe if you smell like a fish, then you'll actually have a chance to catch one," I said.

"Yeah?" Ford challenged.

"Yeah."

"Hmm," Ford said, and then he got up, walking behind me. I twisted around to watch him.

"What's the matter, Har?" he asked me.

"I don't trust you-" I said, laughing.

"You wound me, Har," Ford said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "You really do."

"Right," I said, still scooting away as he walked beside me.

Ford sat down beside me, and smiled, and then, before I could scoot away further, he wrapped one arm around my shoulders,

to hold me still, and reached down to grab some mud in the other hand.

He held it threateningly near to my face, while I squirmed and tried to get away.

"Should I, Guthrie?" he asked, as if considering.

"Leave me out of it," Guthrie said.

"Guth-reeee," I squealed in protest.

"I could make you eat this mud," Ford said, very calmly, smiling at me. "You know that, right?"

"But you won't," I said.

"Oh, yeah? Why won't I?" he countered.

"Because you're so so nice," I said, giggling. "You're the nicest brother in the county. In the whole state!"

As he brought the clammy mud close to my face again, I hollered, "The nicest brother in the whole world!"

Ford paused, holding his hand still. "The whole world, huh?" he asked, as if still considering.

"Absolutely!" I said, and Ford nodded, letting go of me.

I was still laughing, when a moment later, he caught me unaware, and rubbed the handful of mud into the top of my hair.

7

I retaliated, to the best of my ability, and Ford and I both ended up, knee deep in the creek, tossing mud at one another. All while Guthrie

complained that we'd scared the fish away, probably for the rest of the summer.

While I was covered pretty much with creek mud, by the time we were done, I'm proud to say that I held my own against Ford, and

he was dripping with mud, too.

Guthrie, for the most part, stayed out of it, sitting there, and laughing at the two of us. When Ford finally quit, and scrambled up the

creek bank, I stood there, still ankle deep in water.

"Come on, Ford," I taunted. "Don't quit now!"

"I'm done," he told me, stopping on the bank above me, and wiping his hands on his already muddy jeans.

"Oh, alright," I said, and began to climb up myself.

Ford stuck his hand out to help me, and I took it, letting him pull me up.

We were both a little breathless after all that exertion, and sat down on the ground to rest.

The talk turned to the evening before, when Kenny had been in the house. Looking back on it later, I think it was Ford that

brought it up. He asked how it came about that Kenny drank so much, or something like that.

"Leave it alone, Ford," Guthrie said, and his face was all closed off.

"I'm just asking," Ford began.

"Well, don't," Guthrie snapped. He gave Ford a hard stare. "Just don't, okay?"

I watched the interaction between them, feeling my stomach knot as it always did when there was about to be an argument.

"It might help you," Ford pressed on. "If you talked it out with somebody. It doesn't have to be me. Somebody else, then. Sometimes,

talking stuff thru helps-"

Guthrie gave his fishing pole a yank, and stood up, reeling it in. Ford and I watched his tense jerky movements for a couple of

moments, and then Ford said, "Guth-"

"I said don't," Guthrie snapped. And with that, he took his pole and stalked away, walking back up the worn path leading

to the house. I looked at Ford to see his reaction to Guthrie's attitude, and he didn't look mad or anything. More somber. And sad.

"Guthrie's hurting," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"About more than Kenny drinking too much," Ford continued, thoughtfully, watching as Guthrie disappeared down the path.

"Do you think so?" I asked.

"Yeah. I do." He wiped his hands on his jeans again. "You ready to head back to the house?" he asked.

"Yeah." I went to gather my fishing pole, and the tackle box, and Ford did the same. As we set out walking, he reached

down to take the tackle box from me to carry.

"Do you have to work today?" I asked him.

"Yeah. Later on. About four."

"Oh," I sighed.

"Why?"

"I just wish I could do something," I said, spreading my arms out to my sides, as if I was trying to fly.

"What do you want to do?" Ford asked me, looking amused.

"I don't know. Something. Something big. Something different."

"Way to be specific there, Har," he said.

"It's just-" I tried to put my feelings into words. "Just that this summer is so crazy. All this stuff going on, and because of Seth, like today,

now the family isn't going to want me to go anywhere."

Ford looked sympathetic, but said nothing.

"And Guthrie-" I said, and then let my voice taper off.

"Yeah. I know you're worried about Guthrie."

At the house, Adam was sitting on the front porch with Hannah, drinking iced tea. As Ford and I walked up, Adam only raised

an eyebrow at our muddy appearances, while Hannah sighed.

"Really, you two?" she asked.

"Hey, I had to show Har who was boss," Ford said.

"Spray some presoak on those clothes, or that mud will never come out," she said.

"Yes, ma'm," Ford said, and with a grin, went on inside, letting the front door slam.

"Are you feeling a little calmer, better, after this morning?" Hannah asked me.

"I guess so," I said. "Are you?"

"I'm trying," Hannah said.

"Where's Evan?" I asked.

"He's around somewhere," Adam said.

"Maybe I'll go try to find him," I said. "After I clean up a little."

7

I found Evan later, in the field, practicing his steer wrestling. I hopped up to sit on one of the blue barrels that are in the field, left from

when I used to practice running my barrels with Petra.

I watched Evan throw his rope, catch the steer and then dismount, and finish by tying three legs. Then he untied the rope, rolled

it back into a coil and went back to his horse, and then he did the same thing again. And again.

At the third run, I clapped when he'd finished, and he stood up, as the steer ran free. He walked toward me, rolling his

rope.

"The last one was the best," I called out.

"Yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Wish I knew my time," he said.

"I can time you, if you want," I said.

"You have a watch on?" he asked.

"No."

"Neither do I. It's alright."

"I can go up to the house and get one," I offered.

"Naw, that's okay."

"Why are you doing it out here?" I asked, gesturing to the field. "And not in the corral?"

"More of a challenge," he said.

He'd finished rolling his rope up by now, and I said, quietly, "Does your hand hurt?"

Evan gave me a quick glance, and then shook his head. "Not much."

A couple of moments passed, and I said, "Why'd you do it, Ev?"

Evan went over the few steps to where his horse was, and hooked his rope back over the saddle horn.

When he didn't answer, I said, "Evan."

"That's a dumb question to ask, Harlie."

"You didn't have to, you know," I said. "Seth's mostly all talk, I think."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that."

He swung himself up, and into the saddle, and then sat there, looking at me for a moment.

"How come you never run your barrels anymore?" he asked.

"How come you're changing the subject?" I countered.

"You were pretty good," Evan went on, as though I hadn't spoken. "You ought to start practicing again."

"I wasn't that good," I denied. "I'm slow, compared to the girls that run at the rodeos."

"That's because you don't practice. If you did that, you'd be fast, too."

"Really? You think so?" I asked him.

"Go get your horse," he said.

"What?"

"Go. Get. Your. Horse.," he said, in a drawn out way.

"You want to go riding?" I asked, hopping down from the barrel. I was up for it if he was. Anything to break the monotony.

"No. I want you to run the barrels," he said.

"Right now?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Yeah. Right now. Why not?" he countered. "You got anything better to do?"

"Well," I hesitated and then admitted, "No."

"So go," he said. "Bring a watch when you come."

So I brought a watch, and then saddled Petra, as he was unsaddling his own horse. Then we walked back out to the field, with me leading Petra,

and he held out a hand.

"Give me the watch," he ordered.

I put it in his hand. "I thought you wanted me to time you."

"No. I'm gonna time you."

"Aw, don't do that, Ev. Not today. I haven't done it in a long time."

"Well, we'll see how rusty you really are then, won't we?"

So he stood there, to the side, after we'd reset the barrels, and I readied to begin the first run around them.

"Go!" he said, and I urged Petra into action. All I succeeded in doing, it seemed, was stirring up a bunch of dust. I knocked

the second barrel over, and finished the run, turning to look at him, laughing.

"Thirty-two seconds," he said.

"Hmmm. Pretty bad, huh?"

"Pitiful. Do it again."

I sighed, but decided to humor him. I mean, after all, he had bloodied his knuckles earlier, in my defense. If he wanted me

to show just how awful I really was at running barrels, then so be it.

A few more times around, though, and I was ready to be done with it. My time improved, but only very slightly, and I was reminded

of how hot it was. My hat stayed on, because I had my ponytail pulled thru the hole in the back of the ball cap, but, wearing shorts like

I was, the inside of my thighs were starting to chafe from squeezing the saddle.

"Twenty-five seconds," he proclaimed, as I finished the fourth run. "Then add the five points from knocking another barrel over."

"So?" I said, pulling Petra up, and looking down at him, irritated. "I told you that I sucked at it."

"You wouldn't if you practiced," he insisted. "It's too bad."

"Well, I'm tired," I complained. "And my skin's all irritated." I didn't say just where it was irritated, but he knew exactly, because

his response was an unsympathetic, "Well, you're the knothead who wore Daisy Dukes to ride in."

"Because you told me to come," I protested loudly.

Evan shrugged, and turned to walk back towards the barn. "Okay. So we'll stop, then."

"Gee thanks," I said, a trifle sarcastically, and then began to walk Petra slowly, coming up beside him as he walked.

"What's 'too bad'?" I asked him.

"Huh?"

"You said, 'it's too bad' a minute ago, like you were talking about something."

"Oh, nothin'. Don't worry about it," he said, in a maddening way.

"What is it? Tell me!"

"Just a big rodeo comin' up. They're short on barrel racers, too."

"Where at?" I asked.

"Clovis."

"Why are they short on barrel racers?" I asked then.

"Two rodeos the same weekend. Better prize money at the other one. Most of the girls are goin' there."

I stared down at him incredulously, as he opened the pasture gate, and I rode Petra thru. I waited while he closed it again, and

then said, "Are you saying you think I should try to enter?"

"I didn't say that, did I?"

"Well, no. But you said, 'it's too bad', to me. Like you wanted me to."

"Better cool Petra down before you put her away," he said.

"I know that," I said, and dismounted, wincing as I did so.

I saw his flash of amusement before he masked it.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"Nothin'. Not a darn thing," he said, and started walking towards the house.

"I'd try if I thought I was any good, Ev," I said to his retreating back.

"Sure," he said, and kept walking.

"Do you want me to?!" I hollered, feeling frustrated.

Evan turned around, and walked backwards, as he said, "Naw. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"How would I get hurt?" I yelled back.

"You'd probably fall off your horse or somethin'," he said, and then he gave a half-smile and shook his head. "Those other

girls would kick your tail." He held his hands out from his sides in a wide gesture. "It'd be real embarrassing for ya. You're right

to not want to do it."

Then he turned around, and kept walking.

"I could, you know!" I yelled. "If I wanted to! And I'd be darn good, too!"

I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard Evan chuckle.

7