Joe barely registered that someone was there before the giant lunged for Kris, and she shrieked in pure terror —

Joe dove for the small pile of snowballs, hurled one point-blank into the man's face and eyes.

With a yell, the man dropped Kris, and she scrambled free as Joe hurled another snowball and Frank grabbed her and shoved her towards the Mountainhawk house.

"Run!"

Their home: high hedge, porch railing — but the Mountainhawk's porch was clear on the sides. They all scrambled up, yelling at the top of their lungs, as the man recovered and came after them, slipping and stumbling on the snow and ice. Joe had just cleared the edge of the porch as Frank yanked the screen door open and frantically twisted the door knob with gloves slick and wet from snow.

Lunging, the man grabbed Kris again —

Panicking, Joe grabbed the snow shovel beside the front door and rounded, swinging wide.

The shovel blade nailed the man right across the knees.

With a roar of pain and rage, the man grabbed for Joe, just as Frank fell through the front door and Kris scrambled in, screaming for Mar. Joe swung the shovel again, forcing the man back, but the man lunged again before Joe recovered from the swing and grabbed Joe.

"You little —"

This close, the man stunk, like he hadn't had a bath in a while. Joe struggled, kicked, bit at anything he could reach, but the man had a strong grip and shook Joe hard, snapping his head back against the bricks — out of the corner of his eye, Joe saw Frank grab up the dropped shovel and swing, connecting across the man's back with a solid crack —

— as Charlie charged out the door and tackled the man.

Joe hit the porch hard, skidding against the wood and ice and scraping his hands bloody, but he raised his head. Charlie was only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, but now the other man was fighting wildly to get away: a big man with stubble and a crew cut, ripped jeans. The man somehow shoved Charlie off and scrabbled to his feet —

A sharp, deafening explosion cracked, and splinters showered down.

The man jumped the stairs and took off running.

Mar stood in the doorway, lowering a gun; she'd fired into the wood of the porch roof.

"Don't you dare, Charlie," Mar said sharply, as Charlie scrambled up, swearing extensively under his breath. "Frank, Joe, inside, now!"

No argument there. With Frank's help, Joe got to his feet and limped in. Everything felt bruised and battered where he'd hit the porch, and the back of his head felt three times its size — a tentative exploration found a rather big lump, and his fingers came away bloody.

"He was shielded," Charlie growled, brushing snow and splinters off his t-shirt, "that son of a bitch was shielded…"

"Charlie," Mar said. "Get dressed, please, and get the first aid kit for Joe. I'm calling the police. You three, there." Mar nodded at the couch, then suddenly looked towards the door, then stepped out. "Over here," she called.

Snow crunched, then Dad came storming in, his own gun in hand. "What —" Then he saw Frank and Joe and Kris and his stance relaxed; he slid the gun back into its holster. "I'd better get an explanation."

"Believe me, we'll get one," Mar said grimly. "Let me call the police first. Charlie…"

"I'm going, I'm going," Charlie grumbled and clomped up the stairs.

"You should've seen it," Frank said, openly awed. "He charged right down the stairs and tackled that guy and he wasn't even dressed —" Dad looked at him, and Frank shut up.

Now shivering from cold and reaction, Joe huddled on the couch. "Idiot," Frank muttered, and dragged one of the knitted throws from the back of the couch and over Joe's head. Joe bit off his yelp, and pulled it down around himself, trying to get warm. "You run. You don't stand there and fight."

Trembling, Kris stood by the fireplace, pale and stricken.

"I'm going to wait," Dad said calmly. "I'm going to wait until Mar and Charlie come back into this room, and then I'd better get an explanation, and it'd better be the truth. It's after eleven o'clock, and not only should you three be in bed, twoof you are grounded and shouldn't have been out of the house at all."

"It wasn't their fault, Mr. Hardy," Kris whispered. "It was all mine. They just came out because —"

"I said," Dad said, and Kris looked down, "wait until your mother and brother are here."

"And I get a cup of coffee," Charlie grumbled, now in jeans, clomping down the stairs as he buttoned up his Levi's. He tossed a first aid box towards the couch. "And you said you Hardy white folks can stand the snow — ha! Kiddo, us Injuns had the brains to move somewhere warm…"

"There were Indians here when the Pilgrims came," Joe said. "So you were here first —" Joe shut up, as Dad turned that glare on him.

Well, at least Charlie was making jokes about it. Maybe they wouldn't get in that much trouble…but then Joe took another look at Dad's face and hurriedly looked away.

"The police are on their way," Mar said, coming back to the living room. "No, Charlie, don't get coffee, you'll be up all night. Just heat up the milk."

Charlie muttered something, but Joe's attention was now on Mar.

"Well?" Dad said.

"It's my fault, Shimá," Kris said, trembling. "I wanted to know what Frank found so I threw snowballs at their window until they woke up and I made them come outside to talk so we weren't yelling at each other but we were still arguing and we kinda got loud…"

"Frank wanted to ignore her," Joe broke in. No sense both of them getting in trouble, after all. "He tried to stop me, but I went outside anyway, because I knew Tag would just keep throwing snowballs until we did. He was just making sure we didn't get in trouble. And he told Tag he hadn't found anything and that detective stuff takes time, but she didn't believe us and that's when that guy jumped us."

"That guy," Dad said slowly.

"Papa…um…Mr. Jones," Kris whispered.

"So that was your dad," Frank said. "That's who we saw in the parking lot, Dad. I mean, he looked like it —"

"It was most certainly not her father," Mar said. "That's what all that paperwork and court visits were about last year, and I would kindly thank everyone to stop calling that man that."

"Well, he is," Frank said. "I mean, originally."

"No, he is not," Mar said. "Words are important, Frank. Calling that…that…cockroach…her father implies that he has some special right to her, and it just keeps that horrible idea fixed in everyone's head. Which he does not. Randall Jones is not her father. I'm Kris's sole and only parent," and Mar's voice softened just a touch, as she looked at Kris, "though I'm sure David would've gladly adopted you, too, squirrel."

"'Cockroach' definitely applies, though," Dad said, nodding.

"I should copyright that word," Charlie said, coming into the living room. "Just so I get some benefit out of giving us all a way of referring to the idiot. Okay, I heard most of that. And let me tell you, the bas — er — cockroach hits like a semi truck. He only ran when Mama fired the warning shot."

"That's what I heard, then," Dad said. "He had to have been watching the house to see when these three poked their disobedient noses outside."

"To be fair, Fenton, this could've happened no matter where these kids were, so we can't call the attack their fault." Mar eyed all three, then sighed. "A private word, please, Fenton? Charlie, take care of Joe's hands and make sure he's not badly hurt." Mar's gaze rested on Joe. "And make sure you use the peroxide."

"But that stuff stings!" Joe said, and shut up again when Dad looked at him.

"Are you gonna yell at us, too?" Kris said to Charlie, as Mar and Dad headed back to the kitchen.

"Fat lot of help you were, Tag," Joe said to her. "All you did was run."

"Which is exactly what she should've done," Frank said sternly, and Joe made a face; Frank sounded too much like Dad at the worst times. "She was yelling for Charlie. That's what Dad's told us, Joe, to get away and make lots of noise."

"Your dad's right." Charlie opened the first aid box and pulling out the peroxide. Joe winced, but held still as Charlie studied his scraped hands. "At your age, if you're attacked, your only goal should be to get away."

"You are gonna yell," Joe said.

Charlie paused, and looked at him for a long moment, a serious, steady gaze that had Joe sitting very, very still. "No, I'm not gonna yell," Charlie said finally, after a quick glance towards the hallway and kitchen. "I'm not your parents. Your parents are there to teach you right and wrong and lay down the rules. I'm the big brother, so I can tell you how things really work. Hold still, kiddo, this needs some cleaning out. You've got splinters." Charlie reached over the couch to turn on the lamp. "Kris, sit down, okay? You look like you're ready to pass out. All three of you had a pretty big scare. That cockroach was scary to me, and I've been in 'Nam the last couple years."

Biting her lip, Kris glanced at Frank and Joe, then came closer, grabbing another of the throws and some of the pillows to sit on the floor nearby.

"I'm going to tell you something your parents won't," Charlie said, as he started working on the splinters; Joe held still as best he could, but his palms were raw, and the tweezers poked all the wrong spots. "Rules are there so we all play nice and get along — that's part of being human. Otherwise, we're no better than a bunch of tomcats fighting over a female in heat. But…and this is a big but…the rules are also there to let you know what the consequences are when you choose to break them."

When? Joe blinked, glanced at his brother and Kris, who both looked confused, too.

"But you're not supposed to break the rules," Frank said. "We all have to follow them."

"That's true…except when it isn't." Charlie paused a moment, then looked at Kris. "Let's try an example. You broke the rules when you punched Angie."

Kris looked away.

"This isn't a lecture, little sister," Charlie said. "You've been suspended from school and Mama grounded you for breaking the rules. But there's something else that no one's asked you, I'll bet — was it worth it?"

Kris opened her mouth, shut it. Then… "Yes," Kris said fiercely. "And I do it again, and again, and again…"

"Okay," Charlie interrupted her gently. "And Joe, you said something earlier to your Dad, about how that brat probably won't bother Kris again. What you really meant was that even though you and Kris broke the rules, it was something that needed to be done, right? You had to establish yourselves as bigger and meaner than the bullies, so they'd leave you alone. You were saying exactly what my point is — the rules are there to tell you what the consequences are. You have to decide if what you want is worth the price you're going to pay for breaking the rules. And if you want something badly enough, you'll be willing to pay that price."

Joe sat still; even Kris didn't move. Charlie's gaze was solemn, serious, adult.

"But…" Frank sounded troubled, "…if we all break the rules to get what we want, then…I mean, Mrs. Craig went into that in Social Studies, that if we don't have rules, it's just chaos."

Charlie shook his head. "You're missing the point, kiddo. Mrs. Craig is right. There's a price for breaking rules, and that's usually enough to keep everyone in check. But think about it. This country was founded on breaking rules, when we rebelled against England. There were a lot of people who paid the ultimate price for breaking those rules — they went to the gallows because they wanted freedom badly enough to pay the price."

Slowly, Frank nodded.

"Take it further," Charlie said. "What's going on with the Black folks. They're definitely breaking a lot of rules. Take it back further, during the Civil War, where folks broke the rules to help slaves escape. All those people want freedom and to be truly equal under the law — and they're willing to pay the price of breaking those rules to get that freedom." Charlie studied Joe's hands. "That's the last of 'em, I think. Have Glorious Pot Roast Woman look 'em over again. How's your head?"

"Bumpy," Joe said, feeling it, and ow'd when his fingers hit the tender spot.

"I have to admit," Dad said, and Joe startled — Dad was standing with Mar in the hallway, "that's not the lesson I wanted them to learn."

"They'll find it out sooner or later," Charlie said. "Better to hear it now, before someone teaches it to 'em the hard way."

"I'm not arguing," Dad said, but that point, blue and red strobe-lights were flashing through the windows, and the police knocked on the door.

The next half hour or so, Joe, Frank, and Kris repeated the whole story carefully for the two officers. Mar had to get the paper showing both her adoption and the severance of rights for Kris's original parents, and to Joe's surprise, Mar also had three court orders, one from San Francisco and two from Boston, ordering the Joneses away from the Mountainhawks, and a thick file of copies of police reports from San Francisco over violations of those orders.

"Like they ever do any good," Charlie muttered, behind Joe, but fell silent at a sharp glare from Mar.

By the time it was over, it was almost midnight, and Joe was yawning constantly; even Frank couldn't get words out past his own yawns. Finally, the officers left, and Mar shooed Kris upstairs. Dad clapped his hand on Frank's shoulder, gestured at Joe. "C'mon, let's get you two back to bed."

The sharp slap of cold air woke Joe up a little more. As they walked back to their house, Joe couldn't stop looking around covertly, trying to spot that man. They hadn't seen him when they'd come out; someone that big couldn't hide that easily, especially with the whole street covered in snow. Across the road was the public park, but there was no obvious cover for quite some distance. How had that man gotten so close without them seeing him? Was he watching them now?

Aunt Gertrude was up, in her robe, and started fussing the moment they walked in the door. "Both of you, to bed right now — Joe, what happened to your hands? No, to the bathroom, where I can check those under good light. Scoot!"

"One minute, Gert," Dad said, and gripped the brothers' shoulders so that they both turned to face him. "I should extend the grounding on you, Joe…and ground you, too, Frank. Neither of you should've been outside at this time of night, not on a school night. But…it put you in the right place to help Kris…and…" Dad sighed. "Never mind. You've had a bad scare tonight. I'll count that as the punishment. Get to bed. We'll talk more in the morning."