Brian and his Aunt Sarah conspire to avoid a blowup on their uncle's part when Brian finds something unexpected behind the barn; Brian's latest chore finds him running 'afowl' of his adversaries...

Brian rubbed the sleep from his eyes as, still damp from the shower but fully dressed in jeans, his favorite brown calf boots and a sleeveless, black, button-down cotton shirt, he emerged into the kitchen of the Walker farmhouse, relieved to notice that his uncle was nowhere to be found. Although the two of them had come to a somewhat uneasy truce as of late, the man still grated on his nerves at times with his surly attitude. He couldn't help smiling a little at his aunt, however, who was sitting at the oval-shaped kitchen table sipping from a white coffee mug as she glanced at a well-worn, dog-eared cookbook.

"Brian," she greeted him affectionately with a smile and a nod; in the few days her nephew had been here, she was quickly becoming fond of him, despite her initial reservations. She could tell underneath his gruff exterior that he wasn't quite as tough as he would like everyone to think he was. "You're up early," she observed as she reached to pull out the chair next to her in invitation.

He walked over and slid his long body into the chair as she poured a cup of coffee for him out of a warming carafe on the table. "Did I have a choice?" he softly grumbled. Getting to bed much later than he should have, plus coupled with spending most of the time thinking about what he should or shouldn't have done regarding a certain blond next door, did not make for much of a restful night's sleep. In fact, it hadn't made for much sleep at all. It had been one of those nights where he had lain in bed, staring at the ceiling or periodically turning his head to gaze over at the garishly-red LED light of the small bedside clock that almost mocked him with its announcement that yet another hour had crept by without any sleep. Finally, at 5:30 a.m. he had decided it was doing him no good to just lie there and watch another hour go by, so he decided to drag his lethargic body from the bed and lumber into the bathroom, hoping that a shower would invigorate him somewhat. It had simply served, however, to allow his mind to drift into areas he shouldn't have permitted it to, and a few minutes later his erotic daydreaming over what he had hoped would have happened last night had caused him to shoot his load all over the shower walls as he came with an almost violent reaction and sagged against the cold ceramic tiles for support.

Now as he glanced over at his aunt he knew she had no way of knowing just what the cause of his insomnia was, but she still seemed to be peering at him with a sort of enigmatic smile on her face as she replied quietly, "Well, you did in a way; you always have a choice."

Brian snorted softly. "Hardly. Get up before even the roosters start crowing to do my good deeds around Sunnybrook Farm, or work on the prison chain gang picking up bottles, dead animals, and condoms from the side of a road for the next ten years. Even I know which one is the better choice." Actually he wasn't being fair; now that he had gotten more accustomed to staying at his aunt and uncle's farm, he had to grudgingly admit that it wasn't all bad. There were certain parts that he kind of liked in a way. For instance, he had enjoyed tinkering with his uncle's beat-up tractor the other day - secretly pleased by the incredulous look on his face as he triumphantly started it up and backed it out of the barn - and the weed he had commandeered last night hadn't been half bad, either. His aunt, too, had proven to be quite pleasant to be around and treated him with respect, which was a lot more than he could say for his parents. And, of course, there was a certain beautiful blond boy that lived next door that he couldn't seem to get out of his mind. Yes, there were actually some parts to living in Hicksville that he had grown to like, in fact. He just didn't have the nerve to admit that to his aunt yet, however.

Sarah nodded. "Well, I guess that's true. But you did have a choice whether to get up early like your uncle asked you to or not. You could have just stayed in bed." She stared into her nephew's face as he averted his eyes to take another sip of his coffee, noticing the blurry-looking eyes and the drawn look on his face. "You don't look like you slept too well last night at all," she commented. "Is the mattress not comfortable enough for you?" Or was it something else, Brian? Or SOMEONE else?

Brian kept his eyes cast downward as he mumbled, "It's all right. I... I just had a lot on my mind, that's all." He lifted his gaze to look into his aunt's kind face as he tried to explain his lack of sleep away. "You have to remember - this is like being in a foreign country or something to me; maybe even another planet."

Sarah had a feeling there was a lot more to it than that, but she wisely chose to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of her mind as she fixed him with a smile and an understanding nod. "Well, I'm glad it's not the mattress. I fixed your uncle an egg white omelet and some whole wheat toast. What would you like for breakfast? You can't work very well on an empty stomach."

Brian took another sip of his coffee before he replied, "I'm not that hungry. Maybe just some toast."

Sarah clucked in disapproval. "Toast isn't very substantial, Brian. As least let me fix you some oatmeal to go with the toast, okay?"

Brian sighed in resignation over his aunt's concern, still somewhat amazed by the difference between her and his mother. Back home, he would be expected to fix his own breakfast, whatever it might be. Normally he just plopped a couple of pieces of whole wheat bread into the toaster and maybe ate them with a piece of fruit; he wasn't used to someone actually caring about whether he ate or not, much less fixing it for him. "Well, if it's not too much trouble..."

Sarah beamed as she scooted back from her chair. "No, of course it isn't!" she replied, delighted that Brian was actually agreeing to it. Something told her he wasn't used to getting much attention back home, and that was probably at least part of the reason why he seemed to be in trouble all the time. She loved her sister, but sometimes she had serious doubts about her parenting skills. And Jack - the few times she had observed him he certainly didn't appear to be the fatherly type; normally he was more apt to be bragging about his latest wins at the local racetrack than interacting with them over coffee or meals. And the amount of alcohol that he seemed to consume every time they got together for holidays or occasional visits seemed way too exorbitant in her opinion. She never had cared much for Joan's husband, and she couldn't help thinking that he had definitely not been a good influence on this young man's life.

She smiled reassuringly at Brian as she walked over to grab the canister of old-fashioned oats from the pantry and the homemade loaf of bread sitting on a wooden block on the counter near the refrigerator. "I would offer you some fruit to go on top of the oatmeal," she explained somewhat apologetically, "but I ran out yesterday." She poured a cup of the oatmeal into a ceramic bowl with some water as she placed it in the microwave and turned it on to cook before she deftly sliced two pieces of whole wheat bread from the loaf and placed them in the toaster.

Walking over to join him at the kitchen table, she looked over at him a little sheepishly as she informed him, "Actually, that's going to be one of your chores today."

Brian frowned. "What's that?" Images of him calf-deep in chicken manure from the other day filtered through his mind; he supposed nothing could be much worse than that awful ammonia smell had been.

"I asked Will if I could borrow you today; I could use your help getting some blackberries and strawberries picked this morning, along with gathering eggs from the chicken coop. He's already gone into town to buy some feed anyway, so he said it would be all right."

Brian bit his lip. Berry picking or gathering eggs didn't sound too bad, especially after the last type of chore he had endured, although he remembered all those wild blackberry briars he kept running into along the path to and from the swimming hole. He had to bite back a groan that tried to escape just then; it was a bad idea to think about that swimming hole, because it merely made him think of something, no someone else that he had discovered there and what that particular 'someone else' had looked like bobbing in that water. He knew that no matter what he had told Justin last night about how easy it would be to find someone else to take his place, he realized that was total bullshit; after seeing him in all his glory floating on that water, tasting those lips last night and feeling that lithe little body pressed against his in the porch swing, he knew there couldn't possibly be an equal replacement for him.

The sound of the bread being ejected from the toaster startled Brian out of his daydreaming as he blinked before peering over at his aunt, who was looking at him curiously. "Brian? Is that okay with you?"

"Uh, yeah... I guess. I, uh, are there thorns on the blackberry bushes?"

To her credit, Sarah didn't laugh at his question like someone else might; instead, she shook her head and smiled. "No, you'll be glad to know that actually there aren't any on these; they're a larger, domestic type that don't have thorns like the wild ones do."

Brian nodded in relief. "And the eggs?"

"They don't have thorns, either," Sarah teased before she laughed at the look on his face. "What about the eggs?"

Brian couldn't help grinning at his aunt's attempt at humor. "I mean - is there a certain technique to gathering these eggs?"

She got up to walk over to the microwave as it beeped to indicate the oatmeal was done as she shook her head. "Not really," she informed him. "I'll give you a basket with a handle on it to gather them with. But don't expect them all to be lying conveniently where the chickens roost; that only happens on TV and in the movies."

Brian frowned as his aunt brought his oatmeal and toast over to him and placed it down in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, it's kind of like an Easter egg hunt; those hens will lay them wherever they please - in the coop, on the ground, anywhere. You have to look all over for them. Oh, and if you see our rooster biting one of the hens, don't worry. He's just flirting with her."

Brian looked at her confused; did he hear that right? "Flirting with her?"

Sarah grinned. "It's part of their mating ritual, believe it or not; nothing to worry about."

"Good," Brian declared as he scooped a couple teaspoons of sugar into his oatmeal and swirled it around with his spoon. "I got a close up look at that guy's talons when I was cleaning out his digs and I'm not planning on interfering with his love life."

Sarah laughed. "Don't worry - he and the chickens will get out of your way if you get too close to them, trust me. You'll be fine."

Brian eyed her warily, not quite convinced, but he decided playing the part of a hunter and gatherer of berries and eggs sounded a whole lot better than diving back into chicken shit.

Forty-Five Minutes Later - Walker Farm

Brian couldn't believe all the chickens clucking and scurrying around his feet; the other day when he had cleaned out the coop he hadn't recalled so many. But he figured since his aunt and uncle allowed them free range around certain parts of their property, most of them must have been out when he had cleaned out their 'home.' Now, though, it seemed like they were everywhere under his feet; he had to watch where he stepped, not only to avoid stepping in chicken shit but also to make sure he didn't step on one and turn it suddenly into the newest member of the KFC assembly line.

He reached down on the ground near the coop to snag two eggs sitting side by side near the outside front wall. "She was right," he muttered aloud. "You chickens get laid more than the tricks at the bus station." He was amazed by how warm the eggs felt when he picked them up; he didn't know what he was thinking, but he must have had some jaded image from buying eggs at the grocery. He mistakenly thought they would be cold to the touch, but these were nothing of the kind. He crinkled his nose just then, wondering just how 'fresh' these particular eggs were. Thoughts of contracting some exotic animal disease filtered through his mind as he mentally made a note to make sure he thoroughly washed his hands when he returned to the house before he undertook the next part of his chores for the day.

Walking gingerly into the shed and having to stoop to enter, he observed that most of the chickens were outside; there were two reddish-brown hens, however, that were sitting on their nests, their bodies plumped out at the bottom. They eyed him anxiously with their beady, little, piercing eyes as he stared one of them down. "You don't scare me," he told them, not sure if he was trying to convince him or them. "Nice little chickens," he cooed as he carefully approached the nearest one, who began to cluck louder and louder the closer he came. "Just hand over the eggs and no one will get hurt," he snickered.

Actually, he didn't even know if there were any eggs underneath her; perhaps his aunt really didn't need one or two more, but it was the principle of the thing. He was not going to let any female chick intimidate him, human, fowl or otherwise. Despite what his aunt had told him about not having to worry about being accosted, he stopped about a foot away out of claw range as he gingerly reached over toward the hen that began to cluck even more frantically while the other hen roosting nearby joined in.

"Great, a duet," Brian growled in disgust. "Don't give up your day job, girls."

He winced at the loud squawking that suddenly erupted. Throwing caution to the wind, he walked a couple of steps closer before he held his breath and reached underneath the hen with the intent of checking for possible eggs. He jumped back, however, as the chicken let out one last screech and promptly flew off her roost; her wings were so close to his face he could feel the wind they generated as he ducked in self-defense.

"Shit!" he cried out in disgust as he waved his arms around, resulting in startling the other hen that flew away just like the other one. At least he had succeeded in shooing them both away, however, and he was rewarded with three more eggs as a result. "Nice try," he muttered smugly as he scooped up his bounty.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the chicken coop, wiping sweat from his brow with the tail of his now unbuttoned shirt and feeling like he had just survived a combat zone. He shook his head, wondering again if this was preferable to doing hard time at the state pen, but knowing the answer already. It wasn't the most pleasant of tasks, and certainly not what he would choose for himself, but he knew it could be a lot worse.

All in all, he had found a total of 32 eggs. He wondered what in the world his aunt would do with so many eggs as he left the enclosed area of the coop's range and closed the gate behind him, noticing his aunt walking toward him with a glass of what appeared to be lemonade.

"How did you do?" she asked him. She peered into the basket bulging with eggs and smiled. "I see you figured it out. You did quite well for a beginner; how many did you find?"

"Thirty two if I counted right," he informed her, almost with a touch of pride that he had survived his first smack down with the chicken gang.

She nodded with a pleased smile. "I'll take that," she offered as she accepted the heavy container from him and crooked the handle over her left arm. She held out the large, clear, plastic glass in her other hand as she said, "I brought you some lemonade; I thought you could use it."

"Thanks," Brian said gratefully as he took it and downed about half of it in one big gulp. He let out a deep breath afterward. "That felt good." She nodded with a smile as he returned the glass to her. "Now you said you needed some berries picked?"

She nodded again. "Yes. I haven't had a chance in a few days to check any of the bushes, so I'm hoping they're full; that is, if all the birds haven't feasted on them yet. Little feathered thieves!" she growled good-naturedly. "The picking baskets are in the shed behind our barn. Just walk around the side of the barn and you can't miss it. It's not locked; there's really nothing of value in there, so you shouldn't have any trouble finding them inside."

Brian nodded. "How many do you think I'll need?"

She twisted her mouth thoughtfully. "Well, each one holds five gallons, so I'd probably take maybe three or four? They can get pretty heavy, though, so maybe you'd better haul them out there with the tractor." She grinned. "Once you got your uncle's tractor going again, he couldn't wait to hook up his old trailer to it; it's still attached. I'd take advantage of it and tow the buckets out there. Believe me, once you get them filled up, they will be extremely heavy to carry and you'll be glad that you did."

Brian thought about protesting that he didn't need to rely on something like that just to carry some berries back to the house, but he trusted his aunt; if she told him they would be really heavy, he should believe her. So instead he nodded in agreement. "Okay."

She nodded back at him. "I'm going to go put these in the refrigerator," she told him. "If you need me I'll be in the kitchen. I'm making a big bowl of potato salad and two dozen deviled eggs for the town social tomorrow night, and hopefully some blackberry cobbler if I have time."

"Town social?" Brian inquired, thinking how quaint.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, they have this big event every year in June to kind of kick off the summer growing season. They claim it's to get to know all our neighbors better and to discuss any issues that might concern us. We all sit around and socialize and get reacquainted, and they have some music and games you can try your hand at. But if you ask me, I think they just want an excuse to eat. I have to admit, though, the homemade ice cream that the Bargers bring in every year is the best; wait until you taste it."

Brian shook his head. "I don't think I'd be interested in that," he told her softly. The idea of sitting around with a bunch of old timers as they shoved a chaw of tobacco into their mouths and sat on bales of hay as they talked about soybeans and fertilizer didn't appeal to him at all.

Sarah studied him for a few moments before she shrugged slightly, trying to act indifferent. "Well, it's up to you. But normally both of the Taylor brothers come with their mother and father every year." She noticed Brian's eyes light up at that comment; something told her his reaction was directed more toward the younger brother, however, than at Jared.

"They do?" Brian asked before he could control himself. Damn it, could he sound any more eager than some puppy at the moment?

She nodded as she tried to hide her pleased smile; I thought so. "They sure do. Although I suspect they go more out of their father urging them to do it than a real desire to be there. But maybe if you went, too, they would have someone else to hang out with their own age. You'd be doing them a favor," she suggested slyly.

Brian smiled back at her; the more he thought about it, the more he decided that idea didn't sound half bad, especially if he could find a way for him and Justin to be alone and create their own version of rolling in the hay. "Yeah," he murmured. "I'll think about it."

She grinned. "Good. Well, I'd better let you get back to your work. Why don't you stop around noon and I'll have lunch waiting for you? Will should be back way before then and we can eat together." Brian gave her an 'Oh, goody' type of look as her grin became wider. "Now don't give me that look, Brian Kinney. Will is definitely warming up to you, I can tell."

Brian snorted. "Yeah... right. Instead of it feeling like Antarctica around him now, it feels more like the balmy winds of Alaska."

She chuckled at the odd comparison. "Well, despite what you think, he really is starting to like you... Juneau?" Brian eyed her like she had two heads at the odd statement until he caught the punch line and then shook his head at her strange sense of humor before half snorting/half laughing at her feeble attempt at a joke.

"Sorry - just a little corny humor," she told him with a wink as she turned to go. "I'll see you in a couple of hours. Good luck - oh, and make sure you wear gloves when you pick the berries, or you'll wind up with purple hands! There should be a couple of pairs out in the shed along with the buckets."

Brian looked at her retreating form aghast, grateful that at least she had warned him ahead of time before he turned and walked over toward the side of the barn.

His aunt had wound up being right; once he had turned the corner of the barn, the weathered, wooden, light-gray shed was directly behind it. A dirt path, wide enough for a pair of tire tracks, ran from the back doors of the barn directly to the shed, but it didn't appear to be utilized very much. Weeds and wildflowers were growing along the back exterior of the barn in profusion, so it was obvious that it hadn't been used lately. In fact, weeds were everywhere. Thankfully there was enough of a small, narrow footpath for Brian to follow from the side of the barn over to the shed to avoid skin contact with the thicket of plants; he stuck to it religiously for fear of encountering more blackberry thorns or some sort of poison ivy. He had discovered to his consternation that he seemed to be a 'poison ivy magnet' when he had encountered some previously in the woods at the local park.

A few years ago, he and another boy had decided to hike down from the open baseball fields of the park to the wooded area surrounding the nearby creek to sneak in a smoke and maybe do some 'other' type of exploring with each other. At the time, he hadn't even paid any mind to all the wildflowers and weeds growing along the wood line, but later that evening he started itching like crazy, so much so that his mother had wound up having to take him to the doctor early the next day. To say it had been awkward explaining how he had been exposed to poison ivy around his cock and his ass was an understatement; the look of disgust on his mother's face had closely resembled the same one a child would make after they were forced to eat spinach for the first time. He had hoped that her face might actually freeze that way somehow, but unfortunately it had finally transformed afterward back into her typical, shrunken apple doll visage instead. That had been the first time his mother had realized he was queer, and the last time she had tried to keep hooking him up with the 'good little Catholic girls' that lived in the neighborhood. At least there had been one good thing to come out of his 'exposure,' then... He no longer had to hide who he really was, and he had found it extremely liberating.

Now as he approached the weed-infested shed, his attention was drawn toward the rear barn doors where a faded, gray canvas tarp was draped over a large object of some kind toward the left side, much like the tractor had been covered, only it had been protected better by the elements. Whatever was underneath this tarp appeared to be somewhat larger than the tractor, however, and it was obvious it hadn't been touched in a long time, at least if the condition of the tarp was any indication. Weeds were not only growing chest high all around it, but also growing through the canvas itself. No, whatever was under this tarp, unlike the tractor, hadn't been viewed in quite a while. His curiosity got the best of him as, the baskets and his chores temporarily forgotten, he walked over to take a closer look.

A few minutes earlier...

"Hi, Sweetheart," Sarah greeted her husband as she heard the back porch door creak; she noticed with amusement that Will had what appeared to be pieces of hay matted in his hair, probably from where he had picked up the bales he had purchased in town and hauled them out of the back of their pickup truck. No one could ever mistake her husband for a city slicker.

"Hey," he responded as he walked up and placed his calloused hands on her shoulders to peer down at the large bowl in front of her; she noticed he was wearing his favorite pair of worn, blue-jean coveralls and black-and-white, long-sleeved plaid cotton flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. "I see you found enough eggs in the chicken coop to make your deviled egg dish tomorrow." He impulsively reached down to lightly kiss her cheek from behind as Sarah beamed at the affectionate gesture, so reminiscent of the way her husband used to be but so rarely demonstrated as of late, at least not since their son had died. It felt good, but also unexpected; she thought fleetingly that maybe Brian was having a good influence on her husband as she leaned her head back against his chest and replied, "Not me; Brian. He found 32 of them. We might just make a farm boy out of him yet."

Will walked over to the coffeemaker located on top of their corner kitchen cabinet as he helped himself to some, not surprised that his favorite mug was lying next to it, ready to be filled; the ability to anticipate what he needed was one of the things that he loved the most about his wife. "Well, we'll have to see about that," he told her a little gruffly, unconvinced that their nephew would ever embrace country living. "What time did our 'guest' roll out of bed this morning anyway?"

She smiled as she continued to slice open the hard-boiled eggs, placing the white part face up on a golden-yellow, glass deviled-egg platter and the yolks into a medium-sized bowl. "He was down here for breakfast right after you left, believe it or not," she told him to his surprise. "Dressed and ready to go."

Will turned around to lean against the back of the cabinet, raising a brow in surprise as he held his John Deere yellow-and-green coffee mug in his left hand. "Really? Could it be he's not as lazy as I think?"

Sarah's eyes flashed in righteous indignation. "I never thought he was lazy, Will, and I don't think you really did, either," she chided him softly. "He's just not had enough direction or attention in his life. I'm sure that's why he's gotten into so much trouble back home. Has he been in trouble here?"

Will snorted as he carried his coffee mug over to the table and sat down next to his wife. "Well, not that I'm aware of, other than disobeying my wishes," he admitted grudgingly. "But it's only been a few days, too. Maybe it's just harder to FIND trouble out here than in the big city."

She stopped slicing the eggs for a moment as she peered over at her husband to counter, "But he really has not been a problem since he's been here at all, and I really think he's trying harder now to please us, don't you? He DID get your tractor to start, which is going to be a tremendous time saver for you, and he's out there right now picking berries for me without complaint. And he got up on time this morning."

"For a change," Will conceded. He sighed. "All right. Maybe he really is trying - a little. But I'm going to hold off judgment for now." He frowned over a sudden realization. "You said he's out picking berries? I just drove by the fence and I didn't see him over there." When he and Sarah had first discussed wanting to plant several blackberry bushes and strawberry plants, the Taylors had graciously agreed to allow them to plant them against part of their fence to help support their growth; in exchange, Sarah promised to provide them with plenty of her homemade, prize-winning cobblers to which all of them, especially Justin, had enthusiastically agreed.

"Well, he's probably still out by the shed getting the baskets," Sarah advised him reasonably. "I told him he could take the tractor and trailer out there so he wouldn't have to carry them back afterward; you know how heavy they get when they're full."

Will huffed. "I guess," he agreed reluctantly. "But I certainly don't hear the tractor; it chugs out so much black smoke and makes such a racket when it's running that I'd know if he's started it up. I'd better go make sure he's not goofing off somewhere after all."

Sarah sighed. Can't her husband have just a little faith in him? No wonder the boy is so unsure of himself at times, despite his cocky exterior. "Well, I'm sure he's doing exactly what he should be doing, but go ahead. Lunch will be ready in about an hour."

Will nodded as he chugged down a large gulp of his black coffee and placed the half-full mug back down on the kitchen table. "I'll go check on him and then I'll be out in the barn straightening up."

As he slammed the screen door behind him a few seconds later, Sarah silently hoped that her trust in Brian was justified and that he was doing precisely what he should be doing.

Brian carefully crept closer to the tarp, studiously examining every weed to make sure it didn't appear to be either poisonous or possess thorns. He had had enough of both plant types to avoid each one. He had always heard that you should avoid anything that had three leaves, so whatever remotely resembled poison ivy or even gave off the impression of having a sticker of any kind was fervently avoided as he at last managed to wedge himself up against one corner of the tarp that was hanging loose over the edge of whatever it was hiding. As he bent down to examine it further, he noticed how threadbare the tarp actually was; the ends had small, round metal eyelets like the type you might thread rope through, but if they had actually been used that way in the past there was no evidence of it now; the flaps were slowly blowing in the quickly-warming, late spring breeze like a gentle wave. He refused to consider what - or who - might had frayed the corners (deliberately pushing away images of anything with sharp teeth and a long tail from his mind) as he reached down to grab the nearest corner and pull it up and away from whatever it was hiding underneath. As he held it up to peer at the object, his eyes widened in shock over what he spied. He immediately recognized what it was in spite of its somewhat forlorn appearance, because he had seen one very similar to it the other day at the Taylor Farm. It was a racing sulky; oddly the blue body of the device appeared to be in fairly decent shape, but it was missing its two wheels that he recalled being on the Taylors' model. He frowned. Why would his aunt and uncle even have one of these on their farm? They didn't have any horses. And why would it be sitting here out behind the barn, only half-assembled and apparently long forgotten, especially when it was apparent that they were not exactly well off financially and, in fact, seemed to be in almost desperate need for more money? He could understand his uncle holding onto a tractor of his that had sentimental value, but why would anyone want to cling to something like this that obviously had been discarded when they could at least sell it for scrap metal? He furrowed his brow, lost in thought as he tried to put the pieces together into something that made sense.

Sarah turned back to her work with the eggs as she thought about her conversation just now with her husband and she gasped as an awful thought suddenly crossed her mind. Shed... buckets... tarp... "Oh, no!" she murmured in horror as she hurriedly scooted back from her kitchen chair and rushed over to the backdoor, just in time to see her husband about to walk around the side of the barn. "Will!" she called out as loudly as she could. "Will, come back here! I need you to do something for me! Hurry!"

Her husband turned around and stared at her for a moment puzzled before, wiping his hands on his overalls, he began to trudge back toward the back of the farmhouse as Sarah frantically thought of something, anything, to stall him from going out to the shed. She bit her lip as she looked around the kitchen. What? What could she tell him? Will would be back in the kitchen any second. Glancing around, she spied her favorite glass tea pitcher lying next to the kitchen sink. Hurriedly closing the back door so he wouldn't hear her, she rushed over to the pitcher, and wincing at the predicted sound, she grabbed the glass handle and promptly flung it down onto the hardwood floor with all her might; the container promptly smashed into a million pieces, flying everywhere, as she gingerly walked around the mess as much as she could just in time to open the screen door back up before her husband noticed it had been closed. Peering out, she sighed in relief as he came walking up the back cement walkway and gazed up at her curiously. "What is it, Sarah?"

She did her best to look distressed - actually, that wasn't too far from the truth at the moment - as she informed him in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, "I just broke my favorite tea pitcher and there're shards of glass everywhere. Can you go get the wet/dry vacuum from the basement and help me clean it up? I can go make sure that Brian's getting what he needs from the shed while you do. You know the vacuum is way too heavy for me to tote upstairs. Please, Honey?" She batted her blue eyes at him coquettishly, hoping that the trick she had successfully used when she was a lot younger was still effective now.

Will sighed. He never could say no to this woman. "I really need to make sure that Brian is doing what he says he was going to do; I don't completely trust him."

"Will, please," Sarah pleaded, putting on an Oscar-winning performance. "I can't work around all this glass on the floor. If you'll go get the vacuum and clean this up, I promise you that I will go make sure that Brian is doing his chores like he's supposed to be doing." She placed her hand on the metal doorknob of the screen door as if to say the decision had already been made.

Her husband shook his head in resignation. "Okay, Sarah. But make sure he is not sloughing off. You need those berries for the social tomorrow, and if you ask me, he's getting off light today."

She smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Honey. I'll go check on him now," she assured him. "I'm sure everything's fine." She held her breath until Will finally nodded in acquiescence and turned to walk down the hallway toward the door leading into the basement. Biting her lower lip apprehensively, she quickly opened the back door and took off like a shot toward the left side of the barn, keeping studiously to the dirt path that led directly to the supply shed - and something else.

Her heart began to pound as she spied Brian near the back of the barn, directly in front of the tarp. He was holding up a flap of the canvas and looking at the sulky, just as she had feared. "Brian!" she cried out loudly, her voice ringed with panic as she came running up to him out of breath.

Brian dropped the flap as he turned around to look at her, puzzled by the almost desperate tone in his aunt's voice. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned as he reached to gently grasp her by her upper arms. "Are you all right?"

Sarah tried hard to catch her breath before she told him, "Yes, I'm fine. But the sulky... Brian, you need to stay away from it! Please!" She broke away from her nephew's grasp to tug on his right wrist to urge him back toward the shed.

"Aunt Sarah, I don't understand," Brian countered as he lightly resisted. He peered over at the covered object in mystification. "What's that doing here? Why do you have a sulky? And why is it just lying there neglected?"

Sarah licked her lips nervously as she continued to urge him back toward the shed. "Please, Brian, I'll help you gather the berry buckets and some gloves. Let's get back to the barn so you can hop on the tractor and get out to the bushes. We need to go now!"

Brian frowned but allowed his aunt to lead him over to the shed; she only released her grip when at last they reached the two wooden doors and she undid the unhooked lock to swing the double doors open. "Brian..." she pressed him as she looked at him almost desperately. "Come on!"

"No," Brian told her as he stood his ground and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to enter the shed until she explained. "I want to know what's going on to make you so scared."

Sarah sighed; there was no time. "Brian, your uncle just got home. He's in the house right now, but if he comes out here and sees you anywhere near that sulky, he will explode with anger! Now let's get the buckets and go!" She cursed herself for having thought about asking him to do this; if Will gave any thought as to where Brian was at the moment, he would be out here with fire in his eyes, even though Brian wasn't doing anything wrong. She continued to tug frantically on his arm, trying to get him to move, knowing that time was of the essence.

No," Brian repeated, though, to her dismay; he felt like an outsider looking in as he stubbornly stood his ground and refused to budge. "I want to know what the hell is going on first! Why would he care about that old contraption over there?"

"Because," Sarah said, pain obvious in her eyes; she took a deep breath to steel herself as her voice softened in sorrow and she disclosed, "That's the sulky Dale was riding on when he was killed."

Brian's eyes grew large. His cousin, Dale, was a sulky rider like Justin? This was the first he had heard of that, as well as the first time anyone had even mentioned how his cousin had died. "It is?" he asked as he glanced over at the tarp. "How did it happen?"

She pursed her lips tightly together. "It was an accident at the track," was the cryptic answer. "Will had it towed back here and placed over there by the barn," she told him as she peered over at the tarp and shuddered slightly, recalling that horrible day. "He found an old tarp inside the barn up in the loft area and had them cover it up. Since then, he hasn't looked at it or even spoken about it. But I know my husband; if he even so much as saw you anywhere near that sulky, he would lash out at you and explode. So please, Brian - let's get the buckets now and get out of here! He might come back here any minute! Please!" she repeated desperately as she pulled on his right arm to try and get her nephew to obey her plaintive request. She wasn't afraid of her husband - she knew he would never hurt her and he actually abhorred physical violence - but at the same time he and Brian had slowly been building up a relationship, and she feared that this would promptly put them back at Square One - or worse. She couldn't afford to take that chance, not when Brian's presence was actually starting to have a positive effect on her husband, maybe even a healing effect.

Brian looked at the silent pleading in his aunt's eyes and finally nodded in agreement as he hurried behind her into the shed and she quickly located the four, tall, white plastic picking baskets. Taking them from his aunt's hands, he watched as she located a pair of dark gray, thick, cloth work gloves and threw them into the top bucket. "Let's so," she urged him as she quickly shut the two doors back and hooked the lock through the metal tab to close them back. "Hurry!"

Brian nodded as they began to walk back toward the front of the barn. They had just turned the corner when Will came out the door, dragging a cardboard box containing the remnants of Sarah's pitcher. He glanced up as he noticed his wife and nephew carrying the berry buckets, eyeing them a little suspiciously but not seeing anything out of order. "Brian," he said curtly with a nod. "Everything okay?"

Brian cast a quick look over at his aunt before he replied with a slight smile, "Yeah, everything's fine; Aunt Sarah was just showing me where the buckets and gloves were. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go start up the tractor now. When's lunch again, Aunt Sarah?"

Sarah smiled back at him in relief for his changing the subject as she handed him a couple of the buckets. "If it's okay with your uncle, I think I'll push it back another hour. How about one o'clock? I'll ring the bell when it's ready."

Brian nodded as he turned to leave, stopping only as he heard his uncle warn him sternly, "Don't be late." Brian stopped with his back to his uncle, glad for his aunt's sake that a possible blowup had been avoided He turned around after a few seconds to quirk one side of his mouth up as he glanced over at his aunt to say, "I won't." He paused for a moment longer before he added quietly, "Thanks, Aunt Sarah."

She nodded back at him as he turned to go, understanding perfectly what he was thanking her for, even though she thought she should be thanking HIM. "Anytime." She smiled over at her husband as she spoke up a little louder. "Thanks, Will, for taking care of that. Perfect timing." In more ways than one, she couldn't help thinking as she told him, "I'd best get back to fixing our lunch and my dishes for the social tomorrow night."

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek in gratitude before he nodded back at her and resumed carrying the box over to their garbage tote. She and Brian cast one more meaningful, conspiratorial look at each other before he turned and headed into the barn to rev up the tractor and trailer.

Letting out a tense breath, Sarah started back toward the sidewalk, thankful that a possible catastrophe had been avoided. She knew, though, that somehow the issue of Dale's death would have to be dealt with eventually, but for now she was thankful any potential confrontation between her husband and her nephew had been avoided.

Chapter End Notes:

Well, my two-part update of this story has turned into a three-part update. I am working on the third and final part of this update now and it will definitely feature B and J in that part. I do hope you are enjoying this story and if so will let me know. I'm in one of my 'doubting-Thomas' funks at the moment, so any words of encouragement might help - LOL! In any case, thank you for reading. I will have the next part of this update posted very soon.:) Thanks to boriqua522 for being my beta for this story, also.:)