By the time I came back downstairs, in fuzzy yellow pajamas, Crane was coming from the kitchen, carrying a

large bowl of popcorn. Two cups of steaming hot chocolate were already sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Ready?" he asked me.

"Yeah," I nodded.

"So, want to read?" he asked then.

"Sure. What book?" I asked.

"I've been thinking about rereading 'To Kill A Mockingbird'."

"I like that one," I agreed. "Let's do that."

I curled up beside him on the couch after he'd sat down, opening the worn copy of the book.

"Who reads?" he asked me.

"You," I said, without hesitation. "I love to hear you read."

"Alright," Crane said, and began to read. The words of the familiar story flowed as Crane read aloud. It was almost

like poetry, the way that he reads, which is one reason why I love to listen to him.

I saw Ford come into the room after a bit, but he didn't interrupt the reading. He just came in quietly, and sat down

opposite us, in one of the chairs, one leg flopped over the arm of the chair.

He just leaned back, and crossed his arms behind his head, listening to Crane read, too.

I began to relax, just a little, and I leaned against Crane's arm.

The only pause in the reading for a few minutes, was when Hannah and Clare got home, and came in the front door. Hannah was carrying

a bag in each arm, and Clare carried Isaac, sleeping against her shoulder, and the diaper bag.

"Anything else to carry in?" Ford asked them.

"No. Thank you, sweetie," Hannah said. She passed by, rubbing a hand over Ford's hair.

"We had some trouble," Crane said, and both Hannah and Clare looked at him, alarmed.

"What?" Hannah asked.

Crane told her briefly about the three cows, and about the sheriff's visit.

"That's where the others are now?" she asked. "With the sheriff?"

"They went to bury the cattle," Crane said.

"This just keeps getting worse," Clare said.

Hannah, meanwhile, said no more. Her face took on a pinched look, and she only shook her head, and then went off toward the

kitchen, carrying the bags.

Clare stood there a moment longer, and looked at the three of us. "Popcorn and cocoa, huh?" she asked.

"You can sit with us," I offered.

"That's alright. I think I'll take Isaac up and put him to bed for Hannah," Clare said. She gave me a sad smile and went on up

the stairs.

When it was just Ford, Crane and I again, Crane sat there for a moment in silence, and then opened the book again.

"Where's Guthrie?" I asked, before Crane started to resume his reading.

"I dunno," Ford said. "Think he might have gone outside."

Crane read a little more then, until he cleared his throat, and said he said he thought he was done reading for the night.

Ford stood up and stretched, and looked at Crane. "Think I should wait up for everybody to get back?"

"If you're tired, go on to bed," Crane said.

"I feel like I ought to wait. I mean, you know-" Ford said.

"We aren't going to be able to solve anything tonight," Crane told him. "And all they're going to do when they get back

is drink a few beers, and try to sleep themselves. Go on."

"Alright, then," Ford said. "Goodnight." He headed toward the stairs.

"Night, Ford," I said.

Left alone with Crane, I tucked my legs to one side, and leaned onto his arm again.

We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, until Guthrie ambled into the living room, his hands full of cookies.

"They're not back yet, huh?" he asked.

"Not yet," Crane said.

Guthrie went to the telephone, and after a few moments, I heard him talking, in a low tone. I tried to listen, but could only

catch certain words. He was either talking to Kristin, or one of his friends.

"It's not your business, you know," Crane pointed out, his tone light.

"What's not?" I asked, looking at him, wide-eyed.

"Whoever Guthrie's talking to. It's not your business."

"I know," I protested.

Crane raised an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. When Guthrie came back from talking on the telephone, he sank down

opposite us on the other couch, still munching on his cookies.

I watched Guthrie covertly, wondering when he was going to quit being such a sorehead.

"Think I could go to town awhile?" he asked, seemingly casual, and looking at Crane. "Play some pool?"

Crane regarded Guthrie with an almost-frown. "You're grounded, right?"

"I was. Over the weekend. Not now," Guthrie said.

"It's getting pretty late now," Crane pointed out. "Why don't you stay home tonight?"

I could tell the way that Crane said the last part, that he wasn't really suggesting, but meant it as more of an order.

Guthrie knew it, too. He looked decidedly unhappy, but said nothing in argument.

"You didn't eat all the cookies, did you?" I asked Guthrie.

"Maybe. Why?" he replied.

"Because. I made those for Adam. And for Crane."

"Harlie," Crane chided me. "It's fine."

"I'm just asking," I said, feeling all prickly. Something about Guthrie's attitude was royally irritating me.

Guthrie gave me a look, and stuck an entire cookie in his mouth, all in one bite.

"Mature," I taunted.

"Shut up," Guthrie said, in return.

"At least I know better than to trust somebody who's a criminal," I said, in veiled reference to Kenny.

Guthrie glared at me. "You know what, Har? You can be a real ass sometimes." He got up, and began to stomp towards the

stairs.

Crane gave me a look of displeasure. "Harlie," he said, in a scolding way. Then, to Guthrie, he said, "Guth. Come on back."

Guthrie didn't stop, and he didn't answer.

"Guthrie," Crane said, harsher. Guthrie stopped at the foot of the stairs, his hand on the newel of the bannister.

"What?' he demanded.

"You're both being sort of ridiculous right now," Crane said.

"I was just sittin' there," Guthrie protested. "She decided to bring up the same old tired conversation again."

Crane gave me a look, plainly expecting to apologize. I sat up straighter, off of his arm, and crossed my arms, feeling

stubborn.

"Harlie," he prompted.

"What?" I said, crossly.

Guthrie waved a dismissive hand at me. "Forget it. I'm goin' to bed." And he went, up the stairs.

Left there, in silence, with just Crane, I looked at him.

"Harlie Marie," he said, in a disappointed sort of way.

"Why am I the one in trouble?" I demanded, my feelings hurt. "He told me to shut up. And he called me an ass!"

Another disappointed look, and then Crane leaned forward, picking up some popcorn that had fallen onto the coffee table,

and dropping it into the nearly-empty bowl.

"Why do you always take his side?" I asked, and I was sorry as soon as I said it. Crane stopped with his popcorn picking-up, and gave

me an astounded look. And then he looked mad.

"You know better than that," he said, and the look he gave me made my face feel all warm in embarrassment.

Crane stood up, then, picking up the bowl and his own cup, and starting towards the kitchen.

"Crane-" I said, twisting around to lean over the back of the couch. When he kept walking, I said again, pleadingly, "Crane."

He stopped and turned to look back at me, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Don't be mad at me," I said.

"Then stop behaving like a ten year old," he said, without gentleness.

"Is that what I'm doing?" I asked, feeling hurt again.

"Seems so. And a ten year old that needs a spanking," he added, and then went on towards the kitchen.

I watched him go, and my stomach did a couple of loop-de-loops. I sighed, and flung myself down on the couch, staring up

at the ceiling.

I laid like that until I heard him coming back thru from the kitchen, and then I watched, as he picked up a couple of newspapers

that had gotten tossed onto the floor, and went to sit down at the desk. He put on his glasses and started looking thru the

black notebook that all the bills and ranch income are written in.

I sat up, scooting to the end of the couch nearest to the desk. And I sat, quietly, just watching him as he scribbled

away in the notebook, and opened several envelopes. More than likely bills.

It came to me in a rush then, how the loss of three head of cows would hurt. Beatrice had been bred, I knew, so that was really

a loss of four head. I couldn't remember if either of the others had been pregnant or not. If so, that would be six head that we'd lost.

Crane had been so good to me that night, too. Spending time with me, and doing his best to be a calming influence, I knew.

I got up, and went to stand just to the side of him. He kept on writing.

"I'm sorry for what I said to you," I told him. "I know it's not true."

He paused in his writing to look up at me, still quiet.

"You're one of the fairest people that I know," I went on. "You always have been."

Crane took off his glasses, laying them aside. The look he gave me was serious, and sad-seeming.

"Okay," he said, in acceptance of my apology.

"I'll apologize to Guthrie, too," I said. "For talking about Kenny again."

"I think that would be good," Crane said.

I felt suddenly like crying. Or nearly. "It was nice," I said. "Tonight, I mean. Spending time with you. Until I ruined it."

Crane gave me a tug, until I was sitting on his knee.

"Nothing was ruined," he said.

I pressed my face into his shoulder. "I don't deserve you," I said, my voice muffled.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I just don't."

Crane leaned back a little, so that I had to raise my face. "Everybody has their days," he said.

"You don't. You're always so good, to all of us. Especially me."

"Well, that's my job," he said, and gave me a half-smile.

7

Shortly after that, Crane told me to go on up to bed. I looked down the long hallway. The door to Hannah and Adam's bedroom was

closed, as was Ford and Guthrie's door. I hesitated, and went to the attic ladder, still down, and climbed up four or five of the

steps.

"Clare?" I said, trying to be quiet, in case she was sleeping already.

"I'm awake, Harlie," she said. "Come on up."

7

I stayed up with Clare, until Brian had climbed up, looking weary.

He sat down on the edge of their bed, and began pulling off his boots. He looked discouraged.

"Do you want a sandwich or something?" Clare asked him.

"No. Thank you. I just want to climb into bed," he said.

I went towards the ladder to go down. "See you in the morning," I told them.

"Don't forget your shot," Clare reminded me, and I thought how much like a sister she'd become.

"I'll go do it now," I said.

I paused on the first step, looking back up at Brian.

"Bri?"

"What?" he asked, letting his second boot drop to the floor.

"Did you get there before-" I hesitated. "Before anything started eating on them?"

Brian met my gaze. "We got there in time, peach," he said.

I smiled at him. "Okay. Goodnight."

I was down the ladder when I realized that Brian, in a case such as this, would have told me what he had, even

if it weren't the truth.

7