I instantly felt all my hackles raise, at Frank's tone of voice. I wondered what in the world was he talking about. Now that he was

so much closer, I saw how much worse that he looked. His hair was all dirty looking, and sticking up in tufts, and his face

was scraggly from not shaving. His shirt and his pants were both filthy. And not like the clothes I'm used to seeing my brothers

wearing after a day of work around the ranch. Frank's clothes just looked disgusting. As if he had been wearing them for a week or more.

I looked quickly to Crane, wondering what he thought about how Frank had approached us. Crane had been taking a drink from

his glass of iced tea as Frank came over, and he set it down now, looking at Frank. He wasn't showing any sort of reaction, though.

Frank leaned his hand against our table, and leaned down. The smell of alcohol was strong.

"High and mighty McFaddens," Frank said. "Think you can do whatever you please."

I looked to Crane again. Surely he would say something now. Surely he would demand to know what Frank was

blathering on about.

But he didn't. Crane was still silent, although I recognized by the set of his jaw that he was on his guard.

"What is it with you McFaddens?" Frank demanded.

He was getting louder. Other people were starting to notice, too, and were watching us. Most of them were pretending to

not watch, but I could tell that they were.

"What can I do for you, Frank?" Crane asked. His tone was quiet, but strong.

"So you know my name, do you?" Frank demanded, leaning down even closer.

"I do," Crane said.

"Course you do," Frank said. "You know all about me and my wife, don't ya?"

Crane was quiet again, regarding Frank was a steady gaze.

"Think you're able to tell other folks how to run their lives," Frank said, louder yet.

"This isn't the place to have this conversation," Crane said.

"I think it's as good a place as any other to have it!" Frank argued. He took his fist and banged it on the table,

jostling the glasses.

I was so startled that I winced when he did that. And drunk though he was, Frank noticed when I did.

He turned his bleary-eyed gaze to me.

"You and that brother of yours-you've been putting ideas in Kristin's head!" Frank accused.

I assumed he meant Guthrie, and I sat up straight, ready to do battle, and answer him back.

"You-" I began heatedly, only to have Crane interrupt me, mid-word.

"Let's go, Harlie," he said, standing up. Frank took a step or two to the left, which put him more in

front of my seat. It wasn't so easy for me to slide out of the booth.

Crane stepped, and edged Frank out of the way, reaching down to take my arm, and pulling me to my feet. He kept

his body between Frank and I, and kept his hand on my arm.

We were at the counter by the time Frank got his bearings, and Crane was pulling cash from his wallet, handing it

to Ginger, the waitress. Marie stood to the other side of Ginger, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

Frank ambled our way again. I knew, because even though I hadn't turned around, I could tell because he bumped

into a chair on his way.

"We're gonna have this out, here and now!" Frank said, coming up on the other side of Crane.

"Frank Mason, you stop this nonsense right now," Marie ordered, sounding furious.

"Don't concern you none, Marie," Frank told her.

"You're acting like a horse's ass in my café, so it does concern me," Marie told him.

"We'll see you, Marie," Crane told her, and Marie nodded to him. Crane headed out the door, his

hand in the center of my back.

Frank came out after us, and reached out to grab at Crane's arm.

"I'm not done talkin' to you, McFadden," Frank said.

Crane paused, looking pointedly at Frank's hand on his arm.

"You've got Linda's girl where she don't even want to be with her mother!" Frank accused.

"It's you that she doesn't want to be around!" I said, from my spot on Crane's opposite side.

"You watch your mouth, missy," Frank said, giving me a glare.

"Why would she want to be around you?" I rushed on. "You're nothing but a dirty-"

"Harlie, go on and get in the truck," Crane said, speaking over me again.

I stopped, my breath coming hard in temper. One look at Crane, though, and I knew I'd best not argue with him, or

even say another word.

I went to the truck, and stood beside the passenger door, turning to watch, and listen.

Crane didn't look my way to see if I'd listened. And it was for that very fact that I went on and opened the door,

and climbed in. He'd meant it. And, with the windows down, I could still hear some of what was being said.

Crane was at least a head taller than Frank. And, while Frank was stocky, I knew that it was likely not muscle, but

fat. That wasn't what worried me. I knew Crane could take care of himself, if need be.

He shook Frank's hand from his arm, as if he were no more than a pesky fly. And then I heard him say something

about the situation being between Kristin and her mother.

Frank droned on about how Kristin's mother was all upset by Kristin's desire to stay at our house.

Then he began again on how the McFadden family thought they were above others, and could tell people how to

conduct themselves.

Crane told him something along the lines of not having anything further to say about it all. He turned to head towards

our truck, and Frank lunged for him, trying to grab Crane's arm again.

Crane side-stepped out of the way, and Frank nearly lost his balance, drunk as he was. He stumbled forward, managing

to catch himself.

I couldn't help but wish that he would have gone on and fallen completely down to the ground.

Nearly falling that way seemed to infuriate Frank even more. He stood up, and stepped towards Crane, his

fist doubled. I watched, enthralled, as Crane stepped aside yet again, and Frank's punch landed in empty air.

"Dumb-ass," I muttered to myself.

And then, as Frank seemingly prepared to launch yet another punch towards Crane, he was stopped by

Crane's hand wrapping around Frank's wrist.

I heard Crane say something about him going home to sober up, and then he turned Frank loose with a hard shake.

Then he turned and came to the truck, getting in and slamming the door. Frank seemed startled for a few moments, and

then, as Crane started the motor, and prepared to back up, Frank yelled out something. I couldn't catch every

word, but it was definitely a threat.

We drove out of Murphys, and we were a mile or so out of town before either one of us spoke at all.

"Wow," is what I said first.

"Right," Crane said.

"What an ass," I said.

Crane was silent, and I said, "I don't see why Kristin has to go home! Why should she have to be around that

drunken bastard?!"

"Thinking that way isn't going to change anything," Crane said. "And it's sure not going to help."

"Why is he blaming our family?" I went on, still fuming. "He needs to blame himself!"

"He's an alcoholic. They need somebody else to blame," Crane said.

"You could have knocked him on his butt," I said. "Why didn't you?"

"What would that have proven?" Crane countered. "That I'm capable of putting a drunk on the ground?"

What he said was true. I was suddenly ashamed of myself. Not for wishing Frank had been taken down a peg or two. But,

ashamed for thinking that Crane would do something like hit him, when it wasn't really necessary.

"You're right," I said, and just like that, I felt my temper slide away, and I was left feeling only sadness for Kristin.

We were pulling up into our driveway when Crane said, "I don't see that it serves any purpose to tell Kristin about what

happened in town. Agreed?"

I nodded at him. "Agreed."

7

For that matter, we hadn't needed to worry about telling, or not telling, Kristin anything at all. She was already gone,

Hannah said, when we went into the house. Her mother had called again, and then driven over to pick her up.

I stood there in the kitchen while she was telling Crane and I that, and I felt a pit begin in my stomach.

"Does Guthrie know that she left?" I asked Hannah.

"Yes. He knows," Hannah said.

Crane had gone to retrieve a glass, and was pouring tea.

"Oh," I said, feeling badly, thinking about Kristin.

"What's wrong?" Hannah asked, pausing in her task of chopping up celery.

I looked at Crane, and he said, "Frank was throwing his weight around in town."

"Oh," Hannah said. She obviously sensed that there was way more to the story than Crane's comment, but she

didn't ask any more questions about it.

"Did you get the check for the cattle?" she asked him, instead.

"Yeah. All deposited."

"Did we do alright?" she asked.

"Real well," Crane said, and Hannah gave a smile that showed relief.

"Good."

7

After that, Crane went outside to work, and I went to the basement to put more clothes from the washer into the dryer. I

was glad when I went back upstairs to find that Clare had gotten home from her short shift at the hospital. She was

sitting with her feet propped up on the footstool, eating a bowl of grapes.

"Hi, toots," she greeted me.

"Hi."

"Grapes were on sale. I got a bunch of them. Go get yourself some," she told me.

We rarely have grapes, since they're so expensive, so it didn't take much convincing on her part. I went to

grab a bowlful of grapes and came back to the living room.

We were sitting there, just talking. The living room was cool, with the ceiling fans all going.

Brian must have come in thru the back door, because he walked into the living room from the direction of the

kitchen, popping the tab on a can of beer.

"Hey, darlin'," he greeted Clare. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss.

They talked for a couple of minutes to each other, and then Brian, still standing behind the couch, tapped the

back of my head.

"Some kid's called here twice for you," he told me.

I twisted to look up at him. "Yeah?" I asked, pleased.

"Yeah. Bill somebody."

"It's the boy that was here helping with the cattle," I told him.

"Him?" Brian asked, managing to sound as though he wasn't impressed.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, sitting up straight and looking at him.

"Don't get all indignant on me," Brian said. "I didn't say a word against him." He tapped the back of my head again. "I didn't say

a word for him, either."

"Funny, Bri," I said. "Did he say if he was going to call back?"

"No, he didn't say." Brian went around to sit in the recliner nearest to the couch. "You're not goin' out with anybody

that we haven't met first, you know."

"You met him," I pointed out. "When he was here with his father, helping load the cattle."

"Nope," he said, in dismissal of my point.

I sighed in defeat, and got up.

"You don't have to go," Clare told me, looking sympathetic. "Brian's just teasing."

"I've got to do my chores," I said.

"Good idea," Brian said. "And, I'm not teasing. I'm serious. If he wants to take you out on a date, he needs to

come over here and let us look him over first."

"Yes, Bri," I said, in a respectful enough tone, while rolling my eyes where he couldn't see.

7

"That doesn't mean you need to take off, tearing around in this heat, just to see where he's gotten to."