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  “This is a strange place,” I said quietly.

  Cassidy smiled again. “Welcome to Sparrow, city boy.”

  The engine roared to life and the truck lurched forward. I grabbed the roof of the cab so I didn’t fall out. Cassidy stood behind the cab with her hat in one hand and the other resting on the truck’s hood. She looked at home as the truck bounced along the dirt road, then turned down a path that was barely more than two tire trails. Tall weeds brushed the bottom of the truck and swayed on either side.

  Uncle Rick turned near a dry riverbed where huge bales of hay sat scattered through the field. The sweet scent of cut alfalfa filled the air. I took a deep breath and let it out.

  Uncle Rick climbed from the truck. “You’ll drive the old ton and Cassidy will take the Ram. I’ll load the bales, then follow in the tractor to the Quonset hut so we can unload them.”

  He turned away without giving me a chance to reply. I glanced at Cassidy, who watched me as though excited to see my reaction to my job. “You’re old enough to drive?” I asked because it seemed like the least laughable thing I could say.

  “I’ve driven tractors since I was twelve. Everyone does around here. Sheriff Bowley only cares if we’re on the freeway.” She let out an unfeminine snort. “’Course, he let Beau off scot-free when he ran into a tree a month ago. That’s ’cause he’s the quarterback and would be suspended; no one wants to mess with the school’s winning record.”

  I lifted an eyebrow and she laughed. “Football’s big out here. You’ll get used to that.”

  A horn honked and Uncle Rick gestured from the cab of a big green tractor. He raised the forks and drove them into the side of a bale.

  “Better jump in the truck,” Cassidy said. “He’ll load it with ton bales first. The brakes are shoddy, so you’ll have to stomp on them while he stacks the hay.”

  Uncle Rick raised the bale and drove toward another one. I climbed into the old white truck Cassidy pointed to and waited. She jumped onto the driver’s seat of a shiny blue Ram that looked brand new. I knew it wasn’t a mistake that had me in the rust bucket with peeling paint and a flatbed of wood that hadn’t been varnished in years while she sat in a monster of a truck. Sparrow was the first city where I had seen such vehicles, and they ran in abundance. Maybe Sparrow had the corner on the market where they were concerned.

  The truck lurched forward. I jumped, then glanced in the rearview mirror in time to see Uncle Rick lower the double-stacked ton bales onto the bed of the truck and begin to push them forward. The truck rolled with the force. I stomped on the brake as Cassidy instructed; the truck shuddered when the hay was pushed all the way to the cab. The bales rocked for a moment and I worried they would crash down onto the cab and smash it flat. I imagined headlines about a city boy who didn’t have the sense to leave a truck before being smothered by alfalfa.

  Luckily, the bales stopped rocking and Uncle Rick went back for another load. I flipped on the radio, found nothing but country music, and turned it off again. My leg ached from pushing the brake to the floor, but I didn’t dare let up. Six ton bales rested on my truck before Uncle Rick began to load Cassidy’s. Hers held eight, a fact I was sure she would find time to point out later. Uncle Rick then left the field and motioned for us to follow.

  I turned the key, but nothing happened. Cassidy pulled up in her shiny truck and motioned for me to roll down the window. “Give it some gas when you turn the key, but not too much or you’ll flood it.”

  I pressed on the gas pedal and turned the key again. The engine rumbled to life and continued rumbling in uneven thrums. “Follow me,” Cassidy yelled above the sound. “You’ll have to crank the wheel hard because there’s no power steering, but take it easy on turns so you don’t drop the bales.”

  She drove forward and left me to figure out what she meant. I pressed on the gas and the truck obediently rolled forward. The second I hit a bump in the field, the bales began to rock from side to side. I slammed on the brake and felt them all shift forward. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I waited for the bales to settle. When I looked up, I saw that Cassidy had crossed the field and was waiting for me on the weed-choked dirt path that made up the road.

  I gritted my teeth and stepped on the gas again. The truck moved over the uneven ground with the grace of an overweight hippo. I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white as the bales lurched uneasily on the truck bed. I expected them to land on the cab and crush it flat at any moment.

  Cassidy grinned at me when I reached her truck, then she drove forward as if eight ton bales weren’t any cause for concern. Of course, her new truck probably had shocks. I turned the wheel to drive on the road, but the truck kept going straight. I stomped on the brakes and felt the bales rock, but ignored them and turned the wheel further. It was only after I cranked the steering wheel all the way around and then some that the truck began to turn.

  I repeated Cassidy’s words in a poor imitation of her peppy country drawl. “You’ll have to crank the wheel hard because there’s no power steering.” I rolled my eyes even though there was no one to see, and drove gingerly down the road after her. It occurred to me that if driving bales of hay was so hard, I didn’t want to know what else Uncle Rick did.

  Cassidy turned onto a flat expanse of dirt with a big, curved metal structure in the middle that I assumed was the Quonset hut Uncle Rick spoke about. He was waiting in the tractor near the hut. Grateful we were almost done, I cranked the wheel hard and stepped on the gas. The truck turned quicker than I expected and bumped over ruts in the hard-packed dirt. The bales began to rock.

  I slammed on the brakes and they rocked even harder. The entire truck swayed back and forth slowly and then faster like a dog shaking its wet coat. I clutched the steering wheel and glanced at Cassidy in time to see her eyes widen. I ducked, certain I was about to be smashed to death by alfalfa. Who knew farming could be so dangerous?

  Instead of falling on the cab, the last two bales tipped off the truck and tumbled to the ground, bursting their strings and spilling hay all over in the process. The truck bounced up with the decreased weight, and what was left of the shocks gave a creak of protest. I straightened up slowly and dared a glance at Uncle Rick. His jaw was clenched tight as if he held in choice words despite the fact that no one would hear them over the rumble of the tractor engine.

  I climbed out of the truck. Cassidy walked up and handed me a pitchfork, then turned away without a word. I let out a sigh and began raking the hay together.

  THAT NIGHT I COULDN’T sleep. A quick search of the Ashbys’ cabinets revealed nothing I could take to help. I never thought I would appreciate Mom’s ready supply of sleeping pills, but I could definitely use something to take away the thoughts that refused to leave me alone. I lay on the small cot in the back of the living room for an hour trying to talk myself into sleeping, but every time I closed my eyes, the shadows of the fire in the fireplace danced across my eyelids and brought back memories worse than any nightmare.

  I gave up and pulled on my shoes, then stared at my cell phone near the lamp. It was my only link to Mom, the way she would contact me if she needed to. The screen showed zero calls and no messages. I forced down the urge to throw it into the fire and left the house. There were no streetlights on the outskirts of Sparrow, but the moon and stars lit the lawn and fields beyond the house bright enough that no additional light was needed.

  A quick patter of paws crossed the grass, then the black-and-white dog touched my hand with his nose. I studied the animal for a moment in uncertainty. With a sigh, I set a hand on his head. He stood perfectly still as though afraid I would take my hand away if he moved. A begrudging smile crossed my face and I petted the dog. His tail waved from side to side.

  Zoey was the one who liked animals. Mom never let us have a pet, but there had been a stray cat at the warehouse and Zoey insisted we take tuna fish whenever we went there. Where she heard that cats liked tuna, I had no idea, but the animal was always happy to see
her. My heart clenched at the thought and I moved my hand from the dog’s head. He padded a few feet away as if he understood.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and studied the stars. I had never seen them so bright. Each one shone as if it were the only star in the sky, a spot of light so brilliant in the black velvet canopy it was easy to imagine other beings on different worlds staring back at me. I wondered if the stars’ light reached the heavens; I dropped my gaze and glared at the dark ground instead. I kicked a tuft of grass and debated whether to go back inside.

  A light on the black horizon caught my attention. I hadn’t noticed any other houses, but the light was steady. I glanced back at the Ashby house; it sat silent and brooding in the night. I crossed the yard in the direction of the light. The dog fell in a few paces behind me. I told myself he wouldn’t listen if I told him to go home, but I secretly appreciated his companionship.

  The house sat even further from the small city of Sparrow than the Ashby house. I wondered why anyone would choose to live so far from civilization. My footsteps sounded hollow on the dry dirt. The soft pad of the dog’s paws behind me did little to lessen the emptiness in my chest.

  The night felt vacant without the endless rush of traffic and street life I was used to. I hadn’t seen a taxi since Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren picked me up at the airport, then drove us the extra three hours to Sparrow. Roads and buildings gave way to mountains, which eventually dissolved into scrub brush and dry land. I was amazed they could grow anything in such an arid place, but the miles of fields around me told of years of carefully tended crops.

  The light went out just before I reached it. I almost turned around, but another light higher in the house flipped on and someone began shouting. Family fights were nothing new to me. Cops came to our apartment complex weekly to break up violent spouses. When families lived paycheck to paycheck, stress built until someone couldn’t handle it anymore. I knew from experience.

  A dog barked at our approach, but it was chained to a kennel. I glanced at the animal that followed me. He seemed unconcerned, so I continued into the yard. A tree grew against the house with low-swept branches, offering the perfect cover. I waited, unsure what I expected.

  The front door opened and a girl hurried out. She was halfway down the porch stairs when a man stormed out after her. “I’m not done talking to you, young lady.”

  “You’re not talking, Dad. You’re yelling,” she replied. A look of regret immediately swept across her features.

  The man took another step forward, and she stumbled backwards down the stairs to get away from him. Her ankle twisted beneath her, but if it hurt she didn’t show it. She stood back up and waited as if accepting whatever would come.

  The man paused with his chest heaving, then shook his head and stomped back inside. The girl let out a breath of relief. She rubbed a hand across her weary eyes, then pulled a rubber band from her pocket and swept her waist-length brown hair into a ponytail. There were no tears in her eyes at the confrontation like I would have expected to see after the anger in her father’s voice and the amount of shouting from the house. Instead, a fierce light of determination showed in her eyes and in the way she clenched her jaw. I had never seen such a look on a person.

  She took off the glasses she had been wearing and set them on a porch step, then jogged over to where the dog was chained. “Let’s get out of here, Buck,” she said in a quiet voice.

  The dog’s paws shuffled in excitement while he waited for her to unchain his collar. She started for the south side of the yard and he pranced beside her, then remembered our presence. Buck turned and barked in our direction. I was surprised to feel the dog beside me lean against my leg. I set a hand on his head. “This way, Buck,” the girl called. She began to jog. The dog gave up barking and loped to catch up with her.

  I stood there for a long time. I would have been creeped out to find some stranger watching my house in the middle of the night, but I stayed, wondering if the girl would return and if anyone in the house cared that she was gone. The lights had turned out completely and the house sat in darkness. It made no sense for me to worry about the girl. I didn’t know her and families fought all the time, but the fact that the lights stayed off bothered me.

  The night sky was touched in dusky gray by the time I heard her footsteps return from the dirt road. The dog followed behind with his tongue lolling. She chained him up and the animal lapped eagerly at the water in its bowl.

  “Good boy, Buck,” she whispered, patting its head. She jogged up the stairs and into the house. I left the tree and was almost across the yard when the door opened again. I froze and watched the girl walk halfway down the steps. She bent and picked something up, then turned, the fading moonlight glinting off her glasses. She went back inside and shut the door behind her.

  By the time I returned to the Ashby house, I was tired enough to sleep the remaining three hours of the night and the next day as well. The fire had burned to low embers which haunted my thoughts less. A quick check showed no one had called my phone. I threw my shirt over it, fell on the cot, and dreamed of endless nights in which I was the wind, blowing the alfalfa in circles.

  SOMEONE TOUCHED MY SHOULDER. “Kelson, time to get up,” Aunt Lauren said.

  I opened my eyes and blinked at the bleary dawn light that filtered through the checkered curtains of the living room. A clock stuck to a replica of a cow skull above the fireplace showed that it was six o’clock. “School doesn’t start until eight,” I said.

  “There are chores to do first,” Aunt Lauren replied gently. “We all pitch in and the work gets done faster.”

  I sat up and tried to rub the sleep from my eyes.

  Aunt Lauren hesitated, then sat on the worn sofa across from me. “How are you doing?”

  I grabbed a shirt from my duffle bag and slid it over my head, then glanced at the other shirt covering the cell phone on the lamp table. I gritted my teeth and shoved both back into the bag. “Fine.”

  “Kelson.”

  The understanding in her tone cut me to the core. I couldn’t meet her eyes. As long as I told everyone I was all right, it would be true if I didn’t think about it long enough. “Fine” was the easy answer. “Fine” was the answer everyone wanted to hear. I swallowed and met her eyes. “Aunt Lauren, I’m fine. Thank you for taking me into your home.”

  She looked like she wanted to press the matter. Then she gave a sympathetic smile and nodded. “You are welcome here for as long as you need.” She rose and smoothed the pillows on the couch, then said, “There’re muffins on the stove and fresh milk in the fridge. You can meet us in the barn when you’re ready.”

  I grabbed my toothbrush and a new change of clothes from the duffle bag and made my way to the bathroom down the hall, grateful my cousins weren’t using it as it was the only bathroom in the house. I took a five-minute shower, changed into clean clothes, and attempted to comb my hair. It was brown like Dad’s, and stuck up with cowlicks in several places that made it hard to do anything more than run some mousse through with my fingers and leave it alone. I hoped the bedhead look had already reached Sparrow.

  I threw my duffle bag behind the couch and grabbed a muffin on my way to the backyard. The black-and-white dog sat by the barn door with his head on his paws. His tail gave a short wag when I approached. I caught myself before I bent down and patted his head. I didn’t want to give the animal the impression that I liked him.

  I found Cassidy, Cole, and Jaren in the barn doing various chores. Cassidy forked hay to the three horses while Cole and Jaren watered the animals. Uncle Rick sat with a bucket near one of the fat Holstein cows. The soft hiss of milk on metal met my ears. Uncle Rick looked up when I entered the barn.

  “I was wondering when the rooster would wake you,” he said. I fought back a smile at the thought that Aunt Lauren wouldn’t approve of being called a rooster. Oblivious of my thoughts, he stood and stretched, then indicated the cow. “Your turn.”

  I looked distrustful
ly from the stool to the udders and back to Uncle Rick. “I’m not sure if milking’s my thing.”

  Uncle Rick grinned and pushed his cowboy hat further back on his head. “Only one way to find out.”

  He took me by the shoulders and steered me to the small three-legged stool near the cow’s hind foot. “Just work your fingers down. Bess’s a good milker. She shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

  I sat down and glanced self-consciously at Cassidy. She had finished feeding the horses and was now brushing one with a piece of bristly plastic that fit on her palm. She kept a hand on the animal so it knew where she was as she worked around its belly and legs. I took a deep breath, then instantly regretted it; the early morning barn smell of manure, oats, and hay laced with dew filled my nose. I tried to fight it, but a sneeze followed before I could move away from the cow.

  Bess let out a noise that was a cross between a surprised moo and what I swore was a laugh before she kicked the milk bucket and spilled the contents of Uncle Rick’s work onto the cobbled floor of the barn.

  I glanced at Uncle Rick, then back at the floor. My cheeks burned at the frown of consternation on his face. Everyone in the barn was silent for a moment.

  “Maybe Kel has hay fever,” Jaren said quietly from the corner.

  “My friend Darrel has hay fever, and his eyes swell up real bad when he mows,” Cole piped in with all the enthusiasm his ten-year-old self could muster. He accidentally sprayed one of the horses with the hose he was using to fill up the water. He laughed when the animal kicked the fence an inch from where he was crouched by the bucket.

  “Tend that water, Cole,” his father said in a tone of disapproval. The kid grinned as he moved to the next bucket, completely unconcerned about his father’s anger. Uncle Rick turned back to me. “I’ll finish with Bess. You take Blackie.”

  I moved to the next cow. This one was black with a white stripe down its nose and was definitely in need of milking. I sat gingerly on the stool. “Your cow names are really unique,” I said in an attempt at humor.