Sam glanced up, took another whack at the stake. “Late on your chores.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fed the stock, but you’re going to need to get the eggs right soon.”

“Grandma said you needed help with a project.”

“Nope. ’Bout done.” With the little sledgehammer in hand, Sam straightened up, stepped back. He studied the fence cage in silence.

“Eggs aren’t going to jump in the pail on their own,” he said at length.

“No, sir.”

“Might be,” he drawled as Coop turned to go, “I could pitch you a few after chores are done.” Sam walked over, picked up a bat he’d leaned against the side of the barn. “You can use this. Just finished it last night.”

Baffled, Cooper took the bat, ran his hands along the smooth wood. “You made it?”

“Don’t see no reason for store-bought.”

“It… it has my name on it.” Reverently, Coop traced his fingers over the name etched in the wood.

“That’s how you know it’s yours. You plan on getting those eggs sometime today?”

“Yes, sir.” He handed the bat back to Sam. “Thank you.”

“You ever get tired of being so damn polite, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam’s lips twitched. “Go on.”

Coop started to run toward the chicken house, stopped, turned back. “Grandpa? Will you teach me how to ride a horse?”

“Get your chores done. We’ll see.”

THERE WERE some things he liked, at least a little. He liked hitting the ball after supper, and the way his grandpa would surprise him every few pitches with crazy, exaggerated windups. He liked riding Dottie, the little mare, around the corral-at least once he’d gotten over being worried about being kicked or bitten.

Horses didn’t really smell after you got to like them a little, or ride them without being scared shitless.

He liked watching the lightning storm that came one night like an ambush and slashed and burned the sky. He even liked, sometimes, a little, sitting at his bedroom window and looking out. He still missed New York, and his friends, his life, but it was interesting to see so many stars, and to hear the house hum in the quiet.