Robbie shakes his head. “No. It’s been empty, as far as I know. You saw someone over there?”

Lance hesitates, then shrugs. “I didn’t see any people. But there were lights on inside. Or, I thought I saw lights, but I don’t really see how it’s possible.” He takes a breath. “You know about my father?”

“That he’s in the care home? Yes.”

Lance nods shallowly. “Yeah. And I don’t think he’d agree to anyone living out there for free. And getting something set up with a renter? I don’t think he could have done that, either.” Lance shrugs, leaning in to pet the calf, his arm almost brushing Robbie’s. His expression is distant. “If someone’s there, I don’t think he knows about them.”

Robbie doesn’t know the details about Lance’s father—not whether he’s in the care home due to ailments of the mind, body, or both. Lance doesn’t say more. Without the distraction of talking, Robbie’s not sure how much more time he can spend with his hands more or less tied while Lance leans close to him, smelling like the cedar trees he walked through by the creek, and Robbie’s own shampoo, and beneath that, a sharp note of masculine sweat.

“Hand me that towel,” Robbie says, trying to corral his panic. “We’ll get her as dry as we can and set her in front of the fire. Then I’ll go see if her mama is feeling agreeable and will let me take a little milk off of her.”

Robbie hoists the calf up as the last of the water forms a dirty swirl in the drain, and Lance helps him bundle her in towels. Then Robbie carries her back into the main room. She doesn’t weigh much; maybe fifty or sixty pounds. But that’s about right for a new calf, and she feels sturdy, her listlessness aside. He’s trying not to set himself up for disappointment by thinking she’ll live, but he can’t help hoping.

Now that she’s clean, she’s oddly white. Robbie assumes her mother was some kind of Angus cross, but the calf doesn’t look like an Angus or any of the other breeds most common in their area. Her creamy coat has a spray of black speckles on her shoulders and hips, and there’s a roundness to her ears that’s unusual to him.

“She’s so still,” Lance murmurs worriedly, hovering over Robbie’s shoulder while he arranges the calf by the wood stove and then covers her in a second towel.

“Yeah. But that’s pretty normal for cattle when they’ve had a shock.” Robbie makes the mistake of looking up and finds their bodies too close again. Clearing his throat, he pushes himself to his feet, backing away. “I better go give milking the cow a try.”

Chapter Eleven

Lance

Ten years ago.

It’s spring, and the school year is spiraling fast toward summer, catching Lance up in the whirlwind delight of knowing that long, empty months with no homework are just ahead. He hated summertime before Danny and the Chases came into his life, but now it’s his favorite time of year. The long days melt into cool, clear nights, and some kind of magic spell keeps his father from noticing when Lance doesn’t come home for days.