“I don’t get any say in this? And how do I even know it’s mine, huh? You little slut.”

“Jake, I didn’t even want to—”

He hit her stomach and drove her breath from her. She gulped air, drew in a stuttering gasp, and his fist came again. Her scalp burned as her hair slid through his fingers. Her knees hit the ground in a cloud of dirt that rose and choked her.

“I’m. Not. Paying. No. Fucking. Child. Support.” He drove each word in with a kick.

Miranda curled around her middle. She heard the soft scraping click of Jake’s knife. The same one he’d used to carve their initials in the barn loft. The same one he’d used to cut a lock of her hair. She remembered how his skin smelled like sunlight and hay as she’d kissed his neck while he carved a heart around their initials.

Adrenaline hit her like a white-hot flash and she was on her feet, reaching for the tractor’s ladder rungs. A sharp line of pain spread at her ankle where he slashed at her legs as she scrambled into the cab and slammed down the lock.

Jake pounded against the window. Miranda reached for her bloody sock and saw the tractor key in the ignition. A green rabbit’s foot dangled from its eye.

Jake’s face disappeared from the window as the tractor shook itself awake. His shouts sounded weak and distant over the rumble of the diesel engine. Miranda rolled the tractor forward. Jake followed, stabbing at the thick tires with his knife.

Miranda rubbed at the bruises spreading across her belly. Bile rose in her raw throat. Her rage swelled, heart rate pumping blood from her ankle, blood to her face, blood beneath the tight skin of her stomach. She slammed the gear into reverse and thrust her foot against the gas. The tractor shuddered and lurched backward.

Jake’s bobbing head disappeared from view. His scream ripped through the hot, open air of the ranch.

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut. She shoved at the stiff gear and drove forward, then backed up again. She imagined the scream travelling forever across the vast Wyoming plain, kicking up trails of dust in the barren ground. The nearest thing for it to reach was the distant white speck of Pastor Minstrel’s church, and the dust-colored cinderblock jailhouse beside it. Miranda shivered and pressed the gas again. The screaming pitched, then stopped. Angel, if your blood could stop the crops, maybe his will water them back to life. Maybe we just need the right blood to end this.

She sat in silence and rested her forehead against the window, watching the line of dust rise behind Officer Barnes’ car as he sped over the fallow fields, chasing the fading scream toward the idling tractor.