“Motherfucker!” she yells and then looks at my parents. “Sorry,” she hisses out. I see her grab the handle, and she tries to roll it over the gravel, but it gets stuck on the rocks. All of a sudden, Casey storms past us and straight to Olivia.

My brother is all that and a bag of chips as the girls in town say. “Why haven’t y’all helped the lady?” His Southern voice booms, making Olivia look up, and her mouth hangs open. My brother is six foot three, and he’s six foot three of muscle. He’s in his regular faded blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a white T-shirt. His skin is bronzed, and unlike my father, he doesn’t wear his cowboy hat unless he has clients coming over to check out the horses. “I got it, sugar,” he says, smiling at her, and I roll my eyes. His smile lights up his whole face, and it’s gotten him out of enough trouble over the years that it’s annoying to me.

Olivia just looks up and still says nothing. “Don’t tell me the cat’s got your tongue.” He winks at her, and I have to save her.

“That’s enough, Romeo,” I say to him, and he looks over his shoulder. “Don’t waste all that charm on Olivia. She’s immune to it.”

He runs his hand through his hair, making his arm flex. “Is that so?”

“Um,” Olivia says. “Um.”

“Goodness gracious,” my mother mumbles. “Casey, you get the bags upstairs.” She looks at my father. “Let’s get the food on the table.”

“Mom,” I say, and she holds up her hand.

“Don’t even mom me. You are skin and bones.”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

“Hush up,” my mother says. She turns on her sneakers and walks up the two steps, letting the door slam behind her.

“Um, Kallie,” Olivia says from beside me when Casey walks up the steps and my father holds the screen door open for him. “Is that your brother?”

“Yup,” I say, nodding my head. “That would be Casey.”

“Why have I never heard about him or seen pictures of him?” she asks, and I put my hand up to my head.

“There is a picture in my bedroom of me on gradation day with my family,” I say, and she tilts her head.

“That man is not in that picture.” She points at the door. “He’s married, right? He has a herd of children.” We walk slowly to the front door.

I throw my head back and laugh. “I don’t even know what to say to that, but the answer is no. He is not one to be tied down.”

“Good God,” she says. The smell of my mother’s cooking hits me right away, and my mouth waters.