“Want to talk with your son.”

“He ain’t here.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe.

“Well, where is he? I’ll go to him, then.” Her mother did not back away but instead leaned in toward the hulking man.

“Don’t much know.”

He cleared his throat and spat to his left. The phlegm landed next to her mother’s feet, but her mother did not turn her head. She stared at Arbuckle’s father and whether or not she was unnerved or intimidated, she gave no indication.

“Well, you tell him that I aim to speak with him. Send him to the depot if he returns. That’s where I’ll be.”

“I ain’t gonna send that boy nowhere. You go find him if you want him.”

“You ain’t making things any easier for yourself, Harland.”

“And I ain’t gonna make things easy for you, Winona.”

“Very well.” Her mother turned as if to leave, then paused. She turned her head and lowered her chin; she spoke over her shoulder. “But just so you know: you’d be right to leave that boy alone. You ain’t above the law just ’cause you’re his pa.”

“He ain’t gonna do nothing about nothing.”

“So you say. But everyone’s got their limit.”

“I’m sure they do.”

“Come along, Lady Mae,” her mother said as she stepped off the porch.

“You go on with your mama now, little girl. Hate to see something happen to you out here on the road.”

Her mother took Lady Mae by the arm and held it tight. She did not let go.

* * *

By the time Arbuckle arrived at Lady Mae’s house that afternoon, the winds that had begun in the night blew fierce. Lady Mae felt them from the stack when she was cleaning out the stove, heard the soft howl when she closed the flue. It kicked up the dust and dropped it down onto the tin roof, an earthy patter that came and went. But the winds were good; soon there would be rain for the animals and residents alike. The water would rush down from the hills and into the valley fast, flooding the square and the crescent road, sloshing up to the wooden porches where the men and women would watch it. They’d grimace and grip the railing knowing there wasn’t enough hay in the entire settlement to dam the flow.

Arbuckle knocked at the door one two three times even though he didn’t need to, and when Lady Mae opened it, he immediately took off his hat and dipped his head toward her. Though it was only midafternoon the dust clouded the sun, and she could barely see past the third shack down. She felt the sandy air on her skin and in her eyes, tasted the pungent dirt far down her throat. Reaching for his arm, she pulled him inside before he could greet her and slammed the door shut.

“Storm’s coming,” she said.

“Sure is,” he said and hung his hat on the rack next to the door. He bent and undid his frayed laces. Then he slipped his boots off and lined them up next to Lady Mae’s, one pair large, one pair small, both scuffed and worn and filthy.