A cool wind bent the field grass in tan waves, reminding Forrest of his granddad rifling through a file drawer. The stock pond’s surface broke into ripples, distorting the sky’s mirror image that Forrest had been contemplating.

“No swimming today, Tom. Not even in the pond. No more for the year, probably.” Forrest reclined into the rough welcome of rangy grass against his cheek.

“Aren’t you too sore to go swimming anyway?”

Forrest glanced at his companion. “Pretty sore, but I wouldn’t let it stop me from a swim. Was all I could think of yesterday, but Daddy didn’t go ‘til this mornin’, an’ I had a time before Granddad’d let me leave the ranch. Did you go?”

“Swimming? No. We had church today, and yesterday I was helping Mama with the chickens. We’ve got forty in the freezer now. Mama says that’ll keep us until we get more next year. It’ll be good to have beef and chicken both. And with wintering a few hens, maybe we’ll get some eggs, too.”

Forrest put his hands beneath his head. “Daddy said he was takin’ me to the Palace next month, Tom.”

The other boy sat up. “The Cow Palace?”

“Yeah.”

Tom gave a breathy whistle. “For the whole thing?”

 Forrest couldn’t hold back a grin. He plucked a dry stalk and sucked on it like a pipe stem. “We-ell, I don’t know about the whole thing, but I’m goin’,” he said, speaking around the grass.

“I thought you hated to see your daddy ride.”

“Comes a time a man’s got to face his fear.” Forrest looked skyward. “I’ll be ridin’ bulls myself soon.”

Tom’s brown eyes bulged. “I thought you hated bulls!”

Forrest shrugged, his flannel-covered elbows spearing the air. He stuck out his lower lip. “I’m not sayin’ they’re as good as broncs or ropin’, but I figure I should give ‘em a try. Maybe I’ll be a World All-Around Champion someday, if I can learn to do three events instead of just two. Yeah, I think I’ll give those bulls a whirl.”

“That’s great, Forr. Maybe we can practice together!”

“Maybe, ‘cept when my daddy’s home. You know how it is.” Forrest knew he could learn a lot from his friend, but getting shown up in front of his father was not in his plans. “Your daddy been workin’ with you?”

Tom shook his head. “He tells me stuff, sometimes, when he’s home and in a good mood, but mostly I’ve been learning from books and practice. We’ve got one cow that is so mean—”

“A cow? You’re ridin’ an ol’ cow?”

“Well, I try the steers when I can, and I’ve got a barrel hooked up in a tree I use sometimes, but I need someone to pull the ropes to make it buck, and Mama’s so busy—”

“You mean she don’t want you ridin’.” Forrest screwed up his lips. “That’s women for ya. Sure glad I ain’t got no mama stoppin’ me from doin’ what I want.”

“You’ve got a mama. She just isn’t around here.”

Forrest said nothing.

“I don’t mind my mama, Forr.” Tom said in a conciliatory tone. “She does worry some, but mostly she says she just gives it over to the Lord, same’s she does everything else. Since my riding’s okay with Daddy, she says she’s not going to argue.”

Forrest lowered his elbows and rolled on one side, looking toward the weathered building that served as Tom’s home. “She in there now?”

“Probably. Cooking or cleaning or something.”

“Maybe we should go give her a hand.” Forrest threw his pipe to the ground.

“You want to help her work?”

Forrest enjoyed Tom’s bewilderment a moment. “Yeah. I want to help her . . . with the cookies. She always makes cookies on Sunday, don’t she, Tom? You tryin’ to keep ‘em for yourself?”

Tom giggled his relief and smacked his forehead, disturbing his brown bangs. “You had me going, Forr. Yeah, she made the cookies, to warm up the house when we got back from church.”

“Let’s go, then.” Forrest began to sprint the quarter mile toward the house.

“Wait,” Tom said, running after him. “You have to listen to her Bible story first, before you get to eat the cookies, remember? You said last time you’d never do it again.”

Forrest waved at Tom to hurry him. “Who wants to hear about a queen?” As Tom drew alongside, Forrest began running again. “I like those stores about lions and giants, though. You tell her that, Tom. Go first.”

“Tell her yourself.”

Forrest felt his face blanch. “No, you tell her.”

“Come to think of it, you never do say much around her anymore.” Tom grinned wickedly. “Are you scared of her?”

Forrest guffawed. “Your mama’d never hurt a thing, ‘cept chickens, I guess.” Still, he grappled with uneasiness. Fear wasn’t it, but he did sense something around Tom’s mother, something indefinable. Nice, but unsettling. “An’ she’s so small, an’ always smilin’. Who’s scared of that?”

Tom put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his mischievous look gone. “Then why don’t you talk to her, Forr? She’d like it if you did.”

“I do. Some. I’ll try more.” Forrest shook off Tom’s hand. “I guess . . . I guess I just like . . . to hear her talk instead.”

Tom nodded. “You still miss your mama, don’t you?” As Forrest fumbled for an answer, Tom continued, “You can pretend my mama’s yours too, like you used to. She doesn’t mind. I think she misses you calling her ‘Mama’.”

Forrest sucked in his breath. “She say that?”

“No, but—”

“Forget it.” Forrest raced away, suddenly conscious of every bruise on his body.