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close."
    "What an asshole." I scooped out an ounce of
biotin and dumped it on top of a helping of grain. "How'd the crew
do for you?"
    "Brian let things slide a bit, and I caught
him smoking."
    "Damn." I rolled my shoulders. "Where?"
    "Out behind barn A. Thought he was on
vacation, you not being here and all."
    "Yeah? Well, he'll earn himself a permanent
vacation if I catch him at it."
    Marty chuckled.
    I dumped the grain through the opening in a
stall front. The pellets slid down the bay's nose and clattered
into the feed tub. "What's that sign about, at the corner of Rocky
Ford and Stonebridge?"
    "Farm got sold." Marty pushed the feed cart
farther down the aisle. "Some big-time developer's gonna build a
bunch of fucking mansions on puny two-acre lots."
    "Oh, no," I said, but it wasn't a surprise.
Everywhere you looked, what had once been prime farmland was now a
housing development or shopping center or office complex.
    It also wasn't a surprise, because the
brothers who owned the farm were getting up there in age, and their
kids wanted nothing to do with farming. Although I had been drawn
into lengthy conversations with them on more occasions than I cared
to remember, the old guys were good neighbors. They were as
generous lending their equipment as they were dispensing free
advice. And most astonishing of all, they had ignored the
present-day free-for-all when it came to litigation and had given
Foxdale's boarders permission to ride on their property.
    "Well," I said, "at least we still have the
park land."
    "Yeah. In a couple years, it's gonna be the
only place where there won't be houses standing eyeball to
eyeball." Marty stretched and yanked off his hat. His black hair
stood up from his scalp, full of static electricity. He smoothed it
down with his palms. "Want me to finish graining, Steve?"
    "No. This is easier than haying. I'll leave
that to you guys this morning."
    Marty grunted. "Why'd you come back so soon?
Mrs. Hill would've let you take more time."
    "If I'd stayed in the loft another day,
they'd be hauling me out of there in a straight jacket."
    Marty rolled his eyes and headed for the
door, muttering under his breath. Though he kicked butt when he was
at work, he would have taken full advantage of a shot at some time
off, most of which he would have willingly spent in the sack. And
he wouldn't have been lonely, of that I had no doubt. Marty had
inherited his father's height and his mother's Latin American
looks, and this time of year, he made the rest of us look
anemic.
    At twenty-two, he was a year older than me,
and he made me feel old.
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     
    By nine o'clock, I'd had my fill of similar
comments from both crew and boarders alike. I went outside and
stood in the alleyway between the barns. All morning long, geese
had been flying so low that the beating of their wings was clearly
audible, their distinct voices urgent. I walked up to the office,
put my hand on the doorknob, and paused. Sanders was standing in
front of Mrs. Hill's desk with his back to the door. His posture
was rigid with tension as he stabbed a finger in the air, and I
could hear him easily through the glass. I stepped inside and
clicked the door shut.
    "I can't believe you let this happen," he was
saying. "You're all incompetent. Why didn't--" Sanders must have
sensed someone behind him, because he whirled around. When he saw
me, he clamped his mouth shut.
    Although he was in his late forties, his skin
was unnaturally smooth and moist-looking, like he'd just splashed
after-shave lotion on his face. With what I hoped was an impassive
expression, I watched a muscle in his jaw twitch as the silence in
the room lengthened.
    Mrs. Hill cleared her throat. "As I was
saying, Stephen tried to stop the thieves but couldn't. He wound up
in the hospital for his troubles. He's lucky to be alive."
    She was pushing it a bit, but it seemed that
my timing and appearance couldn't have been better. Mr. Sanders,
Steel's owner, or should I say