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I’m an old guy. Heading toward senility, even.”
    Sam snorted. “I’m older’n you cowboy, so careful how you bandy that word about.”
    “By nine months, yeah. Big deal.”
    He snorted again. “Older’s older -- nine years, nine months or nine minutes, right?” He remembered Chance working those nine minutes older than his twin into the conversation at some point.
    “Shit, if I look half as good in my jeans as you do in nine months? I’ll be a happy man.”
    “I don’t think your jeans would fit me, Chance.” He winked.
    There was that laugh, husky and bright all at once. “That would be real the Incredible Hulk-y, wouldn’t it?”
    He grinned and nodded, something easing inside him. The peace here hadn’t been shattered after all. He bit into his peach, feeling the juices flow down his chin.
    Chance cast his line out again, leaning back against some rocks, sucking the juice out of the peach. He took a long look, allowing himself to appreciate the view. Not that he was going to do anything about it, but it was nice to know if he was caught looking, he wouldn’t have to start explaining himself.
    “Oh, I got a bite!” Chance sat up, bobbing the line. “Come on, now. Take it.”
    He got the net and crouched by the water, waiting. The bobber went down and Chance’s line went taut. They worked together, got a good-sized catfish into the bucket. “Woo-hoo!”
    “All right, dinner.”
    They both re-baited their hooks and threw their lines back in, settling again.
    “Couple more of those and we got ourselves fried catfish.” Chance chuckled, stretching out. “Fried catfish and hushpuppies and ‘naner pudding.”
    “’Naner pudding?” Another one of Chance’s southern specialties, no doubt.
    “Banana pudding? Warm the first day, cold the next?”
    He started to chuckle, mind going from the place of weird to the gutter. “Is that what you call it here?”
    Chance looked over. “What else would you call it? Bananas, ‘nilla wafers, pudding...”
    He shook his head. “Sorry, I was tangenting.”
    “Tangen...” Those eyes went wide and Chance blushed a sweet, deep rose. “Oh! No. No, ‘naner pudding bananas are too soft for that. You’d need chocolate-covered ones...”
    He started to laugh, just tickled. Chance’s laugh joined with his, easy, relaxed. He smiled and went back to watching his line, occasionally watching Chance, dozing a little.
    They managed to catch six fish between them, cleaning them right there and packing them down. “We do good work, man.”
    “Yep.” They did. They worked real well together.
    Chance dug around, pulled out sandwiches, a thermos. “Hungry?” It always amazed him how Chance was always prepared with stuff like this and then he’d remember the diabetes and knew it was years of experience.
    “Thanks.”
    “No sweat. Turkey and provolone. Yum.” Chance started eating, tossing bits of bread for the fish now and again.
    He finished his sandwich and lay back again. “I do enjoy a lazy day -- though I wouldn’t want a steady diet of them.”
    “Yeah, I hear you. Relaxing’s only good when you’ve got something to relax from .”
    “Yep. Kids these days just don’t get that.”
    Chance nodded. “It’s definitely a different mindset, you got that right.”
    “Still I’m surprised there wasn’t any high-schooler looking for a summer job snapping up work at the feed store. Guess that was my luck.” Bastrop wasn’t the first place he’d been looking.
    “The FFA kids volunteer a lot, but the kids don’t want all the hours, not when they can drive half an hour and work in the mall near a bunch of other kids.”
    “They do seem to move in packs, don’t they?” God, had he ever been that young? He supposed he had been, but damn, he felt sometimes like he was from a different species.
    “Hell, yes. There’s no such thing as one kid.” Chance chuckled, swatted at a fly.
    “You realize we’re now officially old men?” He gave Chance a