Free After the Frost by Megan Chance

clapboards were warm and rough against her back, and the air smelled like dry leaves and dust and hay. She took a deep, relaxing breath, willing herself to calm down, closing her eyes. She heard the chickens clucking in the barnyard, the hogs grunting, and for a moment she could almost see herself—twelve years old and chasing the chickens back to the barn, bare feet raising clouds of dust as she ran.
    Once, she had loved it here. The day her mother had married Henry Sault was the happiest day of Belle's life. Then she had reveled in the barnyard and the forest and the canal, had loved the loft in the barn where she could see the whole world, had cherished the nooks and crannies where a young girl could hide.
    For a moment the high, childish voice coming from near the barn sounded like her own. Belle straightened, blinking away her thoughts. She pushed away from the wall and shielded her eyes with her hand to see into the sun. She thought she saw a movement by the pigpens.
    Sarah. Belle's heartbeat sped. Nervously she licked her lips, feeling strangely reluctant to hunt Sarah down. It was stupid, she knew. Sarah was the whole reason she was here. But now that the opportunity had come, she felt—afraid.
    She licked her lips, gathering her courage. To hell with it. It couldn't be that damn hard to talk to a five- year-old. She'd faced far tougher things than a little girl.
    She kept telling herself that as she walked across the yard, following the dirt road past the spring and smokehouses to the barn. The huge gray building sat on a hill a short distance from the house, and the road led directly to the second story, where hay and the wagons were kept. Sarah was below, where the big doors swung open into the cluttered barnyard. She was looking at the pigs, her bare toes curled precariously around the second slat of the fence so that she could lean farther over the pens. A group of chickens pecked at the ground around her feet, and Belle saw that the burlap chicken-feed bag clutched in Sarah's hand was leaking a steady stream of cracked corn.
    Belle bit back her smile, almost sliding down the steep, narrow path leading to the barnyard below. The deep, heady smell of animals and hay was heavier here, making her nostrils tingle. The chickens scattered as she approached, but Sarah was too involved with the two huge black hogs to pay any attention.
    "Hey there," Belle called out. "You s'posed to be feedin' the chickens?"
    Sarah looked over her shoulder, then down at the bag at her waist. Her small mouth opened in an O of surprise. "It's leakin'!"
    "Yeah, it is." Deftly Belle snatched the bag, folding it so that the hole was at the top. She motioned to the birds. "They liked it, anyway."
    Sarah tilted her head back, and the loose sunbonnet slipped off her head, revealing her short locks. Without that long blond hair, Sarah looked even more like Rand. Like him, those brown eyes were too serious, too thoughtful, the small mouth set too firmly. And the wary expression on her face was a copy of Rand's.
    Sarah stared for a moment and then she turned back to the pigs. Belle licked her lips, thinking suddenly of Rand's orders yesterday to stay away.
    She forced them from her mind and leaned against the fence, watching the big animals snort their way through their meal. "What're you doin'?" she asked.
    Sarah shrugged. She didn't bother to look up. "Watchin' the pigs."
    "Oh, I see."
    Silence. Belle felt uncomfortable and ill at ease, and she guessed Sarah felt the same. The little girl was staring at the pigs as if she expected one of them to talk at any second.
    "Which one do you like better?" Belle tried.
    Sarah gave her an exasperated glance. "You don't like pigs," she admonished.
    "Oh. Sorry."
    Silence again. She searched inanely for something to say. Hell, what did one say to a child? Something equally brilliant, like "Which chicken do you think is prettier?" With adults, at least, it was easy. Most people were interested in the same