Free Finding Home by Lois Greiman Page A

mouth, then paused and shook his head. “ You want to do something crazy?”
    â€œYes! No.” She pursed her lips and realized suddenly that she didn’t know what she wanted. But she wanted something. She wanted more. That much was clear. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” she said. “I’ll do what has to be done.”
    He watched her in silence for a second, then said, “I just bet you will.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    He shook his head. “Just because you finally got a chance to think on your own, doesn’t mean you have to get yourself killed first jump out of the chute. Take it a little—”
    â€œI think for myself.”
    â€œYeah? That why you’re selling the Lazy? So Bud doesn’t have to pay his own tuition?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? Bud . . .” She paused, scowling. “Do you mean Brad?”
    â€œI don’t know what the hell his name is. I just know . . .” He halted, drew a breath. “Listen, you don’t have to ride those horses. The boy’s right. I shouldn’t have left them with you. But you used to be . . .” He glanced away. “You and Chip . . .” A muscle jerked in his jaw as he turned back toward her. “When you had the wind in your hair and your legs wrapped around that gelding you looked like a . . .” He exhaled. “There wasn’t no one could touch you, Case.”
    She blinked at his reverent tone, remembered all the sheep droppings he had deposited in her school lunches, and drew herself back to reality with a snap. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œI’m talking about you and horses and this . . .” He swung his good arm to the left. “This ranch. It’s your birthright, Case. Don’t throw it away for some lazy son of a bitch who—”
    â€œYou’re talking about my fiancé.”
    â€œFiancé!” He laughed. “Still? How long is it going to take him to shit or—” He stopped. The world went quiet. It took her a minute to realize the kids had returned and were watching them with wide eyes and solemn expressions.
    The girl rallied first. “You sure you don’t want a bath?” she asked. Her casual tone suggested she’d witnessed enough battles to just be grateful no blood had been shed.
    â€œI’m sure,” Casie said, and taking the clean clothes from Ty, charged into the bathroom.
    Rushing adrenaline made it possible for her to change without passing out. In a matter of minutes she was able to step into the living room, relatively clean and still upright.
    â€œYou sure you’re okay?” Tyler asked.
    â€œI’m perfect,” she said, and without a glance at Dickenson marched out the door toward the heifer pasture.

C HAPTER 8
    L ater that night, both Casie’s former euphoria and her unsolicited candor had disappeared. The sun was setting by the time she dragged herself into the house. Her back ached with every step, and normal breathing was still a challenge she’d not quite met.
    She sighed as she pushed the door open, carefully toed off her boots, and limped dismally into the kitchen.
    â€œHello.”
    Casie squawked like a trapped chicken, spun toward the noise, and grabbed her ribs.
    The girl in the striped leggings lunged back a pace and stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
    â€œGeez!” Casie rasped, breathing carefully lest certain ribs decided to spring out of their cage. “What are you doing here?”
    A tiny gold hoop adorned the girl’s right nostril, nearly matching her caramel latte skin. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just worried so I stuck around.”
    Casie took in these words with some misgiving and winced from her bent position. “Do I know you?”
    â€œWe met this morning.” She leaned sideways a little so as to look into Casie’s eyes. “Don’t you