Free Capture the Wind for Me by Brandilyn Collins

brushed her cheeks as she bent to pet Winnie, who welcomed her with wiggling stubby tail. “Well, hello there,” Katherine cooed. She straightened and laid a hand on Daddy’s arm. “Hello, Bobby.”
    The way she touched him, said his name. My fingers curled into the front of my dirty apron.
    Robert sauntered into the entryway to smile lopsidedly at Katherine, then dropped his gaze to the floor.
    â€œOh, what happened to you, Robert?” Katherine tipped up his chin to get a better look, concern on her brow. I fully expected Robert to do what he normally would—mumble something unintelligible and turn aside. Instead, he raised his eyes and considered her for a moment. She waited him out.
    â€œGot into a fight after the game.”
    â€œThat I can see.” Her tone sounded dry. “But why?”
    Lots of luck, I thought. I doubted Daddy had even gotten an answer to that question.
    Shame flicked across my brother’s forehead. Then he shrugged. “He called Bradleyville a dirty name.”
    My eyes bugged. I flicked a look at Daddy, who apparently thought the moment so monumental that he dared not move.
    â€œAh.” Katherine nodded sagely. She pulled her fingers away from Robert’s chin. “I take it you beat his team.”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    She gave him a knowing look. “No wonder he felt small.”
    I watched the amazing insight smooth my brother’s features. He made no response. But his shoulders squared, and he abandoned attempts to hide his battered face.
    Katherine turned to me with an unassuming smile, as if she hadn’t just orchestrated a minor miracle. “The house smells wonderful. Your daddy said you’ve been cooking since last night.”
    I blinked at news of such betrayal. It hadn’t occurred to me that Daddy would spoil my veneer of insouciant chef. “I’ve just learned to space out my work so that everything gets done on time,” I said coolly. “Would you please excuse me now? I need to finish getting things ready.”
    I turned and took my leave. The silence fairly echoed behind me. I pictured Daddy and Katherine exchanging adult glances and hoped I was wrong. I could not bear to think that they saw right through me.
    In the kitchen, I leaned against a counter and took a deep breath. I had to salvage what I could of my ruinous efforts. Time no longer mattered. If we didn’t eat until 7:00, so be it.
    From the family room drifted the sounds of Katherine greeting Clarissa, who still languished on the couch. After her flawless performance with Robert, I could only imagine the encore she’d saved for my sister. For all I knew she already sat on the couch, Clarissa bundled and breathing like a contented bunny on her lap.
    I threw a wooden spoon into the sink none too gently.
    A good dose of resolve can make up for lack of experience, especially when you’re feeling as cantankerous as I was. In the next half hour, I climbed to a whole new level of skills. First, I peeled the burnt crust off the cobbler and discovered the fruit in the middle to be perfectly fine. I spooned the usable portion into five bowls and set them aside. When dessert time came, I’d add a spoon of ice cream and a dollop of whipped cream, and no one would be the wiser. But what to do with the telltale glass pan? I certainly had no time to clean it. Frantically, I looked around, then shoved it into a cabinet.
    Next, I ditched the blackened onion topping from the broccoli, then took a taste. None the worse for wear, though no longer hot. Well, I’d nuke it.
    The bread tasted good but was hard and looked like it had been run over by a truck. I stared at it, willing it to tell me what to do. The idea drifted into my head like a cool breeze on a sizzling day. Wasn’t expectation often three-quarters of the problem? With some force, I sliced the loaf into small pieces of “homemade herb crackers.”
    To the orange mixture