Never Let You Go by Emma Carlson Berne Page B

part of the farm, before stopping at the sheep gate.
    The pastures unrolled before them, steep and hilly. The sheep grazed together at the far end of the field, but the air smelled strongly of sheep dung. It wasn’t as bad as the pig manure, though.
    As she and Anna wrestled the bag of grain out of the truck and staggered with it toward the feed trough, Megan felt strong and tough in an earthy-girl kind of way. Back in Cleveland, she never had the chance to throw around fifty-pound sacks of grain. It felt awesome, actually. She’d always thought of herself as a physically wimpy kind of person, someone who needed two hands to pour a gallon of milk. Now she relished the strain in her shoulders and hands as she and Anna let the big bag thump to the ground.
    Anna ripped open the top of the grain bag, and together she and Megan hoisted it, pouring the little round pellets into the trough. The sheep began trotting over, drawn by the smell of thefood. They bleated and jostled each other to get to a place. Megan had to push her way through the flock, their pillowy wool pressing up against her calves.
    Jordan pulled a hay bale from the back of the truck. He looped his hands under the orange twine that bound it, and with a heave, flung it over the top of the fence. For a moment, Megan stood still, transfixed by the play of his shoulders under the thin shirt. Then she shook her head and glanced at Anna, who was also watching him.
    “You guys want to relax there a little longer, or are you going to help spread this around?” Jordan called.
    “We’re helping,” Megan replied. Meanwhile, Jordan flung another bale, then climbed over the fence and took what looked like a blunt metal hook from his back pocket.
    “What’s that?” Megan asked.
    He stuck it on top of one of the twine loops and held it vertically, then began twirling it like he was twirling spaghetti. “Hay hook. Dave showed me how to use it. You just keep twisting and—” The orange twine broke under the pressure and sprang off, releasing the bale.
    Megan laughed. “Why not just cut it?”
    Jordan shrugged and stuck the tool in his back pocket. “I don’t know. Maybe they don’t want us summer hands wandering around with knives.”
    Megan flashed on Anna’s pearl-handled razor. That would have cut the orange strings all right. She wondered if Jordan had noticed his torn shirt. Megan started separating the flakes ofrough hay and spreading it over the grass. Anna carried an armful over to the sheep at the trough. The hay smelled dusty and green, like her gerbils’ cage used to smell. Suddenly, there was a scuffle behind her and a burst of laughter.
    “Hey!” Jordan exclaimed.
    “Got you!” Anna shrieked.
    Megan turned around. Anna had crept up behind Jordan and stuffed a huge armful of hay down the back of his shirt. Now she was grabbing at him with new fistfuls and giggling.
    “It’s going down my pants! Damn, that’s prickly.” Jordan pulled his shirt up, dumping most of the hay out, and scooped up an armful of his own, eyeing Anna and stalking toward her like someone hunting prey. “Oh, you’re going to get it now. Just wait.”
    Anna hopped away, holding her arms out. “Oh, no. No way,” she stammered between laughs.
    Jordan lunged for her, but Anna feinted left, then right, evading him. Megan snickered as she watched. Jordan turned suddenly, catching her standing close by. “Hah! Got you!” He snared the hem of her shirt and stuffed the hay down her collar.
    Megan shrieked theatrically and tried to grab him to retaliate, but he darted away and she tumbled to the ground. Then Anna ran up and dumped another armload onto Jordan’s head.
    “Hey!” He flung some at Anna. Then she tried to run away but tripped on Megan’s still-prone body. They lay there, sprawled on the bed of hay, laughing too hard to talk, while Jordan flung himself down nearby.
    Their laughter turned to gasps, broken only by the occasionalgiggle as Jordan propped himself on