Tell Me No Lies by Rachel Branton

bike.”
    “I promise I’ll come as soon as my beard grows back.”
    “Why not today?”
    “Never mind.” Gage climbed to his feet and pulled Dylan up. “It’s for your own good. I’ll explain it when you’re older.”
    The evasion didn’t fool this smart child. “I don’t care what anyone says, Uncle Gage. I know you didn’t hurt that man. Mom and me both know it. And I told that to Albert Mitchard, too. I didn’t care that he ripped my paper and called me a jailbird. He’s stupid, and everyone knows it.”
    Gage suddenly looked weary. “Don’t defend me, Dylan. Let them say whatever they want.”
    Dylan lifted his chin. “I won’t.”
    “You will.” There was iron in Gage’s voice. The voice of a murderer?
    “Nope, and you can’t make me.” The little boy reached out and slapped him on the leg without fear. “Tag, you’re it. Can’t catch me.” He took off across the yard, heading toward the back of the house. Gage grinned as he began pursuit.
    I’d never seen him so happy—of course, I hadn’t seen his face without the beard until last night, so maybe he’d been happy all along and I didn’t know it. Dylan was right that he did look much younger, not even as old as the thirty-one years he’d claimed on the wedding license. Definitely a far cry from the forty I’d given him back in Flagstaff.
    Mia started after them, and I began to follow, but an approaching Bailey waved me to a stop. “So,” she said, her eyes riveting on my blouse where I’d spilled the strawberries that morning. Trust her to find that flaw.
    “So,” I repeated.
    Her nostrils flared as she brought her gaze to mine. “I know something isn’t right here, and I’m going to find out what. Gage loves me and always will.” With that she turned and flounced away, her sultry movements replaced by a decided helping of pout.
    “Okay, that was weird.” So much for wanting to help her.
    I waited until she drove away before going to find Gage and the others. They weren’t in the small grassy yard when I arrived, but beyond it in a fenced patch of weeds. Dylan was sitting near the fence sprinkling something on the ground as a bunch of chickens clucked around him. In seconds the food was gone, but the chickens didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. One settled on Dylan’s lap and looked every bit as content as a dog while the little boy stroked her feathers.
    I laughed for the sheer beauty of it all. Even better, I could see Gage bent over with his head and shoulders inside the chicken coop. He seemed to be raking straw from the floor of the small structure.
    Mia drew up beside me when I entered the gate to the chicken yard. “My husband is not a big fan of chickens, but they are sweet creatures. My brother cleans out the pens a few times a year for us.” I could understand her words better now, even after the short exposure to her, but it was odd matching her uneven inflections with her lovely face—not that it detracted from the overall picture. In fact, the words added to her delicacy. That she could speak so well without being able to hear was nothing short of amazing.
    “It’s good for Gage,” I said. “Gets him out into nature. Everyone needs a little time working outside.”
    “But he is always outside. He works in the field a lot.” When I looked confused, Mia added, “For his job.”
    Oh, yeah. I should probably know a little more than I did about his work. He’d mentioned something about field visits, but didn’t geologists mostly sit at their desks reading and writing reports? “Uh, yeah, but not with chickens. Speaking of which, I never saw any chickens that loving before.”
    Mia laughed. “Dylan raised that one from a little chick. He loves it so much.”
    We stood there watching the straw flying out of the pen and the hens clucking around Dylan, but my thought had returned to what Mia had said in the bedroom.
    “Mia,” I said. She didn’t respond, and I remembered she couldn’t hear me. I