full. They’re already made.”
She laughed. “Did you think that we’d make them ourselves? Machines do that.
It’s our job to take them into the barn.”
The stack suddenly grew. “Like with a machine?”
“No, like with our hands. Come on.”
We walked up to the truck, and there was a note taped to the driver’s-side window. Kimberly
read it, then nodded. “My uncle’s tractor broke down near Grogan’s Flat.”
“Where’s that?”
She pointed past the farmhouse. “Six hundred acres that way.”
An acre could be a mile, for all I knew. “So what do we do?”
She looked at the sky. The clouds we’d seen from the highway were now piled like a wall of
black over the farmhouse, ominous and huge in the big sky. “We get the tarps out.”
I looked at the clouds over the house. “For us?”
She ran into the barn, calling to me, “For the hay! Come on, I want to get this done and get out to
Uncle Morgan.”
“Why?”
She pointed to the storm. “It’s going to be big. They come on fast and can be
dangerous.”
I followed her into the barn, the musty smell of heat and hay filling my lungs. “Just call
him.”
She went to a corner and grabbed a heavy-duty green tarp. “No service out there, and he leaves
his phone home most times. He’s sort of old-fashioned.”
Just then a boom of thunder hit my ears. Not a rumble or a crack, but an
explosion.
I jumped as
the rafters shook, filaments of hay falling on my head. “You weren’t joking, were you?”
She ran outside. “Grab those straps!”
I looked around, feeling like a dork again, and saw a bundle of straps hanging on the wall near the tarps. I
wrapped my arms around them and ran out just as the rain hit, and just like everything else in Rough Butte, it
didn’t just start, it made a statement. One second it was dry; the next I was getting pummeled. The drops were
so big and coming down so fast, it almost hurt. I was instantly drenched.
Kimberly heaved the tarp on top of the fifteen-foot wall of hay, then grabbed ahold of the bale wires and
clambered to the top. The rain came down so hard, I could barely see the farmhouse fifty yards away, and then she was
yelling at me again. “Get the other tarp and throw it up to me!”
I dropped the straps and ran to the barn, fumbling with my gloves before I took the tarp out and tried to
throw it to her. She’d made it look like a piece of cake, and as I threw the heavy thing again, I nearly ripped the
muscles from my shoulders trying. It made it, though, and she started spreading it across the back half of the hay. The
sides flapped down, blowing in the wind as the world lit up like a strobe light.
Half a second later, the thunder shook my teeth. I stood there, looking up at her, almost in awe as this
beautiful and willowy girl danced back and forth on a fifteen-foot-tall mountain of hay in the most hellacious storm
I’d ever been in.
“Get the straps and attach them to the corners and along the bottom!” she yelled, the pour
of the rain muffling her voice as she worked. “There’s hooks on the edge of the truck to attach them!
Hurry!”
It took me a second to untangle the straps I’d thrown on the now muddy ground, and another
second to find the hooks on the truck. They had it set up so you didn’t have to tie anything, and there was a
buckle you pulled on to cinch the strap tight. I yanked, then ran around the truck to the other side, doing the same.
Kimberly climbed down and we piggybacked each other, going down the line and securing everything.
By the time we got done, I knew I should have been freezing cold, but I wasn’t. My heart
hammered in my chest like a mallet. The rain hit like ice balls, and the temperature had dropped thirty degrees in a
matter of minutes. We ran to the pickup and hopped in, Kimberly firing it up and turning on the heater.
I couldn’t hear the engine run for the racket drumming down on the hood and the top of the cab,
and as I
She laughed. “Did you think that we’d make them ourselves? Machines do that.
It’s our job to take them into the barn.”
The stack suddenly grew. “Like with a machine?”
“No, like with our hands. Come on.”
We walked up to the truck, and there was a note taped to the driver’s-side window. Kimberly
read it, then nodded. “My uncle’s tractor broke down near Grogan’s Flat.”
“Where’s that?”
She pointed past the farmhouse. “Six hundred acres that way.”
An acre could be a mile, for all I knew. “So what do we do?”
She looked at the sky. The clouds we’d seen from the highway were now piled like a wall of
black over the farmhouse, ominous and huge in the big sky. “We get the tarps out.”
I looked at the clouds over the house. “For us?”
She ran into the barn, calling to me, “For the hay! Come on, I want to get this done and get out to
Uncle Morgan.”
“Why?”
She pointed to the storm. “It’s going to be big. They come on fast and can be
dangerous.”
I followed her into the barn, the musty smell of heat and hay filling my lungs. “Just call
him.”
She went to a corner and grabbed a heavy-duty green tarp. “No service out there, and he leaves
his phone home most times. He’s sort of old-fashioned.”
Just then a boom of thunder hit my ears. Not a rumble or a crack, but an
explosion.
I jumped as
the rafters shook, filaments of hay falling on my head. “You weren’t joking, were you?”
She ran outside. “Grab those straps!”
I looked around, feeling like a dork again, and saw a bundle of straps hanging on the wall near the tarps. I
wrapped my arms around them and ran out just as the rain hit, and just like everything else in Rough Butte, it
didn’t just start, it made a statement. One second it was dry; the next I was getting pummeled. The drops were
so big and coming down so fast, it almost hurt. I was instantly drenched.
Kimberly heaved the tarp on top of the fifteen-foot wall of hay, then grabbed ahold of the bale wires and
clambered to the top. The rain came down so hard, I could barely see the farmhouse fifty yards away, and then she was
yelling at me again. “Get the other tarp and throw it up to me!”
I dropped the straps and ran to the barn, fumbling with my gloves before I took the tarp out and tried to
throw it to her. She’d made it look like a piece of cake, and as I threw the heavy thing again, I nearly ripped the
muscles from my shoulders trying. It made it, though, and she started spreading it across the back half of the hay. The
sides flapped down, blowing in the wind as the world lit up like a strobe light.
Half a second later, the thunder shook my teeth. I stood there, looking up at her, almost in awe as this
beautiful and willowy girl danced back and forth on a fifteen-foot-tall mountain of hay in the most hellacious storm
I’d ever been in.
“Get the straps and attach them to the corners and along the bottom!” she yelled, the pour
of the rain muffling her voice as she worked. “There’s hooks on the edge of the truck to attach them!
Hurry!”
It took me a second to untangle the straps I’d thrown on the now muddy ground, and another
second to find the hooks on the truck. They had it set up so you didn’t have to tie anything, and there was a
buckle you pulled on to cinch the strap tight. I yanked, then ran around the truck to the other side, doing the same.
Kimberly climbed down and we piggybacked each other, going down the line and securing everything.
By the time we got done, I knew I should have been freezing cold, but I wasn’t. My heart
hammered in my chest like a mallet. The rain hit like ice balls, and the temperature had dropped thirty degrees in a
matter of minutes. We ran to the pickup and hopped in, Kimberly firing it up and turning on the heater.
I couldn’t hear the engine run for the racket drumming down on the hood and the top of the cab,
and as I
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