"I came with Mama and Carrington." I was tempted to tell him about Louis Sadlek too and how outraged I was that Mama would even give him the time of day. But it seemed I laid my problems at Hardy's feet every time I was with him. For once I wasn't going to do that.

The sky had darkened from lavender to violet, the sun sinking so fast I half expected it to bounce on the horizon. The dance canopy was lit with strands of big white lightbulbs, while the band let loose with a fast two-stepping song.

"Hey, Hardy!" Hannah appeared at his side along with their two younger brothers, Rick and Kevin. The little boys were grimy and sticky-faced, wearing big grins as they jumped and squealed about wanting to go to the calf scramble.

The calf scramble was always held just before the rodeo. Children crowded into the ring and chased three agile calves that had yellow ribbons tied to their tails. Each child who managed to get a ribbon would receive a five-dollar bill. "Hi, Liberty," Hannah exclaimed, turning to her brother before I could answer. "Hardy, they're dying to go to the calf scramble. It's just about to start. Can I take 'em?"

He shook his head, regarding the trio with a reluctant grin. "You might as well. Just mind where you step, boys."

The children whooped with joy and took off at a dead run with Hannah chasing after them. Hardy chuckled as he watched them disappear. "My mother's gonna tear a strip off my hide for bringing them back smelling like cow patties."

"Children are supposed to get good and dirty every now and then."

Hardy's smile turned rueful. "That's what I tell my mother. Sometimes I have to get her

to loosen up on them, let 'em run around and be boys. I wish..."

He hesitated, a frown weaving across his forehead.

"What?" I asked softly. The phrase "I wish," which came so naturally and frequently to my lips, was something I had never heard from Hardy before.

We began to walk aimlessly, Hardy shortening his stride to match mine. "I wish she'd brought herself to marry someone after Dad got put away for good," he said. "She has every right to divorce him. And if she'd found a decent man to be with, she might have had an easier time of it."

Having never known the nature of the crime his father had committed to get put away for life. I was hesitant to ask about it. I tried to look wise and concerned. "Does she still love him?"

"No. she's scared to death of him. He's as mean as a sack of snakes when he drinks. And he drinks most of the time. Ever since I could remember, he went in and out of jail...come back every year or two, knock my mother around, get her pregnant, and leave with every cent we had. I tried to stop him once when I was eleven—that's how my nose got broken. But the next time he came back, I'd gotten big enough to beat the tar out of him. He never bothered us again."

I flinched at the mental image of Miss Judie. so tall and skinny, being knocked around by anyone.

"Why doesn't she divorce him?" I asked.

Hardy smiled grimly. 'The minister of our church told my mother that divorcing her husband, no matter how abusive, would be giving up on her chance to serve Christ. He said she shouldn't put her own happiness before her devotion to Jesus."

"He wouldn't believe that if he was the one getting beat up."

"I went to lay him out about it. He wouldn't budge though. I had to leave before I wrung his neck."

"Oh, Hardy," I said, my chest aching with compassion. I couldn't help thinking of Luke, and the easy life he'd had so far, and how different it was from Hardy's. "Why is life so difficult for some people and not for others? Why do some people have to struggle so much?"

He shrugged. "No one has it easy forever. Sooner or later God makes you pay for your sins."

"You should come to the Lamb of God on South Street," I advised. "He's a lot nicer over there. He'll overlook a few sins as long as you bring fried chicken to the Sunday potluck."

Hardy grinned. "You little blasphemer." We stopped in front of the covered dance floor. "I suppose the Lamb of God congregation believes in dancing too?"

I hung my head guiltily. "Afraid so."

"Lord Almighty, you're practically a Methodist. Come on." He took my hand and led me to the edge of the dance floor, where shadowed couples glided in rhythm, two steps slow_. two steps fast. It was a circumspect dance with a careful distance maintained between your body and your partner's, unless he slid his hand to your waist and spun you in a tight circle that brought you flush against him. And then it became something else entirely. Especially if the music was slow.

Following Hardy's deliberate movements, my hand lightly caught in his, I felt my heart thump with dizzying force. I was surprised that he would want to dance with me, when in the past he had taken every opportunity to make it clear that he would allow nothing more than friendship. I was tempted to ask why, but I didn't say a word. I wanted this too badly.

I was nearly sick with giddy apprehension as he eased me closer. "This is a bad idea, isn't it?" I asked.

"Yeah. Put your hand on me."

My palm settled on the hard ascent of his shoulder. His chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. As I looked into the beautiful severity of his face, I realized he was giving in to a rare moment of self-indulgence. His eyes were alert but resigned, like a thief who knew he was about to get caught.

I was dimly aware of the bittersweet song once played by Randy Travis, desolate and angular and wounded as only a sad country song could be. The pressure of Hardy's hands guided me. our denim-clad legs brushing together. It seemed we didn't dance so much as simply cut ourselves adrift. We followed the current, keeping pace with other couples in a slow, seemly glide that was more intensely sexual than anything I had ever done with Luke. I