It was a beautiful fall day.

Nick watched the clouds go by from the back seat of Allison's car. He was looking forward to a day of working and riding.

"There's another farmhouse with pumpkins and cornstalks out front," Anne Marie said on the way to Shamrock Stables. "Maybe we could get some cornstalks from Corky and tie them up in front of our house, eh, Nick?"

"We're not going to haul messy cornstalks in my car," Allison said.

Uh-oh, Nick thought. How is she going to enjoy supper at our house tonight if she can't stand a little mess?

As soon as he got out of the car, Nick could tell something was wrong. It was too quiet.

They found Corky outside Gussie's stall. She was talking to a short, wide-shouldered man in his early twenties, with spiky black hair. He twitched his head in quick little jerks. He looked like a bird snapping at seeds. But instead of pecking, he would spit.

The man looked at his scuffed cowboy boots. He twitched, spit to one side, and nodded sympathetically.

"She was fine yesterday," Corky said. "Then last night she started acting off. She went down for a bit. But we got her up. We called the vet. She seemed okay. But then this morning there she was, stiff as a board, but peaceful."

The cowboy nodded. He hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and spit. "Scares you, don't it? How fast it can happen," he said.

The newcomers peeked in the stall to see Gussie lying on her side.

"Is it dead?" Anne Marie cried. "I don't want to look at it."

"That's not an 'it,' that's Gussie," Bob said. "She's just dead. That happens," he added thoughtfully. "Sometimes you can't help it, sometimes you can."

The day before, Nick would have patted Gussie on the rump. Today he felt squeamish about touching her.

Bob walked into the stall. He knelt next to the dead horse and stroked her neck. Nick knew that he was remembering Cutter next to the highway up north.

"Want a hand getting her out, Corky?" the cowboy asked.

"Naw, the rendering works will be here in a bit," Corky said. She sighed. "It's a sad thing, that. But what can you do?" Then she slapped her hands on her thighs like a period at the end of a sentence. "Carlos, me lad, come in my office. We'll talk about that hay you're aiming to buy," Corky said. "Would you be wanting a cup of coffee?"

Later that morning, Nick worked with Carlos. Nick helped him round up cows and calves for winter penning at his farm.

Corky had loaned both Trace and Nick to her neighbor for the day. Trace knew how to cut cows. Carlos, his horse Paco, and his dog Mojo had their own moves. Nick was the new kid on the block. The obvious thing to do was watch and learn.

Mojo responded to voice commands as he herded the cows like a flock of sheep. Nick gave Trace free rein to react whenever a calf broke from the bunch. He followed Carlos's style of staying near the edge of the moving herd, making boundaries as the cattle moved along.

As soon as the cattle were penned, Carlos and Nick rode past a farmhouse and a barn to a dirty white camping trailer on cinder blocks. Nick scrunched up his nose at the trash on the ground within throwing distance of the door. But he smiled at the shiny red truck hooked to a bright red cattle trailer parked beside the shabby camper. The cowboy obviously had his priorities.

Carlos stopped on the steps of the trailer. He twitched, spit, and then swept his arm over the camper, truck, and farmland. "This is my place," he said. "There ain't much left after rent for the pasture and payments on Big Red, here. But it's mine and can't nobody take it from me."

"Looks great to me," Nick said. "I wish I had a place of my own."

The inside of the trailer was a mess. A comfortable, cozy mess. A Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar hung on the wall. Dirty clothes, beer bottles, and pizza boxes covered the floor.

Nick flopped on the sagging couch. He put his feet up on the armrest while Carlos defrosted burritos in the microwave. The cowboy moved fast and smooth. If he was a little taller, Nick could picture him in the cockpit of a jet fighter, ready for takeoff.

Carlos opened the fridge. "Pop?" he offered.

"What kind you got?" Nick asked.

"Vernors. Coke," Carlos said.

"Vernors, then," Nick said.

Carlos handed him a can, then flopped onto his stained, beat-up couch. Pointing his bottle at Nick, he said, "You know, there's serious money in running a cow-calf operation."

"Tell me about it," Nick said.

"Well, first off, you got to get your stock from down south where they live in the open pasture all the time," Carlos said. "Free-range cows are healthier. Ask anyone."

Nick sipped the ginger ale, shuddering at the fizz tickling his nose. Vernors always did that to him.

"In the springtime, I fill my trailer with Michigan hay. There's a good market for Michigan hay down there," Carlos said.

Nick bit into his burrito. He quickly sucked air over the hot mouthful.

"Then after I sell my hay, I round up stock from the different farms down there. I load 'em on the trailer and head back home," Carlos said. "Hey, you know how many miles I drove last year? 150,000. I drove 150,000 miles last year. And that's no bull."

Nick swished a mouthful of soda around his burned mouth while Carlos took a drag from his cigarette.

"That way I get something both ways, coming and going," Carlos said.

Nick bit into a cold spot in the burrito. Cold grease. Terrible.

"Seems like you could charge city cowboys to come along with you," he said, brainstorming. "Do a modern version of a roundup and trail drive."

"That's pretty good," Carlos agreed. "Then I could get it three ways, eh?" He laughed.

"Actually, I would find it pretty fun myself," Nick said.

After thinking for a moment, Carlos said, "Maybe we can work somethin' out. I'm going down around Christmas to scout out my stock."

Nick raised his eyebrow in excitement.

"Yeah, maybe you could ride along with me. Keep me company," Carlos said.

Back at Corky's, Nick leaned against Trace's stall and imagined being on the road with Carlos: riding and herding, staying in motels, visiting Southern ranches, meeting cattlemen and truckers.

Anne Marie's wail broke into his daydreams.

"Help! Help me!" she yelled. "Somebody help me. Owww!"

Running around the corner, he found a wall of hay, ten bales high.

"Help! For crying out loud, where is everybody? Anybody. Help!" Anne Marie called from somewhere under the pile.

At least she can't be hurt bad if she can carry on like that, he thought.

"Where are you?" Nick yelled.

"Here by the wall," she answered. She sounded more angry than hurt.

Bob joined him. "Where is she? What's wrong?" he asked.

"She must be somewhere under the hay next to the wall, over there," Nick said, pointing.

It took the boys five minutes to drag Anne Marie out from the jumble of fallen hay bales. She was covered with bits and pieces of dried alfalfa. Anne Marie was furious when she was finally able to stand.

"I just wanted to get one bale out," she said, "and the next thing I know, I'm buried in horse food."

Bob looked shaken and pale. He carefully brushed seeds and stems from Anne Marie's hair and clothes. There was tension in his half-whisper. "You have to think about what could happen before it happens to you," he said.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the lecture," Anne Marie said.

"You don't understand," Bob tried to explain. "What happened to Gussie... well, that just happens. But other things can be prevented."

"What are you talking about?" Anne Marie asked.

"You have to think ahead, Anne Marie. You have to be careful or... or something you care a lot about can be hurt," Bob said.

"Oh, Bob. I didn't know you cared," Anne Marie said, with an adoring smile.

Bob looked confused.

Later that evening, they all sat at the Finazzos' dinner table. Bob and Allison stared at their plates of lasagna.

Anne Marie kept saying, "If it wasn't for Bob, I might still be buried in the hay barn."

"What about me?" Nick asked. "I helped too."

Pauly sat at the kids' table with his younger brother and sister. He grabbed the ringing phone.

"Hello? Who? Just a second," Pauly said. Then he grinned and handed the phone to Joey.

"Yeah, this is Joey, who's this?" Joey asked. "Oh, you don't want me, just a second." He giggled and passed the phone to Risa.

"Hi, this is Risa," she said. "Oh, you don't want me?"

"All right, you guys, that's enough of that game," Nick's mother scolded. She wiped her hands on her yellow apron before grabbing the phone. "Hello? Yeah, Pete," she spoke into the phone, glaring angrily at her children. "How are you? Yeah, well, the kids. You know how it is. Always clowning around."

Nick checked out Allison's reaction. Her pinched mouth and straight back said, How rude!

Anne Marie turned to Bob, her hero. "This family of mine has no manners," she said.

"So, Allison," Mr. Finazzo said. "What do you think of my wife's lasagna?"

"Very tasty, thank you," Allison answered stiffly.

Risa mouthed what Allison had just said. Nick narrowed his eyes at her in warning. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"What do you think, Pauly?" Nick's father asked. "Would Allison like to hear the one about the hummingbirds?"

"Yeah!" Pauly answered.

"Aw, Dad," Nick pleaded, "give her a break. Everyone who comes here has to hear that dumb joke."

"And why should she be any different?" Nick's father asked.

He raised an eyebrow, looking at the kids' table. Joey, Risa, and Pauly nodded excitedly.

"So, Allison, can you tell me why hummingbirds hum?" Nick's father asked.

Allison held her host's gaze for a count of three before answering. "Because they don't know the words," she said.

"Oh," Nick's father said.

The children looked disappointed too. Guests were usually polite enough to go along with his favorite joke. But Tony Finazzo didn't give up center stage just because his joke bombed.

"Well, everybody, I've got some good news," he announced. "I got a new job. I start Monday at Bruno's doing furniture repair." He pointed a finger at Nick. "My headhunter put me on to it."

Nick wasn't sure if he should be happy about his father working again or ashamed that he had announced it in front of Allison and Bob. His father made it sound like he had just won the nomination for president.

His mother sucked loudly through her teeth. "How much?" she asked.

"A little less than before," Nick's father answered. "But Bruno says he's looking to add another shift. Maybe I could move up to supervisor."

"Good for you," Nick's mother said flatly.

All eyes turned to her, questioning. She sucked loudly, sounded unhappy, and stared off to the side.

"What's her problem?" Nick's father asked, palms raised to the ceiling. "I get a job and she gets mad."

Nick wanted to crawl under the table.

The Petzers politely focused on eating their lasagna.

Here's a new way to do counseling, Nick thought. He lay on his couch-bed later that evening listening to his parents arguing in the kitchen. Let the marriage counselor lie down and the clients sit up.

"So, what brings you here today, Mr. and Mrs. Finazzo?" Nick whispered, pretending to suck on a pipe.

"I can't believe it." His father's voice sounded like he was pleading with an imaginary jury. "She's mad about my new job."

"Who says I'm mad?" Nick's mother asked.

"Well, you're not happy for us," his father said.

Pause.

"I'm happy for you," his mother said. "I'm happy for us."

So what's the problem, Ma? Nick wondered.

"I'm not happy for me," she said.

"What are you saying, Nina?" Nick's father asked. "You want me to be out of work so you have an excuse to work some two-bit job?"

"See, that's just what you always do. You never pay attention," his mother said. "I told you before. I agree with you about minimum-wage jobs. They're a waste of time. I want a real job, a career."

"A career? Now you want a career? My wife, the lawyer?" Nick's father asked.

"Don't mock me, Tony. I'm serious," Nick's mother said. "I want to go to school. I want to be... something. I just don't know yet. I'm looking into some things. Maybe something to do with medicine. Or healthcare."

"I'm serious, too," his father said. "College is expensive. We got five kids all lined up waiting to go to college. It's their turn, not ours."

You got that right, Dad, Nick thought. Start saving for us. In case we want to go. Besides, Ma, you got a career being our mother. End of session. See you next week.

Nick pulled the pillow around his ears. He had heard enough.

"She's a little girthy, she is," Corky said. She was talking to one of her boarders, a young woman who was having trouble saddling her horse. "It's mostly mares who get touchy about the cinch strap."

Nick was topping off a wheelbarrow load from a neighboring stall. He rested his chin on the shovel handle to listen to Corky's lecture.

"The first thing is to make the strap soft. Get a fleece pad from the store out front," Corky said.

The woman nodded quickly, clutching her black velvet riding helmet. Her lips parted as she listened to Corky's advice.

"Then go easy, see?" Corky said. "Tighten the girth a little bit. Stop. Do the hoof picking. Then tighten some more. See if that don't help." Noticing Nick standing nearby, Corky went on. "You don't want to rush things. Do like our Nick here. Always stopping to listen and look," she said. Then she made a face. "Git on with ya!"

Nick walked off with the bun wagon. He imagined what Mack, Camp Wa-Tonka's head wrangler, would say about cinching up a horse. He had a knee-to-the-gut way of doing it. Camp horses weren't allowed to be girthy.

On the return trip from the manure pile, Nick heard Bob shouting angrily from a stall at the far end of the barn.

"Dang, Anne Marie! Don't you listen?" Bob was yelling. "You shouldn't give water to a hot horse. You could kill him."

"It was an accident," Anne Marie said.

"Accident? No way. You weren't paying attention," Bob said. "I told you about watering horses. You could have killed a horse. Do you realize that?"

"I forgot," Anne Marie said.

"You can't forget. Bad things happen when you forget," Bob said.

"C'mon, Bob," Nick said as he reached the stall. "Cut her some slack, okay?"

He was trying to protect his sister. She was obviously close to tears.

Bob wasn't finished. "Sometimes I wonder if she really cares about horses at all or just wants an excuse to hang around me," he said.

Anne Marie pushed by Nick. Her face was twisted and red and wet.

"Dumb girl," Bob said.

"Hey, that's my sister, man. Don't dump on her," Nick said. He forced himself to calm down, to steady his voice. "We've all made mistakes." He let the words sink in. "As long as it's not on purpose, that's what matters."

Bob's eyes were cold and hard. "Get off my back, all of you! And especially you," he said, pointing at Nick. "You and your preaching. You did it at Deadman's Hill, when me and Frank wanted to ride down, acting all in charge. Now you're at it again. Well, you can just get out of my face. I'm out of here." He slammed the stall door.

Nick's fingers shook while he saddled Trace. Maybe he could settle his jumbled feelings with the pounding rhythm of a long, hard trot.

Anne Marie leaned against the outside door. She was giving Nick her own version of Bob's message. Mind your own business. I can fight my own battles.

It was going to be a strange ride home.

Nick was grooming Trace an hour later when Corky asked, "You really like Trace, don't you Nick?"

"Sure do," he said.

"Well, I spoke with the owner yesterday. He feels bad that he doesn't have time for the horse," Corky said. "He asked me to try to sell him, he did. No rush. Some time before spring."

Trace nudged Nick's shoulder with his muzzle.

"Well, I sure hope whoever buys him lets me keep riding him," Nick said.

"He wants $700, tack and all," Corky said.

Nick was not usually so slow on the uptake.

"Are you thinking I should buy him?" he asked.

"That I am," Corky said. "You're robbing me every week with your so-called work. Seems like you could save most of that by Easter. Eh, Nick?"

He grinned in answer.

The ride home wasn't so bad after all. Anne Marie slouched in the front passenger seat, staring out the side window. Bob glared out the rear back window. Allison listened to her tapes.

That was fine with Nick. He had time to think about Trace. He had already saved close to $200. His father was working. College seemed a long time away.

Nick Finazzo wanted his own horse.

The next Wednesday after school, Nick was alone with Allison as she drove. Her hands were on the wheel, thumbs up.

"Seems funny not to have Bob or Anne Marie along," Nick said. He sipped from a can of Coke.

"My brother's a real jerk. The only things he can relate to are horses," Allison said. "Your sister is interested in Bobby, but I don't think he even notices her."

What about me and you? Nick wondered.

"How is Anne Marie?" Allison asked.

"She'll get over him. I guess," Nick said. "But I don't think she'll be coming to the stables anymore. What about Bob?"

"How should I know? Last I heard, he joined the drama club at school. He may come out here. He may not," Allison said.

End of discussion. Silence.

Nick sneaked looks at Allison. Sitting in the front seat for a change, he enjoyed a new view.

Her profile reminded him of a cup in his grandmother's china cabinet. Pearly white. Fragile curves. Gold around the edges. Look but don't touch.

The gloomy November evening was closing in fast. He could barely see the horses in the pasture next to Carlos's place.

"Oh, no!" Allison screeched.

A large box turtle inched along in the middle of the lane. Allison slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left.

Nick felt like he was on a tilt-a-whirl. A tree rushed at him. It attacked the car. His face was buried in an airbag. He sat very still. Did a quick check of his body. No major damage. Surprisingly, he still held the Coke in his hand.

"Allison," he said, twisting to look toward her. "Aargh!" he roared in pain.

His right leg. He couldn't move it. He felt queasy, like he might throw up.

"My leg. I think it's broken," he said.

"Oh my gosh!" Allison cried. She pushed the air bag aside and brushed pebbles of glass from his hair. She stroked his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said. Nick was enjoying the attention. He was thinking it was almost worth the pain.

Then a surge of nausea came over him. He thought fast. There was almost no traffic on this stretch of road. They couldn't count on passing cars for help. Carlos's place was straight across the pasture. But it would take a long time to walk.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yes, fine," Allison said.

"Look, get some help, fast," Nick said. He pointed his chin at the horses in the pasture. "Catch one of those horses. Ride to Carlos's place. It's straight past that grove on the hill."

"Ride bareback? They don't even have bridles," Allison said. "And I don't have a helmet."

Nick stared at her for a moment. He felt sick. He swallowed hard. "Maybe they have halters. Here, use this for a rein," he said, pulling off his belt. "And, Allison..."

"What?" she asked.

"Flip on the emergency flashers," he said.

"Good idea," she said.

He closed his eyes. He heard a click. Blink. Blink. Blink.

"How can I catch them?" Allison asked, as much to herself as to him. Then she started shaking and crying.

Nick felt woozy. If he could move, it might ease the pain. He reached for the seat reclining lever. The top of the seat went back a few inches and suddenly the dashboard was off his chest. Much better.

Allison's hands were clutching the steering wheel, shaking violently.

"Hey, Allison!" Nick said. "Don't lose it. I need you to get help."

She shook her head. "I can't even catch them," she snapped at Nick. "How can I catch them? And then ride bareback? It's impossible."

Nick carefully checked the back of his head for a piece of glass. The pebble of glass in one hand and the Coke in the other gave him an idea.

"Take this," he said, handing her the can. "Put some of this glass in it. Shake it like a can of oats. They'll come."

Allison reached out of the car to pour out the rest of the Coke.

That's right, he thought, don't just dump it out in here. Might mess up your new car.

Nick closed his eyes. He pictured her brother riding bareback up at camp and hoped she shared the same genes.

He must have fainted for a little while because he next saw Allison patting the smaller of the two horses. It looked like she was running his belt through a halter ring. Then she put both hands on the horse's back. She tried to jump and swing her leg at the same time. She fell off.

"No," Nick moaned out loud, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. "Get your stomach across the horse and then swing your leg over."

Allison calmed the horse. Nick watched her blonde head bob once, twice, as she counted to three and jumped across the horse's back. Then she eased her leg over and sat up. She looked back at the car and waved.

"Fine. Just go. Hurry," Nick mumbled.

And then, just before he faded out, he saw the turtle in the blinking emergency lights. It was dragging along on the gravel shoulder.

I'm going to be moving at your pace for a while, pal.

On the Monday after Thanksgiving, the house was quiet. All the kids were in school.

Nick sat by the front room window with his leg in a cast. The street looked like a black-and-white photo. Gray. Flat. The only color was from the mail truck. Boring. Even worse, depressing.

"A hairline fracture above the ankle," the doctor had said. "You won't be able to walk or go to school for a month. Then you'll be on crutches until after the holidays."

That's what the doctor said. What it meant was no riding, no work, no money, no horse.

"What are you thinking, honey?" his mother asked, coming into the room.

"This is boring. I just sit around here with nothing to do when there are all kinds of things I could be doing," Nick said.

"I know the feeling," she said. She dusted the coffee table. "Your leg okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Nick said. "What do mean, you know the feeling? You're always busy around here."

His mother shook her head the way adults do when a child says something ignorant. She sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on her knees, picking at a loose thread on her pants.

"I keep busy, son, because I'm not lazy and I hate to lie around doing nothing. That doesn't mean I'm not bored out of my mind," she said. "It was different when you kids were small. There was always something going on. Now it's like someone pulled the plug on the treadmill but I keep on running right into the walls."

That's your job, Nick thought to himself. Sorry if it's not fun anymore.

And then, like she read his mind, she added, "I know it's hard to understand." She paused. "It's hard to explain. Take Corky for instance. You kids tell stories about your Corky at the stables. 'Corky did this. Corky said that.' I never met this woman. But I envy her. She's doing what she wants. She's doing interesting things. Challenging things."

Nick felt skeptical. A little confused.

"Nick, don't look at me like that," his mother said. Her voice shook with emotion. "Your dad gets that look when he thinks I'm being stupid. Don't you start."

His mother sounded tough and angry but Nick felt like she was asking for support.

"I don't think you're stupid. Not at all," he said.

His mother locked her hands together and stared out the window. "You mean that?" she asked. She looked like she wanted him to encourage her. "Sometimes I wonder, you know, if I can do what I need to do. Go back to school. Get a job."

All at once, Nick knew something he hadn't known before. His mother was no longer Mom like other people were Coach or Doctor or Teacher.

He saw her as Nina, a woman who might live down the street. Thirty-seven years old. Comforting eyes. An annoying habit of sucking her teeth. Curly black hair. She was married to a man named Tony. She could have married someone else. She had five children. She could be someone else's mother.

This grown woman was asking for his help. He knew what she wanted to hear. He didn't know where it would lead.

"Yeah, Ma," he said. "Once you make up your mind, you can do it."

His mother smiled in thanks. It made him feel emotional.

"Sometimes I wonder if I can compete with smart, young kids in school," she said. "I've been away so long. And sometimes I think you're all against me. Your dad doesn't want me to go to school. You kids want me at home. I'm trapped doing the same things over and over and over."

Nick was confused. He wasn't sure what to say next.

The phone rang.

His mother answered. "Mrs. Petzer," she said. She handed him the phone.

Nick put his hand over the mouthpiece. "I wish I could help," he said.

His mother tugged at his hair and kissed him warmly on the cheek as he began to talk.

"Hello?" he said.

"Nick. It's Joan Petzer. How are you doing?" Bob and Allison's mother asked.

"Hi," he said. "Oh, I'm all right, thanks."

"Nick, I just wanted you to know that we all feel terrible about the accident," Mrs. Petzer said.

"Thanks for the flowers and the card," Nick said.

"Don't mention it," she said. "I was just telling Bob and Allison that we ought to have you over for dinner soon. Will you be able to join us on Sunday? Alton and I would very much enjoy meeting you."

"I guess I'm free," Nick said. "Sure."

"Fine. We'll plan on picking you up about 2:00," Mrs. Petzer said.

"Is Allison going to be driving?" Nick teased.

"No, actually, Allison won't be driving for a while," Mrs. Petzer said. "Her car is still in the shop waiting for parts. See you Sunday."

Nick smiled as he hung up the phone. At least he had something to look forward to. He couldn't wait to see Allison again. Maybe get some sympathy.

He wasn't sure about Bob. Nick hadn't seen him or spoken to him since he blew up at Anne Marie. But one thing was certain: he wasn't going to be bored on Sunday afternoon.

Nick's prediction was partly right and partly wrong.

Allison was very exciting. He first saw her gliding down the staircase. He imagined her bedroom upstairs, and her in it. She wore a dress and nylons.

From his position, sitting in the formal living room, he could study her legs as she walked downstairs. He had never seen her legs before. They were always hidden inside riding pants and riding boots.

A tingle ran through him all afternoon, like he was hooked to a slow battery charger. Once she halfway smiled at him.

Five minutes into dinner, Nick noticed the mantel clock ticking louder and louder and louder. He noticed every clink and clank of knife and fork against the delicate china.

Something was wrong. And it wasn't just that he was nervous about crystal water glasses and tons of silverware and napkins in his lap and where to put his hands. Something else was wrong. But what was it?

"Pass the broccoli," Bob said.

That was it! No one was speaking.

How can you eat without talking? Nick wondered.

He decided they could be the way they wanted to be. But he was going to be Nick Finazzo.

"So, Mr. Petzer," he asked the intense, balding man at the head of the table. Bob and Allison's father looked like a quarterback with his game face on. "What do you do for a living?"

When he didn't answer right away, Nick was worried that he had said something wrong. Then he realized that Mr. Petzer was counting to three before answering, just like Bob.

Alton Petzer carefully wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it back in his lap. "I'm with General Motors. Quality Control," he said. Then he went back to eating.

Nick was determined to introduce the Petzers to the joy of dinner conversation.

"So that explains the Cadillac in the drive and Allison's Malibu," he said.

Allison pouted. "My car is still in the shop waiting for parts," she said.

What about me? Nick thought. I'm gimping around on crutches here and you're not worried about me.

"Now, dear," Mr. Petzer said, "that car was designed to sustain serious impact. You notice the frame was not bent. It will just take a while for the front quarter panel and door to be ordered and replaced."

What about my frame? Nick asked himself. I wasn't designed to absorb that kind of impact and I sure didn't have any spare parts on backorder.

"I might as well be grounded," Allison said. "I always have to be picked up and dropped off. I'm a burden on all my friends."

Nick steered the conversation back toward himself. "Grounded?" he said. "Geez, Allison, the last time I saw you, you were flying along on top of a bareback horse. I could have sworn it was you, Bob. Of course, I couldn't tell much from where I was. Pinned under the dashboard. My leg broken. In pain. Cold."

"You know what your trouble is, Bobby? You think you're the only one in this family who can ride," Allison hissed at her brother. "I'd like to see how good you are at jumping."

"What's the big deal?" Bob asked. "Bouncing over a few poles on old Fax?"

"Fairfax! His name is Fairfax. Come out with me next Saturday and we'll see how easy it is," Allison said.

"Sorry to disappoint you, sis, but I'm not going to be hanging around the stables much this winter," Bob said. He looked toward his father. "I'm going to be working with the drama club on the school play."

Mrs. Petzer used her husband's pause to say her piece. "Well, how nice, dear," she said.

"What about hockey?" Mr. Petzer finally asked. "I thought you were going to play hockey again this winter."

"I've always wanted to try my hand at drama," Bob answered his father.

It made sense to Nick. At least Bob would have a chance to talk without practically raising his hand for permission.

Nick sneaked a look at the head of the table. The quarterback looked like his star receiver had just dropped the ball.

"We'll discuss this later," Mr. Petzer said.

"Talk about going to the stables," Nick said, jumping in. "I should be getting a walking cast after Christmas. Maybe you could start picking me up again, Allison, if you don't mind?"

She shot a shy look at Nick. "Do you trust me?" she asked.

Nick was impressed. Allison valued his opinion of her driving.

"Oh sure," he said. "You drive fine. Anyhow, that turtle won't be bothering us anymore. He was probably so scared, he'll never cross that road again."