May Belle was as scrawny as Brenda was fat. She stood a moment in the middle of the floor in her underwear, her skin white and goose-bumpy.
Her eyes were still drooped from sleep, and her pale brown hair stuck up all over her head like a squirrel's nest on a winter branch.
That's got to be the world's ugliest kid, he thought, looking her over with genuine affection.
She threw her jeans into his face. “I'm gonna tell Momma.” He threw the jeans back at her. “Tell Momma what?”
“How you just stand there staring at me when I ain't got my clothes on.”
Lord. She thought he was enjoying it. “Yeah, well,” he said, heading for the door so she wouldn't throw anything else at him.
“Pretty girl like you. Can't hardly help myself.” He could hear her giggling as he crossed the kitchen.
The shed was filled with Miss Bessie's familiar smell.
He clucked her gently over and set his stool at her flank and the pail beneath her speckled udder.
The rain pounded the metal roof of the shed so that the plink of milk in the pail set up a counter-rhythm.
If only it would stop raining. He pressed his forehead against Miss Bessie's warm hide.
He wondered idly if cows were ever scared—really scared.
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