Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

that run. The big ones who can block an army just by holding out an arm.
    Bentley takes a step back when Dad approaches him.
    “ You must be Mr. McKinna,” Dad says loudly and sticks out his hand. Bentley’s shoulders ease a little, and he places his hand inside Dad’s.
    “ Bentley. Ben is fine.”
    “ Well, Ben. At least my misbehavin’ daughter found ya and brought ya to the right place.” He laughs to Ben but turns a stern glare my way and holds out his hand.
    I smile my best and sweetest smile and place the keys in Dad’s palm.
    “ Sorry, Daddy. It’s just I miss Hunter. I was upset is all.” I lay the accent on thick because I know he loves it.
    Bentley narrows his eyes at me, but I don’t falter. I bat my long lashes, and Daddy melts. Like always. I remind him of Mom. I look like her, and I use it when I need to.
    Dad pulls me into a one-armed hug and kisses the top of my head.
    “ We’re all gunna miss him, Gracie Bug. Now get. I have to talk business with our new hired help, who decides to show up a week early.”
    “ Yeah, sorry, sir. I misjudged how long it would take to get here–“ Bentley starts, but Dad slaps his back and guides him away from me.
    “ Don’t be sorry. We’re happy to have you. Always happy to have an extra set of hands…” His voice trails off, or I stop listening, because all I think about is Ben’s set of hands .
    I turn and start to walk to the house. The smile is small at first, but as my mind spins a plan, the corners of my mouth pull up farther and farther. A week of free time and an extra set of hands. I think I might have a job for them, too.
    ***
    Someone’s banging on my door, and it’s still dark out. I don’t even get one day of summer break. One day to sleep in. Forget it. I won’t sleep in until Christmas.
    “ Gracie, get your butt outta bed. I thought we were the lazy ones.”
    I roll my eyes and roll over in bed, putting a pillow over my ear. They’re older than me. By eleven months, sure, but no one would know it once they open their mouths. They have moments when they act like normal people, but mostly they act like brothers.
    “ Gracie, if you don’t get up we’re coming in. You remember what happened last time.” One of them snickers.
    I sit straight up in bed.
    “ I’ll kill you if you come in here! I swear to God,” I scream. My heart is hammering. There are two of them. One to hold me down, and the other to do whatever he pleases. Spit on me, draw on me, punch me in the leg until it goes numb. I always get them back, but I can’t have this on the first day of my plan to mess with the new guy.
    “ No need to be dramatic, sis.” Asher sticks his head through the door. I know it’s him because his hair is just a shade lighter than Archer’s. Why did my mom have to do the stupid rhyming thing with their names?
    I grab my brush off my nightstand and hurl it at the door. He shuts it just as the brush slams into the wood.
    I hate them. I also hate mornings. Combining the two is a terrible way to start the day.
    I rifle through my dresser until I find the shorts I’m looking for. Jean cut offs. There’s a lot cut off.
    I slip my tightest white tank on and throw a loose work shirt over top, unbuttoned, to make sure some of my stomach shows. I think about tying the work shirt up, but the twins will see through it and then everyone will hear about it, including Bentley.
    Another bang at the door.
    “ What?” I yell, thinking it’s the twins.
    “ Is that any way to say good morning to your father?” Dad’s voice is pleasant and sounds like he’s laughing. I slide across the hardwood floor and pull open the door.
    “ Sorry, Daddy. I thought it was someone else.”
    Dad leans back and takes me in.
    “ Go put pants on. Not appropriate.” He gestures to me with his hand.
    My jaw drops along with my gut.
    “ But,” I stutter, and he waves his hand again.
    “ You’ll thank me, Bug. You’ll be scrubbing shit off ya with a wire brush for a month if you go like that. You’re on chickens today.”
    I groan. “Daddy, I hate cleaning the chickens. They’re so gross.”
    “ That they are. But it’s your turn. We all pitch in.” He smiles and pinches my chin between his fingers, teasing me. I know I’m not winning this one.
    I reluctantly change into jeans. Tight ones. And I tie my plaid work shirt in a knot. Just in case.
    ***
    It’s pointless because I don’t see Bentley. All I see are piles of chicken crap. My hair is