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Sun’s slippin’ low, father leans back in his chair,“So… you picked her?” he says, eyebrow cocked.“She near...

Afternoon heat folds over like a blanket.One helper hums while skinning apples with a knife.“Most men want...

Second helper’s got boots older than sin.She leans on a fence, chewing a straw, eyes sharp.“Ya lookin’...

Sun burns the ranch gold and mean.Father says, “Boy, pick a helper, settle down.”You kick dust, pretending...