By midday on Sunday, it was just too hot to work. The horses huddled in what shade they could find, and Mari and the men went indoors. Mari made sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade. Then, she kicked off her boots, dragged a chair into the living room, directly under the main vent from the squeaking evaporative cooler, and sat down. She twisted her braid up on top of her head and pinned it there, unable to bear the hot weight of it on her neck. She catnapped, then, half listening to Berne and Mitch. They seemed to be arguing again, but she couldn’t hear enough to make sense of it. Finally, Berne stood up.
“I don’t give a damn. It isn’t my fight anyway. I’m going to go see your mother and dad, see what they think. If they’re in this, I’ll think about it, but I don’t see much for me in this
