That silenced me.
The sun had dropped lower by the time we turned off the road toward his ranch. I saw the barn first, then a wind-leaning house tucked against a rise, smoke lifting from the chimney. Chickens scattered in a burst of offended feathers. There was a broken rail near the corral that looked half-mended. A wash line snapped in the wind. The place looked lived in, worked in, grieved in.
Bo jumped down and tied off the mules. I remained on the seat, my heart thudding.
The front door opened before he reached it.
Eight children filled the frame.
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