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keys?”
    “To the motorcycle. And a five-page report on the French Revolution by tomorrow morning.”
    “You ain’t my mama.”
    A beat. There had been a time not so long ago, when Lindsay would not have known how to respond to a remark like that. He was an orphan. She had taken on a huge responsibility by assuming guardianship. And she saw his challenge for exactly what it was. She kept her tone pleasant. “Very true. If I were your mother you would have learned not to use that disrespectful tone with me as soon as you learned to talk. However, I am your teacher, so make that ten pages.”
    His brows shot together angrily. “That’s not fair!”
    “And the keys.”
    “We had a deal,” he persisted. “You said I could keep it and ride it around here as long as I paid for the gas myself.”
    “We said you could ride the motorcycle as long as you didn’t leave the property, and you broke that deal when you took it on a county road.”
    “I had to get gas, didn’t I?”
    “You almost sideswiped a police car!”
    He slumped back in the seat, arms folded belligerently.
    Lindsay took a breath. “Noah, are you happy here? Because if you’re not, now would be a good time to tell me.”
    He refused to meet her gaze. “I like the animals,” he admitted, somewhat sullenly. “And the drawing lessons.” He hesitated, and with even more reluctance, added, “And I guess going to school here ain’t as bad as going to regular school with all those little kids.”
    When Noah came to live with them after the death of his alcoholic father, Lindsay would have been grateful to get half as many words out of him. She understood how far he had come. She also understood how far he had yet to go, particularly when he burst out, “But I don’t like living with a bunch of girls! I want my own place.”
    “Yeah, well good luck with that, Mr. Rockefeller.”
    “I was doing fine living in that little place of yours out in the woods last year. How come you had to bring me in and try to civilize me?”
    The sentiment was so reminiscent of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer , to which Lindsay had introduced Noah over the winter, that she had to struggle to suppress a grin—and was not entirely successful in suppressing a surge of pride. A year ago, he had never read an entire book. Now he was practically quoting Tom Sawyer . That was okay. That was a reason to keep trying.
    So she explained patiently, “Noah, you can’t live in the woods. There’s a social worker coming to determine whether our house is a suitable environment for you.”
    He slanted a glance toward her. “And what if she says it ain’t?”
    “Well . . . there’s always Reverend Holland and his wife.”
    He scowled. “All she feeds me is grits. And they pray all the time.”
    Lindsay shrugged.
    “It’s just not right,” he grumbled. “A guy in a house full of women. Who cares what that stupid social worker says, anyway? She don’t have to live here.”
    Lindsay bit back sharp words. “Noah, you just spent the morning in juvenile court. You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands.”
    “I don’t see why—”
    “Look,” she said, losing her battle with patience, “you can’t move to a gazebo in the woods, and that’s final. There’s no heat, no shower, no toilet, and not much of a roof. It’s not going to happen. Get over it. And give me the key to the damn motorcycle. Now.”
    He glared at her for a moment, then dug into his pocket and slapped a key in her hand. “It’s not fair,” he declared again as he jerked open the car door and stormed out.
    “Make that fifteen pages on the French Revolution!” she shouted after him as he slammed the car door. Then she sank back against the seat and closed her eyes wearily. “I’m too old for this,” she muttered. “Really.”
    But she smiled, faintly and secretly, when she said it.

2
    Family Meeting
    For the first time in four months they had lunch on the porch—and they discovered in