Every afternoon since Kevin had entered the Gold Buckle Ranch contest, he had wheeled himself down to the mailbox at the foot of the driveway at three-thirty sharp in the hope that a letter would come from Wyoming, informing him that he was a winner. He had on his black cowboy hat as usual, the one she got him for Christmas, and he wore a big silver belt buckle, jeans and a long-sleeved western shirt. Not unusual for Lizard Rock, Arizona—most everyone dressed in the western style, but once in a while other kids wore shorts and a T-shirt. Not Kevin. Every article of clothing on him, except maybe his underwear, was from the “Jake Dixon Collection.” If something didn’t sport the name of Jake, his favorite bull rider, Kevin didn’t wear it. Waiting, hoping, looking so alone, he craned his neck toward every car or truck that came down the street. “Today it’ll come,” he’d told her earlier, total trust shining in his eyes. Five minutes later, when the white truck with the blue eagle on the side turned the corner, she saw him wave his fist in the air.
