Bill the farmhand on a tractor.

"Hey kid," Bill yelled as he stopped the tractor. "You're working late!"

They all called him kid, even at the age of nineteen. Jason didn't mind to much - to them he was still a kid. Still learning. Bill had been around the farm longer than he had, and at thirty one years of age was a fine specimen of manhood, his lean body bronzed brown by the sun, his hair a sunkissed blonde and steely grey eyes that were warm and welcoming - although at the moment they also had a touch of concern.

Jason stood up and brushed off his cargo pants. "Yeah, I guess I just wanted to finish this fenceline."

"Well, your uncle was a mite worried when you didn't show up for dinner," Bill said.

"Oh shit! I keep forgetting the sun's setting at eight now," Jason said. "I should be getting back!"

"Whoa there boy," Bill said. "I radioed him to let him know you were safe. Plus he sent dinner with me." Bill held out a lumpy checkered package which Jason realised was a tea-towel wrapped around something that smelled delicious.