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horse.”
    â€œAnd some armor,” Michael quipped.
    â€œIf you had a horse, would you ride away?” she asked. “Away from all this?”
    He looked down at his hands and gave her a faint shrug. He thought a lot about the places on his postcards—Honolulu and New York City and San Diego. He wanted to see them in person, stare up at the lights of Times Square and feel the sand between his toes. But the idea of leaving Misty Dawn behind tied his stomach in knots.
    â€œI don’t know how to ride horses, Miss,” he said, rising to his feet. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
    â€œI’m okay,” she told him. “Always am.”
    Michael turned to slip out the door, but Misty stopped him short.
    â€œI don’t think you should be so scared of Ray,” she said. “Even if he did try to leave you somewhere, I don’t think Wade would let him.”
    Michael tried to smile through a sudden pang of anxiety, his heart tripping over itself.
    â€œI’ll see you later, Miss,” he murmured beneath his breath.
    â€œSee you,” she echoed back.
    But when Michael ducked into the hallway, he froze in mid-step.
    Rebel was leaning against the wall at the far end of the hall, staring at him.
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    Michael was surprised at how quickly he and Reb reached their destination. Typically, their marks were a good twenty to thirty miles from home, but this one seemed half that distance. Before Michael knew it, his brother was pulling the Delta onto the side of the road. It was a lonely stretch, twisting and flanked by trees. Rebel grabbed a pair of binoculars out of the glove box. Leaving the car behind, they climbed a hill that seemed to lead them deep into nowhere. Michael nearly asked if Reb was sure they were heading in the right direction, but Reb looked like he knew where he was going. Michael kept silent and stayed close to his brother.
    When they reached the crest of the hill, Rebel motioned for Michael to get down. They sank to the ground like a pair of soldiers, slinking across the dirt and leaves until they could see over the top of the hill. A house came into view. It was simple, one story, what folks called a “charmer,” not at all like the Morrows’ ancient farmhouse. Theirs had faded clapboards and dirty windows that stared sorrowfully into the trees. This house was tidy, set back a good distance from the road. Its green shutters winked happily in the sunshine. A round bistro table and matching metal chair sat in the shade of a giant pine.
    Rebel put the binoculars up to his eyes and fiddled with the focus wheel while Michael rested his chin atop his hands. It was a nice change of pace, lying there with the sun dappling through the canopy of trees. There was something serene about this little house. It was secluded out there, with no neighbors to be seen, but it still looked joyful. The chirping of birds and the glint of sunshine made him feel dreamy as he studied it. Bushes flanked the walkway up to the front door. Tiny hot-pink flowers dotted waxy green leaves. Someone had left an axe embedded into a tree stump near the driveway, its handle jutting upward at an easy angle. A small birdhouse swayed from the branch of a tree just beyond the front door. There was even a ceramic garden gnome perched on the front doorstep.
    That house filled his chest with secret optimism. Clumsy thoughts of his own future home and the leisure that would come with it filled his head. One day he’d spend lazy afternoons painting his own shutters that same perfect hue of green, then watch the birds while sipping a cold glass of lemonade. The future would be filled with birdsong and the whisper of an easy breeze. There would be no more screaming. No hard whack of a leather strap.
    Reb was so quiet beside him that Michael allowed his eyes to drift shut. The sun was warm on his back. The twitter of birds made him feel safe.