They kept walking, and Boone showed her the property with a pride that was almost tangible. The hunting trails that wound through the forest, marked with subtle signs only family would recognize. The creek where they fished—clear water running over smooth stones, the sound of it soothing and constant. The meadow where they held bonfires—a wide clearing with fire pits and log benches, the grass trampled from countless gatherings.
He showed her the old moonshine still that his great-grandfather had built—now more historical artifact than functional equipment, the copper tarnished with age but still beautiful. Showed her the shooting range where the family practiced—targets set up at various distances, the ground littered with spent brass. Showed her the barn where they kept horses—massive a
