The sound of a shotgun going off rang through the air. My Father slowly lowered it, his eye on the target before he looked at me. He had on a bandana over his head and a cigarette dangling from his lips. “You think you can do better than that, Remy Lou?”
I sighed and picked up my rifle. A .30-30. Always wanted to use the little bugger but dear Daddy had been a little too strict. Now he was letting me use it. All that was left was him giving me his will. “Only one way to find out.”
I lined up the shot. Breathed in and out. The clay pigeon flew. I fired.
It hit.
I looked at him. He shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”
Beginner’s luck.
That was what he had said the day mom died.
He hadn’t been there. Decker had done everything. Handled everything. I remembered not knowing how to feel becau
