“Don’t even think that way, Abby.” Margo rubbed Abigail’s back with affection.
Chaco stood by and watched in admiration of Margo’s tenderness and her capacity for kindness.
Margo kneaded Abby’s shoulders with both hands, “He’s jist fine. Maybe he shot a rabbit fer us.”
“Let’s go,” Chaco said. He and Russell started toward the sound of the shots, tracking Jude’s footsteps, and Rocky ran to catch up.
Some time later, all four men returned. Slung around Jude’s shoulders, a young doe hung lifeless, already gutted. Her plum-colored blood stained the back of his jacket.
He dropped the doe at his mother’s feet. “I told you I could help. Why you and Dad think I can’t handle a gun anymore is beyond me. But I don’t give a s**t if you all like it or not. I’m keeping this rifle, and Dad, no rules
