"Pow."
The boy gasped. A grin spread across his face—a gap-toothed, infectious grin that lit up the porch.
"Awesome," the boy breathed.
Ryder handed the bull back. Their fingers touched. A static spark jumped between them.
"You try," Ryder said.
The boy took the bull. He mimicked the move. He had good hands. quick. Precise.
"Who taught you to like bulls?" Ryder asked. "Your dad?"
The boy stopped playing. He looked down at his red boots.
"I don't have a dad," he said matter-of-factly. "My mom says he's traveling."
"Traveling?"
"Yeah. Like an astronaut. Or a spy."
"Or a pirate," Ryder added.
"Maybe," the boy shrugged. "Mom says he's busy saving the world. But I think he just got lost."
Ryder felt a sudden, sharp ache in his throat.Just got lost.
He looked at the kid. Dark curls. Brown eyes with gold flecks. A stubborn chin.
"What's your name, cowboy?" Ryder asked.
"Leo," the boy said.
"Leo," Ryder repeated. It was a good name. Strong.
"I'm Ryder."
Leo’s eyes widened. "Ryder? Like the guy on the TV?"
"Sometimes."
"My mom hates that guy," Leo whispered conspiratorially. "Whenever he comes on the TV at the diner, she makes Miller change the channel."
Ryder winced. "Yeah. Your mom sounds like a smart lady."
"She is. She's a doctor."
Ryder froze.
She's a doctor.
The pieces floated in the air. The brown eyes. The gold flecks. The red boots. Elena.
"Leo," Ryder said slowly, his heart starting to hammer a warning rhythm against his ribs. "What's your mom's name?"
"Elena," Leo said. "She's right there."
Leo pointed.
