Page 5 of Crimson Born

He swept a hand across the sky over his head. “Every time I see one, I think... I wonder who else is staring up at this same moon at the same moment? Like, on the other side of the world, there could be somebody looking up at the same time and thinking...”

He stopped talking and gave an embarrassed laugh, peeking back at me from under his lowered eyebrows.

“Listen to me. Hell, I’m no poet.” He blew out a breath and changed the subject. “So... you been to one of the Miller’s bonfires before? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here.”

Shock prevented me from answering right away. I wasn’t sure what had just happened, but when he was talking about the moon, it was like he’d ripped the pages out of the little journal I kept in my bedside table drawer and was reciting from them.

“No,” I whispered. “This is my first party.”

Ugh.And why had I told himthat? I seriously considered turning and running away.

Of course that would only make me seem even more like the immature twelve-year-old he probably thought I was.

The dazzling grin returned. “Really? Yourfirstparty? And you’re spending the night all alone out here. I hate that you’re not having more fun at your first party. We’re going to have to do something about that.”

He bent and gathered the other horseshoes from the ground. “Starting with a throwing lesson. Now I don’t like to brag, but I happen to be the three-time amateur horseshoes champion of Pennsylvania.”

“You are?”

He laughed. “No, not really. There isn’t such a thing—at least as far as I know. But I do play basketball at HACC. You go to school around here?”

“Um... no.”

His question caught me off guard. Amish kids didn’t go to high school, much less college. I’d taken my bonnet off before getting out of the buggy when we’d arrived. Maybe it was too dark for him to see my clothing?

For some reason, I was reluctant to tell him I’d stopped going to school after eighth grade and basically worked full time on my family’s farm and the market stand.

“I’m... not in college yet,” I said.

It wasn’t acompletelie. Why did I even care what he thought?

“Well come on over here. Horseshoe Throwing 101 is now in session. By the way I’m Reece.”

He extended a huge hand, and I gripped it lightly before releasing it.

“Abigail Byler.”

“Pleased to meet you, Abigail Byler. Prepare to be amazed.”

Reece dragged the toe of his leather boot across the dirt, creating a line. Standing in front of it, he swung one long arm behind him in a smooth motion then brought it forward and released the horseshoe. It flew through the air in a perfect arc before ringing the stake with a clang.

He turned and gave me a smirk. “Now it’s your turn.”

I stepped up to the line and accepted the horseshoe Reece offered, gripping it and starting to swing it back behind me like he had done.

He caught my wrist, stopping me mid-motion.

“Whoa there. Do it that way, and you’re gonna kill some fish—or me. Let me give you some pointers first.”

Sliding his fingers from my wrist, he covered my hand entirely with his, repositioning my grip.

“What you want to do is let it hang here on your first knuckles. Yeah, that’s right—you don’t have to squeeze it. Bring it up and touch your thumb to it. Good. See, now when you release it your palm will be facing up, and the shoe will come right out of your hand at the right angle. Okay, now let me see your backswing.”

Reece took a step back and waited. Feeling supremely awkward, I swung my right hand back then forward, releasing the horseshoe and watching as it fell far short of the target.

“Good. Better.” He stepped toward me again, placing a gentle hand on each of my shoulders. “Try squaring your shoulders toward the stake and keep your arm straight when you bring it back.”

Standing behind me, he slid his right hand down my arm and drew it back to demonstrate. His voice was a soft purr in my ear.

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