Page 22 of Saddle Storm

“Ah. That’s real nice of her. Ginger’s a peach isn’t she? She used to watch me when I was younger and out of school. Except, I’d always be running off, finding ways to entertain myself.

Or whatever Storm had in mind.

He nods. “I like Ginger. She’s funny.”

I glance around me with a perked brow. “So are you . . . playing hide and seek now, or does she know where you are?” I’m aware this kid’s probably too old for hide and seek and it’s highly unlikely Ginger would be playing right now—especially when this is the hour most of our staff wrap up for the day and head to the office to sign out. But I’m curious as to why he’s here alone.

“She knows.” He shrugs. “She and Mr. Thorne let me come up here around this time.”

I frown, my dad’s advice to wander over here echoing in my ear. My Spidey senses tingling but I can’t quite make a connection. “Let me guess, something about the glow in the river?”

“Yes!” His eyes widen with surprise like someone actually gets it. “It’s my favorite spot on the ranch. I can’t come here for the sunset cause we head home just before. And during the day, the sun is too bright on this side, makes your eyes hurt, you know? But around four o’clock, it’s lower.” His eyes dip past the river. “See how it’s just below that third mountain? That’s when it shines over the river in this cool color. Like a leprechaun or rainbow might bounce off it.”

I catch a smile as he pictures it. And then turn to follow his gaze.

“A leprechaun huh? I forget, do they grant wishes?”

“Three if you catch them,” he tells me.

“Three?” I laugh, then lift a rock, following his earlier move and tossing it into the river, watching it ripple across the surface. “That’s a lot of wishes. What would you wish for?”

Any hint of a grin on his face fades as he glances at me. In that flash, I catch enough to know he’s not answering my question.

Instead, he lifts another rock and tosses it in. Then shrugs. “Probably a phone. So I could take pictures and look at funny videos.”

“A phone? How old are they giving kids phones these days?” I ask, making it sound like an internal thought spoken out loud.

“My friend Danny has one. And a bunch of other kids at school. I can’t take pictures of places like this around the ranch, or of my favorite horse. And now, no one at school will believe that I met Silas Thorne, because apparently, owning a phone will fry my brain and make me stupid.”

Whoa. That is a lot to process.

Not going to lie, I like this kid. There’s something cool about him. But how exactly do grown-ups deal with so much information when kids ramble things off like this? Do you respond in sequential order? Or just to the last one? I haven’t been around someone who had so many ideas running through their mind since . . . well, Storm. That girl’s mind branched off in every direction from a single thought.

Stealing fireworks isn’t the problem, Silas. Say we get them without getting caught, where’s a safe spot to light them without A, giving away our location, or B, not starting a fire? And say we do find a safe spot, what if we accidentally get the loud boom kind, not the pretty sparkle kind, scare the animals and get caught. I’d never be allowed back here again.

The corner of my lip tugs at the memory.

“Let’s . . . take a step back. Your parents have a point. Phones can be toxic to a growing mind. But I totally get the picture thing. Maybe they can get you a camera or something.”

“Yeah, that’s impressive, show my friends a Polaroid of me with Silas Thorne.” He scrapes against the sand with the wooden stick, his face turned down. “And it’s just me and my mom.”

It takes me a second to understand what he means. It explains why he’s got no one else to watch him on weekends.

“Hey, don’t diss on the Polaroid. It’s making a comeback,” I say, to lighten the mood. When it doesn’t get a reaction, I move on. “So that’s one wish. Got another?”

His gaze lifts for a minute. Then back to the shape he’s tracing in the dirt. “If I caught a leprechaun, I’d share my wishes with you.”

I twist my head to look at him. His words hit somewhere between my ribs and throat, and I don’t know what to do with them. “Well, then, I better have my wish prepared.”

He looks up, excitement on his face for the first time since he recognized me. “I bet it’s to win the Stanley Cup.”

I chuckle. “Right about now, I’d consider it luck just to play in the championship. Much less win it.”

His eyes fall to my sling. “Do you think you might? Play again, I mean.”

“I’d like to see them try and stop me,” I say, then pick up a small rock with my left hand and stand. “Watch this.” I toss the rock into the river, sending it just past the point where Max’s landed. Then turn to face him with a cocky grin. “Beat that.”

“That’s not hockey,” the kid brilliantly observes.