Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

“Your papa told me about it,” he said as Suzette 114

sucked on her blanket. “He and Red were out early one morning and they spied this rabbit way up ahead, moving behind an oak tree. They didn’t want to move any further or the horses would’ve scared it off. So they stood there, drawing their weapons. Your papa’s musket and Red’s crossbow.”

“It’s actually Papa’s crossbow, from the war, actually,” Suzette told him. She learned the word “actually” last month and now used it whenever she could.

“Sure, I know. Anyway, they were about fifty feet away, too far to get a good shot, so they were gonna creep up closer. Your papa took one step forward, real quiet. Then something spooked the rabbit. Maybe he sensed they were there, I don’t know. But he took off running and your papa figured they had lost it. But while he was thinking that, Red drew her crossbow in a flash. She fired one shot, straight at the rabbit, and sent it flying into a tree behind it. One shot. Fifty feet away. It was amazing. Your papa came bragging about it the same day at my papa’s shop, kept telling it to everybody who would listen. Some folks didn’t believe him, but I’ve heard plenty of other stories about Red’s hunting, so I know it’s true. She’s a better hunter than any of the men in town, but nobody wants to admit it.”

“All right, Pierre, that’s enough,” I said, my cheeks burning. “Don’t fill her head with stories.”

“Well, it’s true.”

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I sighed, not wanting to discuss the details with both of them together. “It wasn’t exactly fifty feet.”

“No?”

“No,” I said firmly. I turned away, keeping my smile to myself. By Papa’s measure from the trees where we stood, it was fifty-eight. Actually.

“Well, it’s still an impressive shot, Red.

One of many.” His eyes lit up and he turned back to Suzette. “Your papa told me about another time when they –!”

“Pierre, no more hunting stories. It’s time to settle down for the night.”

“I like Pierre’s hunting stories!” Suzette complained. “How come I can’t go hunt with you and Papa, just for one time?”

I stroked Crimson’s neck, as his eyes darted back and forth at the stable’s confining walls. Yes, how come? I wondered. Like Papa always said, we needed to be ready. Ready for anything. Pierre felt I could handle myself well enough. But what about Suzette? Who would protect her when the wolves came?

I hugged Crimson’s neck, my fingers brushing back his mane as he gradually relaxed.

“I’ll talk to Papa,” I said. “No promises.”

Suzette’s whole face brightened. “Yay! I’m gonna be like you!”

Pierre stood, looking pleased with himself.

I hoisted Suzette into my arms. “Well, I want to be like you,” I said, stepping outside.

She started one of her silly songs. “I wanna be like you, and you wanna be like me. And we 116

wanna be like Crimson. And Crimson wants to be a tree.”

I set her down to close the stall door and lock it. “I doubt Crimson wants to be a tree.”

“He has to. ‘Cuz that’s what rhymes.”

“Why don’t we let Crimson be whatever he wants.”

She ignored me and started up again, dancing in a circle. “And Crimson wants to be a tree. Or a butterfly. Or a frog. And Pierre likes to call you ‘Red’. ‘Cuz you blush when he’s around –

!”

“Shush!” I scolded her in a sharp voice.

“Well, you do. Go see your face. It’s all –.”

“‘Quiet’, I said. It’s almost time for bed.”

“No, it’s not, either. I can –!”

“Shush,” I told her, picking her up again to settle her. Suzette grumbled and sucked on her blanket, while Pierre tightened his lips, looking amused. I forced an awkward smile. “… She’s four.”

He nodded with a grin.

We heard a horse approaching. Shadowed against the setting sun, Father Vestille trotted toward our stoop on his gray Palomino. My gut went hollow.

“Hello, Helena! Pierre! Suzette!”

“Father Vestille!”