Renting a motorcycle took forever, but there was no way he could stand being trapped in a car. As he sped toward Redemption Ranch, the brisk fall air whipped over his skin, and the afternoon sun began its descent. The long ride took the edge off, but as he neared the entrance to the ranch, anger and hurt threaded their way through him again, tightening like a python in his chest. He focused on the road as he drove through the main gate, passing under the wooden beam with an iron RR across the top—the first R was backward. He passed pastures and corrals, the familiar scent of horses and the crisp air of home stirring a wealth of emotions.

Pushing them all away, he tried to figure out where Tiny might be on a Saturday afternoon. The property had several houses, barns, other outbuildings, and indoor and outdoor riding arenas. He headed for the main house, which served as the offices for traditional therapeutic services and also was the residence for several staff members. As he cruised toward the house he saw a paintball battle going on in the field, people darting behind sandbag bunkers and stone walls, around barrels, upright tires pinned to the ground, and other obstacles and barriers.

Diesel drove toward the field to look for Tiny, who had been known to drag anyone who was having a hard time out there to work off some steam. As he parked, he saw Birdie at the far edge of the field. Her blue mask was pushed up and she was taking a selfie with her back to the field. She wore full camo, splattered with orange, red, and blue paint, and carried a black-and-blue rifle in her free hand. Two people wearing red masks and carrying red-and-black guns were sneaking up behind her as she lifted her chin in a snarky pose for the selfie. They nailed her with red paintballs and howled with laughter.

Birdie shoved her phone in her pocket and spun around, hollering, “Can’t you see I’m out?”

The others pushed their red masks up, revealing Cowboy’s and Sasha’s amused faces. They hadn’t spotted Diesel, and it was just as well. He was in no mood for chitchat or Birdie’s and Sasha’s high-energy hugs. They all knew he preferred not to be touched, but like Malia, they refused to believe anyone didn’t need hugs.

“You’re still inside the field.” Cowboy pointed the tip of his gun at her foot, which was still in bounds. He and Sasha high-fived.

Birdie lifted her gun and shot them, then took off running as she pulled down her mask. Sasha ran after her. Cowboy caught sight of Diesel climbing off his bike and headed over. He was the largest of the Whiskey men, thick and hard bodied from years of working the ranch. He wore his fair hair short and his beard neatly trimmed.