Cady. There was a snapshot of her as a preteen with her arm around a German shepherd with darker markings than Silver’s. Another shot showed Cady on horseback, her dark hair flying in the wind behind her. But the picture that drew my gaze and held it was of three teenagers. Cady stood between two boys. One was tall and blond and didn’t look happy to be having his picture taken. The other boy’s lips were parted in what Jude would have called a devil-may-care grin. Mr. Devil-May-Care had thick honey-brown hair, lighter than Cady’s, but darker than the other boy’s. There was something about him that made it very hard to look away.

“Doesn’t he look like trouble?” Free didn’t bother to announce her presence before taking the picture from my hand. The fact that I hadn’t heard her come in made me wonder how long I’d been staring at the picture. “The good kind,” Free clarified.

“The good kind of trouble?” I repeated.

“My specialty.” Free took in the rest of the photo. “And there’s our overly large friend from the campsite,” she continued. “Maybe Jude was right about the plot thickening.”

I’d been so focused on Cady and the grinning boy that I hadn’t paid much attention to the one who’d been glaring at the camera. Mac. As I stared at the three teenagers, I thought of the exchange Jude and I had overheard between Cady and Bales.

I loved that boy, same as you did, Cadence, Bales had told her. And Cady had snapped back that it was her life and her choice, and that Ash was worth it to her.

“Ash,” I said, taking the picture back from Free and letting my finger hover over The Good Kind of Trouble.

“You got something you want to share with the class there, K?”

I looked up from the photo. “I think the smiling boy might be Ash. Cady and Bales argued about him.” I paused, remembering the way Jude had gone quiet the moment we’d heard Cady say the name. “Cady said she loved him.”

“Think he’s Jude’s father?” Free had an almost religious objection to beating around the bush. She stared at the picture for several seconds. “I could see that.” She leaned back at the dresser. “Cady’s always been good at loving trouble.”

I wasn’t sure if Free was referring to herself or to me.

“How was town?” I asked. I tucked the photo back into the mirror’s frame. It felt important somehow, to leave this room exactly as I’d found it.

“Town was barely a town,” Free replied. “Not much to see, but I think I left an impression.” Coming from Free, that was somewhat concerning. “In related news: I’m adding a couple of new lines to the Creed.” She glanced over at my suitcase. “Want me to unpack for you?”