Dean drove the small four-wheeled vehicle down a gravel path, leading Micah and Emile in the direction of the horse range.
The ride was short, the air crisp and fresh, carrying the scent of pine and hay. Hills stretched on both sides, filled with tall trees and patches of wildflowers. Wooden fences marked off wide, grassy fields, and in the distance, horses grazed lazily under the sun.
Micah sat in the front, legs casually crossed, one arm resting on the edge of the cart. His other hand tapped a steady rhythm on his thigh.
His mood was suspiciously good, too good, especially after how he had flatly denied Clyde's request to join them.
Clyde had tried, of course. A single sentence, low and indifferent, asking if he could come along. But Micah had smiled, leaned casually into Dean's side, and said with a sweet voice. "I think I will enjoy it better with this sweet brother and Emile. You know, just young folks."
