Hope
The morning air hums with tension, even if everyone's pretending it doesn’t. I tighten the strap on my boots and glance over at Papa. He’s already laughing at something Ben just said, the sound rumbling through his chest like it always does when he’s trying to seem relaxed.
Tessa leans against the tailgate of the truck, arms crossed, watching Ben with that trying-not-to-smile look she wears when he gets too confident.
“I’m telling you,” Ben says, puffing his chest, “I saw tracks the size of dinner plates last time I scouted out there for a hunt. Today’s the day, Tess. That buck’s mine. You’re gonna see.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she replies, pretending not to care. But the slight pink dusting her cheeks gives her away.
The thought of having an offering publicly presented
