“Hey Gavin, grab your Dad’s rifle” shouted Riley as he barged his way into the barn and slammed his backpack on the floor raising a small cloud of chaff and dust that rose in the shaft of light beaming through the open barn door. “I’ve got something for target practice.” Gavin, rose from a tattered old lounge chair, tapped on his smartphone and put it in the pocket of his jeans. Gavin pushed his glasses up and obediently turned and started heading toward the loft where they hid the key for the gun cupboard. He stopped in his tracks, and his shoulders stiffened.
Copy and paste this URL into your WordPress site to embed
Copy and paste this code into your site to embed