To Ezra for letting me dig holes, build fence, chase chickens, and run from rams with Irish names. To his dog, Kephart, for riding in my pickup and smiling at the madness. To Leigh Ann Henion for hanging paper targets. To Ashley for letting me hole up in the farmhouse while the story took hold and loving me while I was in a world outside our own. To our dog, Charlie, for showing me squirrels and rabbits and field grass and groundhog holes and sunsets and moonlight and everything else that makes dogs like us lives worth living. To the man at Quail Ridge Books who asked about grace, and Ray McManus, the red-dirt Jesus. And, most important, to my agent, Julia Kenny, my editor, Sara Minnich, and the entire team at Putnam, without whom my work would remain in a drawer.