Maybe that woman from the other day was his wife. That was a child’s room. I walked around the stairs and peaked inside. No signs of life. The room was tidy, and I could tell it belonged to a boy. A little boy. He was definitely under the age of twelve. His twin bed was pushed up against the wall, the window across from it. I took a closer look at the toys in the bins—bulls and cowboys. I smiled at the thought of Mr. Langston’s little boy following in his footsteps. The little cowboy…
