Finding Stefanie Read Online Free

their doors open deserved a lesson on safety. He went inside and looked around.
    The owner had milk. And bread and cheese, a jar of mayonnaise, and a box of cereal. All this he scooped into a plastic bag he found on the counter. Shadows pushed into the ancient trailer, over the fraying green sofa, the faux plants, the tattered La-Z-Boy in the corner.
    Memory rushed at him, and for a second he was back at Meadow Park, watching television while his mother propped Haley on one hip and fried hot dogs on the stove. Macey was playing with her Barbie dolls on the kitchen table. In Gideon’s memory, his mother turned to him and smiled, and something caught in his chest, a vise so tight he couldn’t breathe.
    Hurry.
    He swept the memory away and went to the bedroom, ripping the blankets off the bed. Grabbing two pillows, he shoved everything under his arm.
    He was in the car again in under five minutes, cramming everything into the backseat on top of Haley. Then he climbed in and pulled away, easy, as if his heart weren’t churning in his chest.
    Macey’s face had gone hard. She turned away from him, staring out the window.
    Gideon said nothing and kept driving, keeping an eye on the gas gauge. The town ended in less than thirty seconds, just past the trailer park, and he followed the road, winding back into the hills, the valleys, the cover he needed to build a new life for them.
    He passed miles of barbed wire fencing and dirt driveways that led to tiny box homes with feeble light showing from the windows. He guessed the black humps against the darkening horizon had to be cows or maybe bulls. Here and there the tattered outline of trees edged a hill, boulders lumping in washes.
    He would have missed the house entirely if it hadn’t been for Macey, who spotted the For Sale sign tangled in the barbed wire fence. She saw it flash against the headlights and said simply, “Hey.”
    For one short summer he and Macey had made a game of living in vacant for-sale houses. It had been safer than roosting on the streets. Now an old, feeble hope stirred inside him. He turned in to the drive and threaded his way across the land, happening upon the dark compound of a ranch. His headlights skimmed open cattle pens, a vacant barn. The growth of weeds around the front steps evidenced that the house hadn’t been lived in for months.
    Gideon pulled up and put the car in park but kept it running. “Stay here.”
    Macey sat up, and for the first time he saw fear flash across her face. She nodded.
    He got out, kept the car door open, and sneaked toward the house. The front step gave a predictable groan as he mounted it, and he stopped, his pulse rushing in his ears.
    Nothing gave reply but the wind, needling through his sweatshirt and threadbare jeans.
    He tried the door. The handle didn’t turn. But whoever owned the house had the same blind faith as the inhabitants in town, and the nearest window opened with the smallest effort. He climbed inside.
    Gideon landed in a kitchen, barren except for a sink and empty counters, dark and smelling of cold, dust, and neglect. His tennis shoes scuffed on the floor as he went through the small house. An aged shag rug ran into the living room and back to three tiny bedrooms. Foolishly he tried the light, but of course, the electricity had been turned off.
    Still, it would do. More than do.
    He unlocked the front door and returned to the car. “We’ll stay here,” he said.
    “For how long?” Macey asked, turning to look at Haley.
    He followed her gaze, seeing the same question in Haley’s blue eyes. How many different beds had his seven-year-old sister slept in during the three years he’d been in jail?
    “I don’t know. Let’s just get out and get warm.” He grabbed his loot from the trailer and led the way into the house. “Make Haley a bed,” he said to Macey, thrusting the blankets at her. He glanced at the fireplace. “I’m going to see what I can do to get us warm.”
    Macey went into the