With just one move, Owen could tell the man in the baseball cap had definitely been trained—his skills were sharp, efficient, and not something an average person could handle.
Sure enough, the next second, when the long-haired thug charged in after seeing his partner taken down, the man in the baseball cap easily blocked the first attack, followed up with a swift elbow to the face, and then—taking advantage of the thug's pain—grabbed his head and slammed it into a car window with a clean, circular motion.
Owen couldn't help but feel a touch of sympathy for the two punks. They really had a death wish, picking a fight without checking if they could actually handle their target.
Glass shattered, flying in all directions. Behind them, the short-haired man tried to mount a sneak attack, only to get kicked to the ground. Then the baseball cap guy yanked open the car door and slammed it shut on him—twice—leaving the man dazed and seeing stars. The long-haired thug tried to stand again, but before he could act, he was swept off his feet and then kicked square in the face. He didn't move again.
The baseball cap guy moved with incredible speed, each action precise and purposeful. In the span of just a few breaths, he had taken down both men with clean, efficient strikes.
The two punks were still alive but completely incapacitated, groaning on the ground. The short-haired one managed to drag himself up just enough to lean against the pickup.
Adjusting his cap, the man took a few steps back and forth, visibly annoyed. After a moment, he crouched down in front of the short-haired man and asked, "Who sent you?"
Owen and McCall, watching from their car, exchanged looks. Until that moment, Owen had assumed this was just another case of local punks hassling an out-of-towner. But the man's question suggested something deeper.
"No one…" the short-haired man gritted out. One eye was swollen shut, and he looked visibly shaken.
The man in the cap spat on the ground, clearly not buying it, but he didn't press the issue further. Instead, he turned to the station attendant and asked, "Are they locals?"
"Yes… yes, they are," the man answered honestly.
The stranger glanced back at the two men on the ground, then at his daughter sitting quietly in the passenger seat. In the end, he chose to leave without further incident. Only after he drove off did the two thugs stagger to their feet and climb into their own car—though not without shooting an angry glare toward Owen and his family first.
With both parties gone, everyone relaxed. At least it was clear now that none of this had anything to do with them. McCall started the engine and pulled up to the pump. While refueling, he asked the still-shaken Nick, "Who were those guys?"
Nick swallowed nervously. "Never seen the guy in the baseball cap before. But those two? That was Luke and Ace—well-known local troublemakers."
So, it had just been two town bullies picking on the wrong person—though that person clearly wasn't someone to mess with. The situation remained a minor incident, and after refueling, the group made their way home.
Revell had once been a large farming community, and most homes still had plots of land, though many had stopped farming in recent years in favor of other work.
The car pulled up to a house that matched the photo Owen's mother had sent him. He hopped out and took in the sight.
"Your room's upstairs, next to Amanda's," his mother said, appearing beside him.
"Got it," Owen replied, following Amanda into the house.
He toured the place: the living room, kitchen, hallway, upstairs bedrooms, attic, the sun chairs and tea set on the porch. There were lots of plants throughout, giving the house a garden-like feel. It wasn't large or new, clearly bought from a previous owner, but it was warm and welcoming. A book sat on the sun chair outside—something McCall was reading. That old CIA man loved to read.
"How do you like it?" his mother asked from the kitchen window.
"It's great," Owen replied, genuinely impressed. His room was more symbolic than practical—he wouldn't be back often—but as long as they were happy, that was all that mattered.
A sudden neigh broke the peace. Amanda emerged from the side stable, leading two horses. Owen's eyes lit up in surprise as he looked at his mother and McCall, who both grinned.
"Unbelievable—you guys got horses?" he said, walking over and gently petting one.
"Your mother loves them, so we got some. We ride every morning," McCall explained.
Owen could see how happy his mother was—this peaceful life clearly suited them.
"Wanna try?" Amanda challenged.
"Of course. But there's no way you're better than me—I taught you to ride," Owen retorted.
"Not so sure about that anymore," she teased.
The two of them mounted up. With a crack of the reins, the horses neighed and charged forward.
They galloped all around the property, riding for nearly half an hour before returning around sunset. On the way back, they slowed to a casual trot, chatting as they rode. The two horses, one male and one female, nuzzled each other affectionately. Neither Amanda nor Owen rushed them—they let them take their time.
Back in front of the house, Owen jumped off and stroked the horse's head. He hadn't ridden in a long time, and this kind of relaxation was hard to come by in the city.
Amanda dismounted too, just as the setting sun cast long shadows across the yard. Owen noticed the shifting light on the ground—and saw two figures approaching. It was the man in the baseball cap and his daughter.
Owen turned to greet them. The man spoke first. "Hello. We're new to the neighborhood—just moved in over there."
Hearing voices, his mother and McCall came out from the kitchen.
"Hello! We're new here, too," she said politely.
"Ma'am, my dad and I baked some cookies for you. Hope you like them!" the little girl said, handing over a tray. In the U.S., it was customary to bring baked goods to welcome new neighbors—but this time, the newcomers had brought the cookies first.
"Oh, thank you! Let me try one… Mmm, delicious. You're quite the baker," his mother said warmly.
"My name's Brock, and this is my daughter, Mandy," the man introduced.
"This is my husband, McCall. You can call me Susan. And these are my son and daughter, Steve and Amanda. It's nice to meet you," she replied.
"Nice to meet you all," Brock nodded. "Well, we've got a few more stops to make—more neighbors to greet. See you around."
"Of course. Mandy, goodbye!" Susan waved.
"Goodbye, Ms. Susan! Your horses are beautiful," Mandy said.
"Thank you, sweetie. You're welcome to visit anytime. Amanda can take you riding."
"Really?" Mandy asked excitedly.
"Of course—anytime," Susan confirmed.
"Can I, Dad?" Mandy asked.
"Of course you can. Just don't cause any trouble," Brock replied.
"I won't! I promise!" the girl cheered.
As Brock and Mandy walked off, the family stood watching them, all a little surprised. The man they'd seen in a street brawl just hours ago had turned out to be their new neighbor. Small world, indeed.
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