“I was going to offer to teach you to shoot it,” Brady said, “but Kade seems like an able instructor.”
“We all learned to shoot when I was a kid.” He looked at Ginny. “I’ll be happy to teach you.”
“Okay.” She set the gun on the coffee table. “I really appreciate this. I’ll get it back to you when…” But she faltered and shrugged. “Eventually. Or maybe I’ll just buy myself one.”
“We have plenty.” Rae cut her gaze to her husband, an affectionate smile on her face. “Before we were married, Brady gathered quite a collection. And now that we have kids, they’re all locked away in a safe.” She focused on Brady. “Speaking of the kids…”
“Right.” He stood. “We left them with my folks for date night. We’d better get home before my dad breaks out the candy and gets them on a sugar high.”
After they traded thanks-for-comings and nice-to-meet-yous at the door and Rae and Brady left, Kade and Ginny returned to their meals.
She was about to dig into her salad once again when he said, “So, I take it from the locks and the security system and the gun that you decided not to take your sister’s advice.”
She set her fork down and glanced at the pistol, which she’d rested on the table beside her. “This is my home, my life. I’m going to fight for it.”
Chapter Seven
Ginny wasn’t looking forward to this.
She climbed into Kade’s warm pickup, his other vehicle, Sunday afternoon. While he’d finished installing the alarm Saturday night, he’d somehow gotten her to promise to join him for church on Sunday.
He didn’t attend the same church as Sam and Rae and the rest of their crew. Ginny had liked theirs, the pretty old building in the center of town. Kade’s church was very different. Newer building, younger people, louder music. At first, she’d found it strange, a little uncomfortable the way people lifted their hands during the songs, all the talk of the Holy Spirit. The sermon was interesting, though. The pastor, a trim forty-something man wearing jeans and an untucked shirt, had talked about the difference between the plans people make for themselves and God’s plans for them.
That God would have a plan for her life was such a strange idea. Did He really care how she spent her time or money? Had He really designed work for her to do, as the pastor had said, even before her birth? She couldn’t imagine. God always seemed so far away, like a white-haired grandfather who found his grandkids amusing when they were visiting but forgot about them when they were out of sight.
Maybe her perception of God had been way off. Or maybe the people at Kade’s church—and Sam and Rae’s for that matter—were crazy.
She wasn’t prepared to rule out either scenario.
After church, Kade brought her back home to change into something she wouldn’t mind getting dirty. He’d waited in his pickup, which she hadn’t even known he’d owned until this morning when he’d driven her to church in it. It was an older model two-seater with a long truck bed. Clean on the inside, beat-up on the outside.
She settled on the bench seat. “I’m not ready for this.”
“Ready or not, you need to do it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Kade turned his pickup down a dirt track that was so narrow and rarely traveled, she wouldn’t call it a road. He drove about a hundred yards between trees that were close enough together that she kept waiting for their branches to smack into the truck. Somehow, Kade avoided them all. The path angled upward, and the trees tapered off and deposited them in an open space maybe twenty-five yards across. He stopped at the crest of the hill.
She could feel him looking at her, but she couldn’t force her gaze away from the view.
Trees towered around them. On the right was a huge grass-covered mound. In front of her, the landscape dotted with leafless trees angled down in a rocky slope to the glimmering surface of Clearwater Lake.
Houses surrounded the lake at almost every spot except right below them.
“This is yours?” She glanced long enough to see the pride in his features.
“You see that dock with the little boat?” He pointed to the left, the north edge of the lake, and she followed his finger to the dock where a quaint blue fishing boat floated on the calm water. “From about twenty feet on this side of that to”—he pointed toward the right end of the lake, the southern edge—“to that little inlet right there.”
“How long is it?”
“About a mile and a half on the water.”
She whistled. “I knew you owned lakefront property, but I had no idea…”
“The only undeveloped land on Clearwater Lake is mine.”
“Wow.”
He shrugged. “It’s not like I earned it. My parents gave it to me.”
“It’s beautiful.”
His features lit as if a light shone on them. “I’ve been incredibly blessed.”
“I’m glad you realize it. For a rich kid, you don’t seem too spoiled.”
His jaw dropped in mock offense. “Are you saying I’m a little spoiled?”
“Maybe more than a little”—she cut her gaze around the land that had been a gift—“but I like you anyway.”
His gaze met hers and held a long moment. “It’s mutual.”
Oh. When he looked at her like that, she could hardly think. She should look away, think of something to say.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, we’re here to shoot.”
That broke the connection. She groaned. “I’m not sure I should be around a loaded gun. I’m a bit flighty. Once a boyfriend took me to drive golf balls.”
Kade’s eyes narrowed on the word boyfriend.
Ginny continued. “He was explaining what to do and had just said something along the lines of, ‘Always check behind you…’ But it was too late. The words didn’t register in time. I caught him on the shoulder with my backswing.”
“Was he terribly injured?” Kade’s eyes lit up as if he found the thought amusing.
Ginny playfully punched him in the shoulder. “It definitely left a mark.” And then she remembered why she’d told the story. “Seriously, what if I accidentally—?”
“You’re not going to shoot me or yourself. I promise.”
She wasn’t so sure about that. Her brain didn’t always connect with her actions.
Five minutes later, Kade had set a board across two sawhorses in front of the grass-covered mound. He fetched a grocery bag full of empty cans from the truck. “Good thing the recycling truck hadn’t come yet. I have plenty of targets.” He set nine cans on the board. “Why don’t you grab the gun and ammo from the truck?”
She’d left them in a canvas bag, and she was happy for them to stay there. “I’d really rather not.”
He shrugged. “I’ll get them, then.”
“I mean, I’m not sure I want to do this.”
Over his shoulder, he called, “I knew what you meant.”
A moment later, he set the canvas bag on the tailgate and motioned her over.
“This is pretty simple.” He held the magazine in one hand and a bunch of bullets in the other. “You just slide them in like so.” He pressed the bullets into the magazine. “You want to try?”
She shook her head, and he sighed.
“Fine. You can load the next round.” He took her elbow—maybe he hadn’t trusted she’d go with him—and stopped about four yards from the cans. He handed her ear plugs, which she put in her ears while he did the same.
She worried she wouldn’t be able to hear him, but when he spoke, his voice was audible, if muffled.
“Remember how I told you to hold it?” he asked.
She tried to put her hands the way he’d shown her the day before. When she didn’t quite get it right, he helped, though this time, he didn’t wrap his arms around her from behind. She wished he would. Then maybe she could have distracted him enough to make him forget the whole teach-Ginny-to-shoot craziness.
As if she’d be bold enough to initiate a first kiss. No chance. And
he seemed like a man with a mission today.
When he was happy with the placement of her hands, he demonstrated how she should stand. Left foot slightly forward, both knees bent a little. “A natural athletic stance,” he said.
“‘Natural’ and ‘athletic’ are two words nobody’s ever applied to me.”
He chuckled while she stood the way he’d told her to.
“Good.” He gave her an approving nod. “I don’t want you to move your trigger finger. Keep it against the shaft of the gun and away from the trigger.”
She was happy to comply.
“Now, you’re going to lift the gun to eye level and aim at the can.”
“Which one?”
“Whichever you want. You’ll use these sights. You put that one”—he pointed to the one on the far end of the gun—“in the center of these two.” He pointed to the ones nearer her eyes. “Focus on the far sight. The closer ones and the target will be blurry, but that’s okay. Just keep your eye on that far sight and aim at a can.”
She did what he asked. She got the can in her sights and kept in there. “Now what?”
“Move your finger to the trigger.”
Okay. So far, so good.
“As slowly as you possibly can, like super-slo-mo, press that trigger.”
“Just like that.”
“So slowly you think it’ll never fire.”
She kept the can in her sights and did what Kade asked, slowly, slowly pressing the trigger. Her heart rate increased. Was this going to hurt? How loud would it be? Did it always take this long? It never took this long in movies. Maybe she was doing it—
The boom had her gasping.
Four yards away, the can flew off into the grass.
She’d expected a painful kick, but it hadn’t hurt. She stared at the can on the ground, shocked. She’d done it? On her first try? A wide smile crossed her lips, and she tried—unsuccessfully, she was sure—to temper it. She turned to Kade. “Did I hit it?”
“It saw you aiming and jumped to protect itself.” Kade’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “It’s all in the excellent instruction.”
She giggled. “Probably.”
“I’m kidding. That was amazing.”
“I’m twelve feet from it. I bet anybody can do that.”
He shook his head. “Do it again.”
She turned to the targets, chose a Dr. Pepper can, and aimed. Again, so slowly she thought it would never happen, she squeezed the trigger. And again, the boom surprised her. This time, she didn’t gasp.
The can flew off the board.
The shell hit her hand and fell to the ground.
“I did it.”
“Again.”
She hit the third, then the fourth. At his prompting, she hit all nine.
He took the gun from her hands and set it on the canvas bag on the ground. “You’re a natural.”
“Good instruction.”
“It’s all about using the sights.”
“I felt like my hands were shaking and moving constantly.”
“Sure. Your body is constantly moving, pumping blood, breathing. You can’t be perfectly steady. But you don’t have to be. This time, I don’t want you to aim at the can. I want you to aim at a certain spot on the can.”
“This time?” She rubbed the skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
He looked at where she was hurting. “That’s normal. You’ll get used to it.”
As much fun as it had been, she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it so much she got used to it.
Kade nodded toward the pistol. “Leave that there while I arrange more targets.”
“We’ve had enough for today.”
He ignored her and set nine more cans—all Coke—on the board. This time, he ensured the words were facing her. “I want you to aim at the C.”
“There’s no way.”
“It doesn’t matter if you hit it exactly. It’s just what I want you to aim at. Grab the gun and ammo and let’s go back to the truck.”
Wow, he had a pushy side. “I really would rather—”
“Just do it, please.”
She huffed, grabbed the gun and the canvas bag, and walked to the pickup. She set them beside the box of ammo. “I think that’s enough for today.”
“Load the magazine like I showed you.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
Second time in two days she’d used that line.
His lips twitched, but he didn’t allow the smile to come through. Instead, he turned to her and took her hands. “There was a man in your house yesterday, Ginny. A man. In your house. If I hadn’t been there, he’d have been in your house alone with you.”
“I know, but…”
He squeezed her hands. “But what?”
“Shooting cans is one thing. I don’t think I could shoot a person.”
“If he was coming after you? If you thought he might hurt you?”
She swallowed hard. “I don’t think so.”
His lips closed in a tight line. “I’m going to assume that your self-protection instinct will kick in.” He let go of her hands. “Go ahead and load the magazine.”
She did what he asked, then fired off more rounds from a little farther away.
She hit the target every time.
When the last can fell, she aimed at the ground and turned to Kade.
Kade’s eyebrows rose. “You’re a closet secret agent, aren’t you?”
“You figured me out.”
“You want to go again?”
By now, her hand was really hurting. “Let’s call it good for now.”
“We’ll come back and try again soon.”
He left the board and sawhorses and walked her to the passenger seat. After she’d slipped in, he set the canvas bag with the gun and ammo on the floor at her feet. Then he met her gaze. “I appreciate that, even though you didn’t want to practice today, you did your best and tried to learn. I’m impressed.”
She shrugged. “As long as I have to do it, I might as well do it well.”
He stayed there another moment, and his gaze flicked to her lips.
Her whole body paused as she waited for him to close the distance between them. But he didn’t.
He stepped back and closed the door.
The weekend sunshine had given way to rain by Monday. Ginny hated rain. It always conjured images best forgotten, images that had been burned into her brain by Katrina when she was only a child.
But today, she wouldn’t let the rain get her down. Because, though in many ways her weekend had been hard, in other ways, it had been amazing.
Kade had been amazing.
His kindness made it impossible for her to feel depressed, despite the rainfall outside.
After target practice, they’d gone to lunch, then spent the rest of the afternoon at her house working on his presentation to the zoning board. The money hadn’t come in yet, but he was hopeful Sokolov would come through. Kade was far more organized than most people she’d worked with at this stage, with his budget planned to the penny, the contractors lined up, the schedule—including accounting for rainy days like this one—in place.
They’d expanded the list of ways the housing development and country club would benefit the community. Ginny had put together a PowerPoint presentation, and Kade had sent the proposal to the printer. He was all set for the meeting the next day.
Today wasn’t about Kade’s project, though. Today was about Ginny’s.
She had to figure out who had broken into her house and maybe even find a way to get in touch with them, whoever they were. Because her mother had given her that duffel bag full of cash. She hadn’t told Ginny what she was supposed to do with it, and she assumed she wasn’t supposed to give it to strangers who came calling. But Ginny didn’t owe her mother anything, not after the way she’d treated her, not after their conversation on Saturday.
Ginny would ha
nd that duffel bag over to whoever wanted it if doing so would mean she could keep her life in Nutfield.
It has crossed her mind to give it to Kade. It could solve his problems, and, if the project was as successful he thought it would be, she’d make the investment back. But if people were after her, the money was her only leverage. And anyway, Kade wouldn’t want it, not if he knew its origin. She had no idea what the money represented. She did know that the people after her were criminals.
Would they use the money for harm? Was it wrong for her to give it to them? Did it belong to them, and had Ginny’s mother stolen it?
She had no idea.
Maybe the bag held a clue. She was at the bank when they unlocked the doors that morning. Five minutes later, the bank manager left her in the room with her safe deposit box on the table and the door closed.
Ginny opened the bag. Even though she’d known what it contained, the sight of all those bundles of bills shook her. Where had it come from?
To whom did it belong?
She took each bundle out. There were some bundles of hundreds, but most were twenties. She’d never counted it before, though it wasn’t hard to figure it out. Each bundle should hold a hundred bills. There were eight bundles of hundreds, so eighty thousand dollars in hundreds. There were twenty-four bundles of twenties—forty-eight thousand dollars. She flipped through each one looking for… something. A name, a phone number, an email address. Nothing.
She studied the bands surrounding the bills, again looking for a clue as to the money’s origin. But the bands had nothing written on them.
Ginny glanced at the door, praying it would stay closed. It would, she knew. She had privacy here, but she couldn’t help the apprehension.
She searched the bag itself. There were no pockets, no secret compartments. She didn’t know exactly what she’d hoped to find. Maybe a note that read If found, please call…
No luck.
She placed all the money back in the duffel, shoved it into the box, and returned the box to its proper space.
That had been no help at all.
Ginny usually walked to the real estate office to work, but when she left the bank, she went back home to work. When her appointments were settled and paperwork managed, she turned her attention to her parents’ businesses.
Legacy Rejected Page 9