by Deb Kastner
At the moment, she looked entirely too serious. He fervently wished he had never opened his big mouth in the first place. She was obviously uncomfortable with the idea, and he had the notion she was only going through with it because she felt challenged to do so.
With the soda pop cans set on the small ridge, Slade moved back to where he’d left Laney standing and set her up with safety glasses and earplugs. Even out here on the range the sound of a gun was deafening, especially to someone who wasn’t used to it. He removed the clip from his SIG Sauer and checked it, then clicked it back in place in a single smooth movement.
“How do we do this?” she asked. “Standing? Kneeling? I can’t go flat on my stomach like I’ve seen military guys do in the movies.”
Slade chuckled despite the tension he was feeling. No, she definitely couldn’t lie on her bulging belly. He had a pretty good notion Baby Beckett would object to that.
“Let’s try standing. The handgun has a bit of a kick to it, but I don’t think it will be too bad for you.”
Or would it? Was it safe for a pregnant woman to fire a gun? If he accidentally put Laney or Baby Beckett in jeopardy with this stupid idea he was going to shoot himself.
He started to hand her the gun but she shook her head and laid a hand on his forearm, her eyes wide and glassy.
“Show me.”
He nodded. Of course. Some teacher he was, ready to throw a gun into her hands without having demonstrated his technique and the fine points of shooting. He was more convinced than ever that he’d made a mistake in coming here. But there was no way to back down now.
Holding the gun steady in the V of his right hand, he set his stance, his legs braced and his hips at an angle from the target. He pulled the slide back to load a round, cupped his other hand around the bottom of the SIG and took aim down the sight. With the confidence of many hours of practice and training, he lightly swept his index finger over the trigger.
An aluminum can popped and jumped and Laney cheered and applauded.
“Remarkable.” For once she actually looked impressed, which bumped his ego up a notch or two.
“Remember, I’ve been doing this a long time. Since I was a boy.”
“In other words, you make it look easy when it’s not. I get it. I already know I’m never going to hit a can. Let’s just hope I don’t accidentally wound a poor, helpless animal out there somewhere.”
He chuckled at the dismayed expression on her face. “You don’t have much to fear there. That first shot probably scared off any nearby wildlife.”
She laughed with him, but it sounded strained. “Well, I’m thankful for that.”
“I promise you—by the time we’re finished today, you’ll have hit one of those cans. I’m teaching you, after all. Trust me and all will be well, princess.”
She arched an eyebrow and tipped her chin, not speaking and yet saying volumes.
He flashed a cheeky grin.
“I know. I know. Don’t call you princess.”
* * *
The man was exasperating. Truly and completely exasperating. Mr. Thrill-Seeker, Bull Rider and Adrenaline Junky with his princess this and princess that. And the worst part was, she didn’t really mind the silly nickname anymore.
She must be getting weak in the head. Or maybe the knees, but that was just because she’d never shot a gun before. She was fairly certain she couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, much less one of those tiny aluminum cans sparkling in the sunlight.
She’d never backed down from a challenge in her life and she wasn’t about to start now, but who knew there were so many things to remember when she was shooting? It wasn’t exactly point and click, no matter how easy Slade made it look.
Slade handed the gun to her and helped her adjust her grip. She lifted it toward the target but didn’t put her finger anywhere near the trigger. As much as Slade got on her nerves, she didn’t want to accidentally shoot him.
“Take a deep breath and relax. You should always treat a gun like it’s loaded, even if you’re sure it’s not.”
“Yes, but I know it is loaded. I watched you put the clip in.”
“Exactly, which is why you’re pointing it at the target and not at me,” he said with a wink.
She chuckled, but it was a shaky sound.
“—Now, the first thing you need to do is load a bullet in the chamber.”
She mimicked what she’d seen him do with the slide and was rewarded with a satisfying click. Her pulse was hammering and exhilaration coursed through her, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling.
“That’s it. Good. Now sight the can and when you’re ready, take a deep breath and brush your finger over the trigger. It’s sensitive, so be careful not to press on it too hard. It needs just the slightest touch to fire.”
Adrenaline was making her shake so hard that she couldn’t keep the gun from quivering no matter how hard she held it in her grasp. She took aim down the sights as best she could, then squeezed her eyes shut and swept her finger over the trigger.
The kick of the SIG sent her reeling backward, right into Slade’s arms. Slade hadn’t so much as budged when he’d fired the gun. She hadn’t seen any evidence of kickback with him, so she didn’t expect it to have quite that much force.
Slade took the gun from her, removed the clip and holstered it, all without letting her out of his arms. She’d never seen him look so concerned, or so serious. About anything.
“Are you okay?” he asked, turning her around in his arms. “Is Baby Beckett okay? Are you hurt? I’m so sorry. I never should have suggested this whole thing in the first place. I knew it was a bad idea. I should have stopped it before it started.”
“Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” She laid a hand on his chest to halt his avalanche of words. “I’m fine. Really.”
“You’re not hurt?” He repeated, not looking the least bit convinced. His gaze dropped to her rounded belly. “The baby’s okay?”
“Baby Beckett is fine. And give me a little credit, here. I’d never put my child in danger, and besides, I’m tougher than you think. I’m not going to let one small, unanticipated shove from a handgun keep me from new experiences. The truth is, I kind of enjoyed it. Now tell me what I did wrong and let’s try this again.”
“I don’t think—”
“Slade.” She didn’t let him finish. “Are you going to show me how to shoot this weapon or am I going to have to figure it out all by myself? Because one way or another, it is going to happen. One of those aluminum cans is going to discover its number is up.”
He chuckled at her joke but didn’t look convinced. He regarded her carefully for a moment, indecision rampant in his expression. Furrowed brow, pressed lips, uncertainty in his gaze.
It seemed like decades before he gave in and shrugged his acceptance of the gauntlet she’d thrown down.
“You closed your eyes.”
“What?”
“Your eyes. Just before you pulled the trigger, you squeezed your eyes shut and the barrel of the gun rose.” He unholstered the gun, replaced the clip and gave it back to her.
“Oh.” Well, that was deflating. Clearly a rookie move. She hadn’t been watching Slade’s face when he shot the gun, she’d been watching his stance. His arms. The gun.
She didn’t know why she wanted to impress Slade with her shooting skills, but she did. Which meant she had to keep practicing until she got it right. Simple as that—or maybe not so much. “Okay. What else?”
“You might be able to better absorb the kick if we adjust your stance a little bit.” He reached for her waist—or where her waist used to be—and gently turned her hips to the angle he’d used when he was shooting.
“You’d think I’d be used to absorbing kicks by now. I’m convinced Baby Beckett is a future soccer player.”
&n
bsp; He shared a rich, low laugh with her and his chest rumbled against her shoulders. She glanced back at him and grinned.
He cleared his throat. “Okay, then. Back to work. There. Now put a bullet in the chamber and straighten your arms.”
He stood directly behind her with his arms on either side of her as he made small adjustments to her shoulders and elbows. She knew she needed to be concentrating on everything he was telling her—she was trying to shoot a gun, after all—but all she could think about was the strength of his biceps, the leathery, earthy smell that was distinctly Slade. His warm breath brushed her cheek as he instructed her in the fine points of her grip.
There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t be thinking about Slade, or feeling the gentle poke of tentative emotions springing up like flowers pushing their way through the uncooperative ground of winter. No matter how many times she inwardly scolded herself for recognizing the chemistry between them, her contrary heart and mind refused to listen.
She knew the exact moment Slade felt it, too. He stiffened but didn’t immediately draw away from her. The tension was almost palpably crackling between them and she barely resisted the urge to melt further into his embrace.
Was he struggling as much as she was with what should not and could not be? She should be strong, be the one to break the embrace, or at least shoot the gun. That was bound to break the electric moment between them. But no matter how much her mind told her to withdraw, she could not find the strength of will even to pull the trigger.
Slade made a sound from deep in his throat and stepped away from her. She could see the tension rippling across his shoulders and the tautness around his jaw. Jagged pangs of guilt assaulted her. She felt as if she was betraying Brody—because she missed the sheltered feeling of Slade’s embrace the moment it was gone.
Where had this come from?
She barely even liked Slade. It didn’t make any sense that she would be attracted to him, even remotely. She must be more hormonal than she realized. It was the only explanation that made any sense, and she clung to it desperately.
Slade appeared to be every bit as uncomfortable as she felt. Color rose in his cheeks, staining right through the shadow of stubble on his face. His eyes, always an extraordinary shade of blue, glittered darkly and even more fiercely than usual.
What was he thinking?
She met his gaze for a second but his eyes were unreadable. Had she imagined what had just happened between them? Had she been the only one to feel the chemistry between them? That would be even worse than if he’d felt an attraction as well, because that left her feeling like every kind of fool.
“I think you’ve got it,” Slade said, his usually rich baritone taking on a deeper, huskier quality. “You can shoot whenever you’re ready.”
He kept a light fingerhold underneath her elbow as a silent reminder to keep her arms steady, but otherwise he physically distanced himself from her and she felt it wholeheartedly, the emptiness where once there was warmth. She hadn’t realized until this moment how completely alone she felt.
She’d experienced similar emotions in her life, the barren ache in her chest, only a few times before, as she grieved when her parents had died, and when Brody had been taken from her before his time.
But Slade was here. He was real. Strong. Steady.
Alive.
His fingertips barely brushed her elbow and yet every one of her nerve endings was hypersensitive to his touch.
And he was waiting for her to pull the trigger.
Eyes open, she reminded herself silently.
Eyes open.
Her throat was ragged and dry. That was good advice, and not just for shooting the handgun. She needed to keep her wits about her where Slade was concerned. He was a man with a trail of broken hearts paved miles behind him. She would have to be emotionally blind to entertain the notion of becoming the next in his string of conquests, even for a moment.
That would never happen. She wouldn’t let it happen. She not only had herself to consider—there was her unborn child. And that reality would affect every decision she made from here on out for the rest of her life.
She took aim, braced for impact and brushed her finger across the trigger. This time she was ready for the pop and kick of the weapon, but not the ting of the bullet hitting aluminum as one of the cans leaped and plunged.
Her breath came out in an audible gasp. Slade whooped and held his hands in the air in the symbol of victory.
“You did it! Only your second time around and you hit the target. That’s no easy feat. Way to go, princess.”
She wasn’t sure whether his enthusiasm stemmed from the fact that she’d hit the can or because he’d been the one to teach her, but she couldn’t avoid the pride that welled in her at her accomplishment. She’d hit the target. Who would have thought she had it in her?
She’d done it. Not just shot a gun, but conquered a fear.
And maybe she’d even grown to understand a little more what made men like Brody and Slade tick. She had to admit the flush of adrenaline coursing through her was rather addictive. She felt more alive than she had in months. Was this why men like Slade and Brody did what they did—rode bulls, became policemen, carried weapons?
“You want to give it another go?” Slade asked, his voice laced with enthusiasm. “I still have plenty of rounds left.”
Laney shook her head and carefully offered him the gun. She’d wanted to prove something to herself—and maybe to Slade—and she had. But now that she was coming down from the thrill of the moment, her hands were shaking again and her heart was hammering. She thought it was probably best to take a break and rest. She lowered herself onto the blanket Slade had thoughtfully brought along and spread across the grass for her.
She watched as he unholstered his belt and placed the gun in the lockbox he’d brought along with him. He dropped down beside her and stretched his legs, bracing himself on one elbow.
“I knew you could do it.” He smiled at her, his gaze warm, and she had to look away in order not to drown in the blue of his eyes.
“I didn’t,” she admitted softly.
He ran his index finger lightly across her jaw. She forced herself to breathe and not to stiffen under his touch, no matter how much it affected her. She knew better than to give a man like Slade even the smallest hint of acknowledgment, or he would push his advantage, and she wasn’t certain she was strong enough to resist it right now.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
She sputtered. “As I recall, it wasn’t all that long ago that you weren’t giving me any credit at all.”
He had the good grace to wince. “Touché.”
“But then again, I didn’t give you much of a chance, either, did I?”
“With good reason.”
She didn’t know what he meant by that statement, but she had the strangest notion they were speaking of completely different things.
“Well, that’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Now she knew he was talking about something different, but what she didn’t know was how to ask him what he meant.
“For Baby Beckett’s sake,” she clarified, hoping he’d take the lead and expand on the subject, give her a hint as to where his mind had gone.
He didn’t. He simply shifted his gaze to somewhere over her shoulder and nodded in agreement. “For the baby.”
Feeling the conversation was at an impasse, she searched her mind for another less uncomfortable topic.
“Why did you decide to become a police officer?”
“I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I wish I’d thought to pack lunch for us. I could really go for an apple right now.”
She raised a brow. He was going to avoid this subject, as well?
He correctly interpreted her expression and shrugged his free shoulder. “I’d like to claim altruism and say it was entirely for the good of the community, but that wouldn’t be the truth, or at least the whole truth.”
“Why, then?”
“Excitement. The thrill of the moment. The chance to carry a gun. Kind of a tough-guy thing to do. My two older brothers run the ranch my folks passed down to us, so I’m really not needed there. Maybe it would have been different if I’d been like Brody—”
His sentence slammed to a halt, but she didn’t interrupt as he gathered his thoughts.
“An only child, that is,” he finally continued, his voice gravelly and full of pain. His brow furrowed. “Grant and Carol both assumed he’d eventually tone down his wild ways and settle on the ranch. And he probably would have, if it hadn’t been for me.”
She reached for his hand before she had the chance to think better of it. “His legacy will be honored. I promise you that.”
“I know.”
His gaze met hers. It was the first time since she’d met him that he had affirmed her commitment to doing what was best for Baby Beckett, the first time he’d really acknowledged the reality of her relationship with Brody at all.
“He’d be proud of you, you know.” Slade absently linked his fingers with hers. “He would have waved his hat in the air and bragged long and loud about how he’d married the prettiest, bravest woman in all the world. And one who knew how to shoot a gun.” His eyes were still sad but one side of his mouth kicked up.
Despite the grief that rose to the surface as they spoke of Brody, she smiled gently. The way Slade had described the scene—that was all Brody. Slade had known and loved his friend in a way she’d never been able to. She’d never been Brody’s friend. Had never known him that deeply. She’d never been much of anything to him.
“Did Brody not want to become a rancher?” she asked, realizing that he must have had similar motives for becoming a cop and not settling down at home.