by Aimée Thurlo
“Ten-power binoculars,” Ambrose said, bringing them out of his pocket. “I can see the bullet holes from here—if you manage to punch the paper, that is.”
“Just stand back and watch the target,” Jo said, sitting down and taking her position at the bench rest as the range officer announced the range was ‘hot.’
They stepped back to the observer’s position and Ambrose watched as she levered a round into the chamber of the Winchester Model 1894, took careful aim and squeezed off a round. Carefully feeding in another round, she took a second shot, then set the rifle down on the wooden bench and looked at Ambrose. “Well?”
Ambrose lowered the binoculars. “One’s dead center, in the ten. Can’t find where the other round hit.”
“Look again,” Jo said calmly.
“There’s one hole, darling.”
“Keep looking.”
Ambrose lifted the binoculars to his eyes again, then whistled low. “Twins. They’re next to each other, almost touching. I thought it was just one big hole.”
“Even when shooting offhand, I generally hit what I aim for,” Jo said quietly, “and I sight in this rifle once a year. Before my dad took ill, we went deer hunting every season. Never came home empty-handed, either.”
“I didn’t know you liked to go hunting,” Ambrose said. “Maybe you and I—”
She held up a hand. “That’s history now. All things considered, I prefer to bring home my meat nicely wrapped in butcher paper.”
Ambrose laughed. “I understand. For the past few years, except for paper targets, all I’ve been shooting are sheet-metal critters, where you have to tip them over to score points.” He glanced at Leigh Ann. “Now that we’ve established Jo doesn’t need the practice, what do you say we move over to the handgun range?”
“That’s what I’m here for,” Leigh Ann said, suddenly more conscious of the weight of the revolver and the box of bullets in her purse.
They walked away from the rifle range and a few minutes later arrived at their new stations in the section reserved for pistols.
Ambrose was carrying a hard plastic case that contained his shooting paraphernalia and he sat it down on his bench, which was adjacent to Leigh Ann’s. “There are target stands set up at twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, and a hundred yards. I’ve got all kinds of range-approved targets here to choose from, everything from bull’s-eyes to paper practice silhouettes of chickens, pigs, turkeys, and rams. What do you want to shoot at, Leigh Ann?”
She hesitated, placing her purse on her shooting bench and bringing out the new ammo.
“How about if we work our way up to the harder targets? We begin at twenty-five yards with the chicken silhouettes, then switch to fifty with the pigs?” He smiled. “And we can compete, if you want.”
She nodded. “I’m game. What do you have in mind?”
“We get five shots at each distance, starting with the chickens, and score one point each time we’re in the black. We’ll also use the same weapon—your revolver—since it wouldn’t be fair for me to use my Colt 1911 competition .45,” he said. “The one who accumulates the most points win.”
“Wait a sec. It’s not a fair match. You’ve won championships—” Jo began.
“No, it’s okay,” Leigh Ann said. “Let’s see how it goes. At least we’ll be using the same pistol and ammunition. If I win, you help me clean out my attic, Ambrose. Deal?”
“Yeah, you’ve got it. And if I win?”
“I’ll wash and wax your truck two Sundays in a row.”
“Done,” Ambrose said, bringing out the targets. They were the only shooters now, so a cease-fire was already in effect.
Melvin moved closer to her as Ambrose went downrange to set up the targets. “You walked right into that,” he said. “Last year Ambrose won the state championship in metallic silhouette competition, beating an ATF agent in a shoot-off.”
“I used to be pretty good, too.…”
A few minutes later, once the range was hot, Leigh Ann began to load the .38. A familiar voice greeted her. She turned her head and saw Wayne Hurley standing on the access path, Pierre Boone beside him.
“I didn’t know you were into handgun shooting, Leigh Ann,” Wayne said, greeting her with a smile.
“I’m just here to see if I still remember…”
Pierre Boone spoke up next. “Fancy meeting you here!”
She shrugged, uneasy now. The good news, at least, was that she was the one who was armed. All they were carrying were shopping bags with the range logo on them. The bad news was that it seemed a little coincidental. Had Wayne and Pierre followed them here?
“Mind if we watch for a few minutes?” Wayne asked.
“Go right ahead,” she replied. It would let them know she was ready and able to defend herself if necessary. Hopefully everything she’d learned way back as a member of the junior NRA would come flooding back to her.
Melvin and Jo were standing farther down the path, remaining behind the firing line at the designated distance for observers. Ambrose, meanwhile, ignored the newcomers and opened up the box with his supplies.
They were tied after the first round and Ambrose gave Leigh Ann a more respectful look. “You’re a natural. Nine out of ten for both of us. So what do you say we complicate things a little more and up the difficulty factor?”
She nodded and glanced back at the box. “How about pistol competition, fifty-yard slow fire? High score wins.”
“Uh-oh, I think I’ve been hustled,” Ambrose said.
“Maybe,” she said, smiling. There was already a cease-fire, so he picked up two targets and used a staple gun to fasten them in place.
Since she’d chosen the range and targets, Ambrose went first, firing double action, which was more difficult because without cocking the hammer first, the trigger pull was heavier.
Equipped with his binoculars, she announced that he’d grouped all six shots in the center of the black circle in an area roughly the size of a fist.
“Think you can top that?” he baited her with a grin.
“Don’t know,” Leigh Ann said honestly, setting down the binoculars.
She fired carefully, cocking back the hammer then firing single action, which gave her more of a light, hair-trigger pull. It was slow, noncombat mode, but she maintained accuracy.
After the cease-fire, Ambrose retrieved the targets, brought them over into the shade, and Jo tallied up the points. “So far you two are still tied.”
“Really?” Leigh Ann said, surprised. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the guarded look Pierre and Wayne exchanged.
“Okay, let’s go again, but we’ll finish up with a different kind of target,” Ambrose said, bringing out police silhouettes.
“Ugh,” Leigh Ann said.
“Problem?” Ambrose said.
“Don’t you have any more of the competition targets? Black dots are fine, but I hate the people-shaped ones. To me, those have a dark side that makes it less of a game. You get points for shooting in the head or heart area. The more deadly, the better. Ick.”
Wayne laughed loudly and said, “It’s okay, hon. You just don’t have the killer instinct.”
Pierre came up to the shooter’s bench and patted her on the back. “You done good, girl. This kind of competition just isn’t your thing. I remember Kurt saying that you wouldn’t even play first-person shooter video games with him.”
“That’s true, but I can shoot. If it came down to it, I would defend myself.”
Pierre shook his head. “I think you’d hesitate, Leigh Ann. You’d lose—just like you’re about to do today,” he added quietly.
She suppressed a shudder. His voice had reminded her of the sound made by a rattler poised to strike. If he’d meant to creep her out, he’d succeeded. She was relieved when he stepped back to the path.
“If you want, we’ll aim for the torso instead of the head,” Ambrose said.
“Good idea.” It was time to prove her skills. Taking a positi
on at the firing line, she shot six times. When they tallied the results, her rounds were mostly clustered around the X at the center of the target. Two, however, had gone in the circle outside that, still in the torso, but earning her nine points each instead of ten.
“Nice, Leigh Ann,” Wayne said. “You’ve got a score of fifty-eight—almost perfect.”
Ambrose took his position on the firing line. When his target was checked, all six shots were in a tight cluster in the ten circle, making his score a sixty.
He joined her seconds later, handing back the .38, barrel up for safety, plus the six shell casings.
Pierre came up and patted her on the shoulder as she placed the weapon back in her purse. “Good try, Leigh Ann.”
She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not, but she could have sworn she’d heard a sneer winding through his words.
“See you later, all. Wayne and I need to take off now,” Pierre said.
“I’m going to give you a pass on the truck,” Ambrose whispered. “You were at a disadvantage with those two watching over your shoulder, sending bad vibes.”
“Nah, a bet’s a bet,” she said and managed a smile.
“How about a compromise? I’ll help you with the attic and you cook dinner for me and Melvin tonight?”
She smiled and gave Ambrose a quick hug. “You’re all muscle, but inside you’re an old softie.”
He laughed. “Don’t ever let anyone hear you say that.”
“Like it’s a secret?” Jo teased, coming up.
Ambrose laughed.
“I’m going back to the trading post,” Jo said. “I want to email Ben and tell him about tonight, do some work, then head home.”
“Remember that you can call me—day or night,” Ambrose added.
“You’re on my speed dial now,” Jo said, and waved good-bye.
* * *
Two hours later, Ambrose climbed down from the attic, covered in dust. “The truss beam is braced now, sandwiched between those one-by-sixes I found in your shed. I used long wood screws to attach the supports so they should hold just fine. I also dug out the buckshot and filled the holes with wood putty.”
“Thanks, Ambrose. Dinner’s almost done,” Leigh Ann said as Rachel set the table.
“It smells wonderful!” Ambrose said.
“Texas chili,” Leigh Ann said and smiled. “I made homemade tortillas to go with it.”
“She gave me a taste of the chili,” Melvin said. “It’s incredibly good. It has just the right amount of bite in it.”
“With or without beans?” Ambrose asked.
“Get serious, guy. Real Texas chili doesn’t have beans! That’s almost heresy!” Leigh Ann said.
He laughed. “Just testing.”
“We’ve got German beer, too,” Rachel said.
Leigh Ann crossed to the stove and stirred the cast-iron pot. “Whoa, I made enough here for an army. If we don’t get someone else to help us eat all this up, Rache, we’ll be eating leftovers for a week.”
“Too bad Ben isn’t around, he eats enough for three people,” Ambrose pointed out.
“Well, we can’t feed him, but what about Jo? She’s having a real tough time of it lately, and could use a little more company. I gave her a call a while ago and she’s still at the trading post, hoping to get a call from her sweetie. Why don’t we put all this in the Jeep and take it over? We can eat there, do some brainstorming, and see what we can do about our situations.”
“I like that idea,” Ambrose said.
“Let me give her a call and let her know we’re coming,” Leigh Ann said.
Jo answered on the first ring, which told Leigh Ann just how worried her boss and friend was about Ben. “It’s just me again, hon,” she said and told her about their plans.
“Sam’s here, too, working on the computers. If there’s going to be enough for her, too, then come on over,” Jo said.
“Jo, there’s more than enough in that Dutch oven for all of us twice over,” she said, laughing. “I always make extra.”
“Then by all means, get moving. Neither of us has eaten yet, and we’d love sharing your dinner.”
They set out less than five minutes later. By then it was close to eight and the sun had dropped over the horizon.
“I’m still worried about Jo,” Leigh Ann told Melvin, who’d chosen to ride with her to the trading post. “She’s really going through a tough time. Waiting and not knowing creates a hell all its own.”
“I know,” he said, shifting the plastic container with the tortillas and honey he was holding on his lap. On the floorboard was a small cooler containing plates, bowls, and utensils. “That’s why you wanted to take all this over there—comfort food, right? That’s the heart of this meal?”
“Yeah,” she said, and glanced in her rearview mirror at Ambrose and Rachel, who were following in his red pickup. Rachel had custody of the large Dutch oven filled with chili. “I think Jo will enjoy it and she needs friends around her right now.”
“I’ve known Jo for many years and she’s stronger than you think. If she takes a hard enough hit, she may go down, but she’ll always get back up.”
“I agree that she’s a tough cookie, but we all have our limits. Even you.”
He reached out and touched her arm gently. “I’m fine, and you need to stop worrying so much.”
That simple touch sent an intoxicating warmth through Leigh Ann. She needed Melvin, he brought something into her life she’d never had before—tenderness and gentleness.
“Jo has her tribe, her clan, and the teachings of our people to sustain her. In that respect, she may be better equipped to deal with hard times than you are. You tough it out—but she has a support system in place. Of course you have one, too, but it’s harder for you to accept it. There are people, like me, who’d be beside you every step of the way if you’d allow it.”
In the privacy of the Jeep, she was acutely aware of everything about him. She felt alive and filled with a curious sense of expectation … or maybe it was hope. She wanted things to work out for her and Melvin, but there were still obstacles in the way, and not just the assaults on her following the discovery of Kurt’s legacy. If only she could get him to break down his own barriers and let her in.
With a burst of determination, she shut the door on those thoughts. She had to stay focused, now more than ever. “Relying on others is hard for me. I’m not used to it and the one time I did, it was a disaster.”
“Kurt?”
She nodded. “I should have known better, but I was young and tired of always having to be the strong one at home. I wanted to marry my hero, the man who promised I’d never have to worry about anything because he’d always take care of me,” she said, and added, “Rachel and I went through really hard times back in Texas.”
“You never told me about that,” he said.
“Even now, looking back is difficult,” she said. “Dad was far from perfect, but Mom loved him and so did we. Then one day he decided he wasn’t cut out for family life. He just split. Mom was never the same after that. She did her best by us though, and worked as long as she could, even after she got sick. I was only twelve and Rachel, eleven, but we took care of her.” She took a deep breath. “Mom’s disability check didn’t go far, so we got whatever little jobs we could get to keep food on the table.”
“Nobody helped you out?”
“Our town was dirt poor, but neighbors helped us fix up the house and drove us places when we needed it. As for my relatives … not so much. They all had a million excuses,” she said, then jutting out her jaw, recaptured her determination. “The mess I’m facing now comes from my own bad choices, and I have to clean things up. It’s time for me to stop looking for someone to come to my rescue. I’ve got to be my own hero.”
“I understand where you’re coming from. After what you’ve been through it’s hard for you to trust, and accept help from a friend. Pride, and the fear that it’ll make you dependent on someone else, s
ometimes gets in your way. Like they say, it takes one to know one.”
Leigh Ann glanced at him, then back at the road, realizing he’d given her another clue to what was holding him back. They were two souls wounded by life and looking for redemption … or maybe a miracle.
Nothing else was forthcoming, though, and if her ability to read his expression meant anything, he was brooding. A long silence settled over them, and lasted until they arrived at The Outpost.
— THIRTEEN —
They all sat around the large table in the break room, eating Leigh Ann’s Texas chili and tortillas and drinking bottles of iced tea Jo provided from the cold drink cooler.
“This is really good,” Jo said, finishing her second helping.
“The Dutch oven kept it warm, though it’s spicy enough to provide its own heat,” Leigh Ann said.
Sam smiled. “This is really first class. It’s better than anything I’ve tasted in the cafés around here. Care to trade for the recipe?”
“You’ve got one to share?” Leigh Ann asked, surprised. Samantha didn’t strike her as a cook.
“Nah, most of what I eat comes with instructions that say, ‘peel back to vent,’ but I found this really cool, free app for smartphones. It’s a flashlight that uses the LED in your phone. It really works. It doesn’t draw that much from your battery either, providing you only use it for a few minutes. I could load it onto your phone using the trading post Wi-Fi and save you data charges.”
Sam glanced at Jo and added, “You might want it, too, boss, since you’re here late so much of the time.”
“Speaking for myself,” Leigh Ann said, “you’ve got yourself a deal. It sounds useful, and for free, well, you can’t beat that.”
Sam downloaded the app and showed Jo and Leigh Ann how to use it as they all finished eating.
Once everyone was done Leigh Ann stood. “What do you say we do a bit of brainstorming while we rinse off dishes and get everything put away?” Leigh Ann asked. “I need some help figuring a few things out.”