Page 51 of Barbed Wire Hearts

I jerk my hand away. “What? Why would you carry that with you?”

He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. It was passed down from his pa, and now it’s mine. It’s how things go. Besides, I don’t blame the gun. I blame the man.” He gestures for me to stand beside him. “Now, watch this.”

He aims the gun, using both hands to steady it as he turns to the side. He looks down the sight for a second, cocks the hammer, and pulls the trigger. One of the bottles shatters as I cover my ears from the boom. It’s louder than I expected, and it echoes over and over again through the mountains. A flock of birds take off behind us, screeching their protest.

“Your turn,” he says, turning back to me. Eyes wide, I step up and let him fold my hands around the gun before he braces me with his body. “Now, this one has a nasty recoil. Keep your hands tight and don’t let your elbows bend back unless you want to be smacked in the face.”

“Great,” I mumble, squinting my eyes to try and aim at one of the bottles.

“Take your time. No need to rush. Most people can’t hit a beer bottle at this distance.”

I take a deep breath and pull back the hammer. My hand shakes and I try my best to steady it. When I pull the trigger, not a single bottle shatters. The bullet hits the ground harmlessly behind them. The gun jerks my hands back, but I manage not to hit myself in the face, at least.

“That was a good first shot,” Dakota murmurs in my ear.

“I missed,” I point out.

“I expected you to miss,” he laughs. “I’ve been shooting since I was five, Kate. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

We spend the next thirty minutes firing at the bottles. Or I do. Dakota mostly just watches and encourages me on how to fix it. Eventually, he stops bracing me and my hands get steadier. Still, I don’t hit a single bottle. He shows me how to reload the gun, how to pop out the cylinder, and drop six more bullets in. He always makes it look far sexier when he reloads and spins the barrel. I doubt I look nearly as attractive fumbling with it.

I try one more time, getting closer, but still never hitting any of the bottles. I groan as I fire off the last shot and scowl. “This is such bullshit.”

“Nah, I think you’re doing great. A regular ole Calamity Jane,” he teases.

“Pretty sure Calamity Jane hit her targets,” I point out.

“That she did,” he nods. “And you will, too. Keep in mind those are small targets and further away than your targets will likely be.”

His words remind me why we’re doing this, and I set the gun down on the back of the four-wheeler and sigh.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” I say, feeling my heart rate kick up in anxiety. “This is so stupid.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dakota coos. “You’re a part of this family now and we protect our own.”

I press a hand to my forehead. “I should have told you from the beginning.” Maybe they wouldn’t have even hired me had I told them. They’d be safer that way.

“We understand why you didn’t tell us,” he counters. “It’s fine.”

“I’m gonna get you all killed,” I breathe, looking down.

His strong fingers find my chin and tilt it up, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “You belong with us, Kate. And we ain’t letting you run away without a fight.”

“You hardly like me,” I say, frustrated.

“What makes you think that?” he asks, his brow raised.

“You said so in the beginning. I’m just a city girl. And despite Levi’s change in attitude, he probably still hates me, too,” I argue, shaking my head.

He grins. “You don’t question Wiley though?”

“Of course not,” I muse. “He openly likes me.”

His fingers leave my chin and his grin falls. “It seems I’ve done you a disservice then, Kate.”

“What’s that?” I ask, looking up at him.

“You should know exactly how amazing and beautiful you are. And I should tell you every day that I want you here,” he breathes, leaning closer.

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