Page 40 of Rabid

He stood and sat beside her on the couch. “I never had a daughter. You’re too young for that, but I do think of you as my granddaughter. I definitely love you like one.”

In Willow’s entire life, only her grandmother had told her she was loved. There was no stopping the tears now. Dale wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. When she gained control, he pulled away and looked at her.

“Can you forgive me for not being there for Joan?” he asked.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Is this why you retired?”

“There were lots of reasons, but what happened with Joan was very high on the list.” He paused for a moment. “After this incident with the peeping Tom, you need to learn to shoot. We’re going to the range tomorrow. As your grandfather, I have the right to make demands occasionally, and you have the right to tell me to jump in a creek. I won’t be around forever, and you need to know howto defend yourself with more than a baseball bat.”

Dale didn’t hate her. He didn’t look at her like a monster. He even teased her about using a baseball bat, which she never thought she would smile at. But she did and nodded. “Okay, but I’m not happy about learning to shoot, and I’ll probably be horrible at it. I don’t want to accidentally kill you or one of the dogs.”

“Women are naturally more gifted at shooting than men. You’ll do fine.”

“What are you going to do about the man at the window?”

“You and I are going to track him if you’re willing. We’re not professionals, but we’ll find him.”

“You sure you don’t want to call the sheriff’s department?” She asked carefully.

“They won’t do anything.” Steel shone in his eyes.

“I’ll learn to shoot, and help you follow his tracks. I want to feel safe and right now, I don’t.”

“We’ll change that,” Dale said.

As soon as the sun came up, they locked the dogs inside the house, and Dale drove her to the range.

“The berm is used by the locals. It’s not an actual shooting range, but safety applies with all guns no matter where you are.”

He went through his safety rules as he drove. Everything he said seemed logical. A gun wasalways loaded, even if you just removed the bullets. Never point a gun unless you plan to shoot it. His last bit of advice made her smile.

“If you do need to shoot a human being, make sure there’s only one person alive to give their side of the story.” He held up his hand. “I know that didn’t work for you at fifteen, but you have good instincts, and I have no problem that you killed a man who deserved it. We’re not the judge and jury, but sometimes you need to take a stand. I’m proud of you for taking yours.”

He unloaded the equipment and guns after they arrived at the berm.

“I’ll show you how to clean them when we get home. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He set up a few metal targets. He stapled a paper one between two wooden props covered in cardboard. After securing eye and ear protection that made her feel silly, he walked her through firing, ejecting the magazine, and inserting a new one. When it was time to aim, she had more confidence than she thought she’d have.

It took a few adjustments before she hit the target, and that was outside the outer circle. Within ten minutes, she was hitting the target each time. Dale moved her farther back, and they started again. Her confidence grew with each round.

“They make small peashooter .22s that can be carried in a pocket,” Dale said. “I don’t recommend them, but if you’re uncomfortablehaving something showing on your hip or carrying the shotgun, we can compromise. They would most likely hurt a rattler. The noise might even scare off a mountain lion.”

She couldn’t keep the smile off her face when it came time to learn about the shotgun. Dale had been right. Learning to shoot made her feel calmer about guns. Not safer, but more aware. She would keep the shotgun in her grandmother’s closet. With a little prodding, she might wear a handgun on her hip, but that was for another day.

It took an hour to clean everything, including the magazines, once they were home. She almost forgot about the man at the window.

Almost.

Chapter Thirty-One

Fear the Bitch

Two months went by with no sign of the peeping Tom, as Dale now called him. Willow began to feel safe again. She hiked the property with the dogs and the shotgun when Dale was too busy to come with her. She still felt uncomfortable about the shotgun being a felony for her to carry, but safety overrode her fear. She watched for tracks and occasionally found some cowboy boot prints. They didn’t bother her, and none of those prints came close to the house. She ran into cows from time to time and saw a golden eagle, which made her long for a camera. The shot she took with her phone wasn’t as good as her grandmother’s photography.

She learned small lessons by making mistakes. If the front door was left open, mice made their home inside. She hated the idea of killing them, but Dale told her that hantavirus was a big deal in the high desert and once they came into the house, they had to be eliminated. He ordered zap traps after telling her the glue ones were inhumane. They couldn’t use poison because of the dogs. After killing the first one, she learned to keep the door shut.

Louisa and Roger, the couple with the horses, rode over one day to introduce themselves. They were in their sixties. Louisa had dark skin, brown hair, some of the whitest teeth Willow had ever seen, and a smile that never stopped. Roger, more serious, had short gray hair and a large belly, which Louisa said came from her cooking. Louisa invited Willow to come have coffee and see their hay bale home when she had extra time.

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