Page 7 of Give Me a Shot

While she still had to tip up her chin to meet his gaze, as she had in Cassie’s storage unit, physically he didn’t strike the same fear in her in the plain light of day. The feeling saturating her muscles would be better described as…mortification. She gulped again, trying to dislodge the boulder that had formed in her throat.

His dark eyes went wide momentarily, and his lips pressed into a seam, almost making them disappear behind his full mustache and beard. She caught his brief grunt before he offered her a handshake.

“Hullo,” he said.

“Hi,” she said, shaking his hand and hoping the deep breath she’d taken would calm the tremble in her fingers.

“Even though Mo isn’t our most loquacious team member, he’s been the head of the blacksmithing program for years,” Nedsaid, drawing Jess’s attention back to him. “We’re quite lucky; he’s the highest-ranked blacksmith in the region.” Jess was surprised by the brief hint of pink that flashed across the bare part of Mo’s cheeks. He glanced down, like a shy kid, then cleared his throat and crossed his arms before he looked up at Ned and gave him a terse nod.

“Oh” was all that Jess could manage to say.

Who knew that an ax murderer could seem…bashful?

Chapter Three

Mo

At least she doesn’t have that crossbow.

Mo was stuck. Seeing this woman again, this Jess, in another one of his very few safe places had caused a spark of anger to bloom from his solar plexus. It had been quickly doused by the memory that she hadn’t reacted to him as an individual, but to her fear from being surprised by a stranger while she was in a vulnerable state. Between the reminder of what he’d guessed she’d felt that night and the shock he could feel emanating from her right then, he was worried that he might throw up.

He swallowed a mouthful of his sparkling water to calm his stomach. As he swallowed, he was surprised to catch a whiff of vanilla in the air. They were far from the refreshments; even with his pronounced sense of smell, he shouldn’t have been able to pick up on the baked goods at that distance. He took another quick sip. The can was running low. He’d been nursing it as an excuse to avoid small talk since he’d arrived. Participating in the annual open house was one of his least favorite parts of teaching at the Folk School. It had always been torturous for Mo—the ambient noise frying his ears and brain, the mixing energies of other people flooding through his body, having to produce his own energy to answer questions and be pleasant. He’d have to spend a lot of time with his plants, or mercilessly lift some weights, or take a burning shower once he got home.

Jess opened her mouth slightly, glancing between him and Ned. It seemed like she was thinking of saying something, maybeeven apologizing, but that would mean sharing how they’d crossed paths. Ned’s attention was temporarily drawn away, and Mo narrowed his eyes and shook his head the tiniest bit at Jess.No. You don’t have to.

Jess’s eyebrows bent toward each other. Mo slow blinked while shaking his head again.

“Everybody, everyone!”

Wendy, the president of the Folk School, was standing on a chair at the front of the room. The conversations died down as everyone turned to her.

“I have an exciting announcement to make,” she said. “We’ve been fortunate that our community outreach has brought in new interest and new students over the years. The leadership board and I have decided to expand our efforts and are pleased to announce that this year the Michigan Folk School is putting on its first Renaissance Faire! We’re looking forward to showcasing the skills we develop here and making an even bigger name for ourselves in the state and the Great Lakes region. We’re still in the early stages, but our goal is to make it a school-wide event—including everyone from our newest members to our old-timers.” She winked at Ned. He frowned back.

Gasps went up from the crowd. The room filled with a positive buzz, but something was off. Mo had known Wendy for years, and while she’d enunciated to make her voice carry, it had been tight, the pitch had been too sharp. Mo made eye contact with Ned.

“Sound right to you?” Ned asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Mo said. “Something’s up.”

“I had the impression that this was just a teaching association,” Jess said to Ned. “Keeping traditional skills alive.”

“In the ten years I’ve been here, that’s exactly what it’s been,” Ned said.

Mo noticed that Wendy had stepped down from her chair and was having a whispered conversation with Lana. Either he was reading too much into the creases in her forehead and the set of her jaw, or she was downright worried. Ned was looking at her, too.

“You know…” He turned to Jess. “You don’t mind if I leave you with Mo, do you? I’d like to have a quick word with Wendy.”

Mo caught Jess swallowing just before she cleared her throat.

“Of course not,” she said. She glanced up at Mo and gave him a polite nod without eye contact. “We can get acquainted.”

“Great,” Ned said. “Mo, would you…at least try? Let’s not scare her off after her first few weeks here.”

Mo rolled his eyes. But then again, he’d already scared Jess once. He wouldn’t clam up. He nodded once, and Ned was gone.

“I…guess you really are a blacksmith,” Jess said, drawing his attention.

“Yep.”

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