Page 44 of Windlass

“First, this is not a compound bow. I probably should have gotten one of those, but I didn’t because they had too many strings attached.”

She waited for someone to get the joke.

“You’re the worst,” said Angie, a smile in the words.

The light softened Angie, too, despite her insult. Stevie looked away too late. The sight left her stricken, a heretic before a stained-glass saint.

She listed the parts of the bow for Jaq, then showed her how to string it. The forty-pound draw weight wouldn’t be a problem for Jaq if she’d been shoveling enough manure.

“You’ll also want these.” She held up her forearm guard and glove. “The string can leave some nasty marks.” Her eyes flicked to Angie. Lana left marks like that sometimes. Did Angie actually like that treatment? Could Stevie perform for her if she did? If Angie asked her to?

She was terribly afraid the answer was yes. Hurting Angie was the last thing she ever wanted to do, but marking her skin . . .

Stormy hummed the “Thong Song,” and Angie caught Stevie’s gaze with an expression she could not read in its entirety. Beneath the amusement, something else shifted restlessly.

“Since we’re on the ground, you don’t have to worry about keeping your seat. Stand like this.” She demonstrated the stance she’d been shown when she first learned. There were many ways to shoot. This one merely provided nice stability. “Raise your elbow a little bit—yes, like that. How does it feel?”

“Good.” A woman of many words, Jaq.

“Try drawing, but don’t release.” She illustrated where her hand should fall in relation to her chin. “Nice! See that, folks? I expect the same from the rest of you.”

“Yes sir,” said Stormy.

“Stick an arrow in something, Jaq-o’-Lantern.”

“Absolutely.”

Jaq turned out to be a natural shot. This could not be said about the rest of them, save Stormy, who shrugged off her success with “years of mental practice taking out rude customers.”

Ivy was the next best, which didn’t surprise anyone. They’d taught archery at her fancy prep school. Emilia was terrible, which clearly irritated her though she hid it well. Morgan wasn’t much better, which pleased Emilia and Stevie both. Lilian hit the bull’s-eye twice and missed the bale completely the rest of the time, though it was worth noting that she’d hit the target when Ivy was teasing her—typical.

That left Angie. Dusk, now well on its way to falling, painted the orchard and the gnarled old apple trees purple. Angie accepted the strung bow from Stevie’s hands.

“Show me how it’s done, Robin Hood,” Stevie said, immediately feeling stupid.

“I think I’m more Maid Marian material.” Angie hefted the bow, testing its weight before she raised it. The muscles in her arms rippled.

Angie had the kind of muscles that hid. When she was relaxed, she looked averagely fit. It wasn’t until a person saw her wrestling a dog or trying to prop up one of the porch banisters that they realized she was ripped to hell and back, her muscles softly rounded and—

“Like this?” Angie nocked the arrow, her posture exemplary. There was no reason for Stevie to touch her, no irregularity to correct.

“Your form is perfect.” The others were talking rather loudly, Jaq’s voice occasionally piping up among them. Morgan seemed to have taken instantly to the kid, which figured.

“Should I drop my elbow?” Angie lowered her left arm, intentionally upsetting her position.

“Ange . . .”

“I’d hate to show you up in front of your protege.”

“I’d love it if you did.” Stevie lifted Angie’s elbow with two fingers, careful not to step too close. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Seems fair, since you’ve shownme.” Angie drew the bowstring back as she spoke, not looking at Stevie, but concentrating on the target, which was so much hotter.

“If you are referring to certain services rendered in the name of art—”

“I absolutely am.”

“Then I expect you to get that shaftin,” Stevie finished. Angie laughed, releasing the arrow, which went wide.

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