Page 88 of Right Number, Wrong Man
I inhale deeply and my eyes focus on the front sight. Then, as evenly as I can manage, I pull the trigger.
Everything happens at the same time.
My ears ring with a bang as the weapon kicks. Recoil snaps against my hands, reverberating through my arms and shoulders.
Then it’s already over.
I whoop. “Hell yeah! Watch out, world! I’m quickshot Hailey Grace and I could kill a man with the twitch of a finger!” I squint at the bottles and my face falls. “Wait, Imissed?”
Colt laughs, his hand dropping on top of my head. He tousles my hair and my heart pings around in my chest.
“Take it easy, outlaw,” he drawls. “That was your first shot. Nobody expects you to be a master marksman right away. I wasn’t, either. My first time, I was a mile off target, smacked myself right in the nose,andbroke it. Granted I was like ten.”
My eyes linger on the small bump on his nose and I smile. It’s still strange to see more than an enemy when I look at Colt. Until I learned the truth about the prank, he was almost like a one-dimensional caricature of a villain to me.
I never considered him to be a man with a past, his own hopes and dreams and feelings, but now I wonder what they are. Would he tell me if I asked?
He gives me a soft nudge. “Try again. The second time’s gonna be less of a shock.”
I wait until my breath has calmed, cock the hammer, aim, and shoot. The bottle splinters into glittering shards.
Colt whistles. “Well would you look at that! You’re a natural!”
Pride warms my chest. I giggle, shaking with adrenaline. “Thanks. Can I try again?”
“I insist, ma’am! Maybe I can learn a lil somethin’ from a savant like yourself, huh?”
I pout. “Stop it! Don’t make fun of me!”
“Teasing, Spitfire. I’mteasin’you. There’s a hell of a difference.”
Our eyes lock, and fire burns through my veins as Colt lifts his hat, running a hand through his hair. He’s the first to look away, jutting his chin at the bottles.
“Go on, I wanna see how good you are.”
Taking aim, I grin. “I’ll show you what a professional can do!”
I fire until the magazine is empty and my arms tremble with weakness.
“Six outta ten with twelve bullets is great,” he says, gently wrenching the gun from my stiff hands. “Do me a favor and put up another ten bottles on the fence posts. Walking around will help you shake off the tension, too.”
I shrug. “Sure.”
While I set up new targets, Colt reloads the pistol. When I’m back by his side, he quirks a brow.
“Now watchthis,” he says.
He raises the pistol and fires. It’s like the gun is an extension of his body, not an object.
Ten shots in rapid succession.
Ten effortless, flawless hits.
I clap. “That was incredible!”
His smile turns smug. “That was nothin’. You should see me hit a target from miles away with my sniper rifle.”
I slap his arm and words tumble off my tongue before I can think better of it. “You showoff! Did you want to impress me?”
