Page 4 of Wrangling Her Heart
Rex reached into his pocket and pulled out a list scrawled on a piece of crumpled paper. “Just a few essentials. I told Annamae I’d pick up some supplies for her,” he replied, handing over the note.
“I thought I saw them walking over to the doctors,” Rose mentioned as she pushed her way behind her husband towards the counter where Baxter was talking to the children in hushed tones.
Rex furrowed his brow. “She didn’t mention coming to town today.” He gave a little shrug. “I was supposed to come earlier this week, but I couldn’t get away.”
“Rex! Come over here,” a voice called excitedly through the store.
Rex turned but didn’t see Petunia. “Did you move your rifle display?” Baxter and Rex had been teaching her how to hunt, and Pet mentioned on the way over that she wanted to look at the hunting rifles.
“It’s behind the fabrics.” Dillon pointed with the paper. “Wegot a new shipment in, and I had to make a larger rack for them.”
“Rex!” Petunia’s voice called again.
“I’ll get this ready for you,” Dillon said. “I already have your brother’s list.”
“Thanks.” Rex tugged off his glove with his teeth and shoved it in his pocket. He was removing the second one as he approached Petunia. He noticed she couldn’t take her eyes off the array of sleek, gunmetal gray barrels with their engraved plates and polished wooden stocks.
“You’re drooling,” he teased. He wrinkled his nose as he stopped next to her, and delicately maneuvered himself to the other side, where his senses were less likely to take offense. Petunia was not like the other girls in Flat River. At fifteen years old, she preferred to wear buckskins instead of dresses. She had cut her hair short and was wearing a raccoon on top of her head. Its beady eyes stared blankly at Rex as if daring him to say something.
Despite her faults, Rex learned Pet had an enormous heart and was eager to learn. He loaned her some traps and showed her how to set them down by the creek. Now she wanted to learn how to shoot.
“Whatcha got, Pet?”
“Ain’t it pretty?” She gently handled the wooden stock and traced her fingers along the cold steel barrel, releasing a soft cooing sound.
“I’ve never seen one like it,” Rex said. He lifted the small white tag tied to the lever. “Winchester. Holds 15 rounds.” Letting out a low whistle, he dropped the tag. “That’s out of my price range.”
“How much is it?” Petunia picked up the tag. “What does it say?”
“It’s fifty dollars, Pet.”
Pet dropped the tag as if it burned her fingers. “Fifty dollars?” she yelped.
“Hush.” He looked around the shop and glanced out the window. The stagecoach was pulling in front of the mercantile. “You don’t need a fifty-dollar rifle. No one does. It only takes one round to take down a deer if you know what you are doing.”
She lifted her eyebrows and looked at him, her mouth forming a small oval. “So, ya think I should get a single shot?” She reached for a worn hunting rifle at the end of the rack. “What about this one?”
“That’s old Army stock. After the war, they had all these surplus rifles, so I’m not surprised to see a few of those floating around. What does the tag say?”
Petunia picked up the tag and ran her thumb over the dark words. “Fifty dollars?” she said expectantly.
“Let me see that,” Rex said. “It says Springfield 1870, trapdoor.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you can’t read.”
“I don’t need to read to hunt.”
“But you need to read to sell your furs. I’ll talk to Annie and see if she has some of Ma’s old learning books.”
“What’s a trapdoor?” Petunia took the rifle from the display.
“It’s the opening at the back, where you put the cartridge in. The hammer causes it to shoot out of the barrel.”
“So, how much is it?”
“Ten dollars.”
