Juice handed her the weapon. She worked the bolt with practiced ease, then brought the gun to her shoulder and peered through the scope. She brought it back down then opened the bolt again.
“I always liked the Remington 700s. They’re a sweet shooting rifle.” She looked into the chamber. “Is this chambered for the 6mm or.223?”
“Uh,.223,” Juice said slowly.
I smiled. When I’d offered her a pistol for her protection, she’d turned me down cold, claiming she couldn’t shoot a handgun. I’d insisted she take the weapon anyway, pointing out it was hard to miss if the bad guy was right on top of her. I’d noticed she when she took the weapon from me, she hadn’t handled it like she was afraid of it. Now I knew why. Thank God Juice hadn’t embarrassed himself by asking her if she knew how to hold it… or something equally stupid.
She slapped the bolt shut again and popped the rifle her shoulder again before lowering it and handing it back to Juice. “Nice little varmint gun you have there.”
“Yeah,” he said slowly, as if he was having a hard time believing Willow was so knowledgeable.
I smiled as he took the gun back. Willow was smart, sexy, and knowledgeable about guns. I was surprised that she didn’t have to make use of her knowledge of firearms to keep away the horde of guys wanting to worship at her feet.
She grinned, the first true smile I’d seen since her ordeal, clearly delighting in our slightly stunned expressions. “I used to shoot skeet with Dad, before his heart problems got bad. I grew up around guns.”
“Anyway,” Juice said, recovering, “I thought I’d go out and shoot some cans before dark.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me have a go?” she asked as she looked at me. “Please?” she begged, making her eyes big and twisting her hands together under her chin in exaggerated hopefulness.
We chuckled. “Actually, I’d like to see you shoot,” I said. “Let us check it out first, and if the coast is clear, sure, why not?”
Her smile spread. “I was sure you’d say no.”
I shrugged. “With six of us around you, you should be safe enough.” I paused a heartbeat. “You have to promise not to show us up, though.”
Her smile spread even more. “No deal.”
.
.
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WILLOW
I waited in the RV with Colt while the rest of the men made a sweep of the area, even taking my Jeep out to make several circuits around the coach at ever increasing distances. They were taking no chances with my safety, and it was this dedication that allowed me to sleep at night and work during the day. My faith in them and their abilities was absolute and unshakable.
I was glad to see Colt smile when Juice had let me look at his rifle. My perception of the BDMC had begun to change that very first day, but Big Dick, Goose, Limpkin… and especially Packard… proved these were all good men and were nothing like I’d first thought them to be. In the last couple of weeks, having Colt around all the time, I’d gotten a better sense of the man and his values. I was impressed that despite our enforced closeness, he’d never hit on me or once suggested that our relationship was anything other than professional. He was thoughtful and kind with me, and there was no doubt he cared deeply for the men he called his brothers. In the weeks I’d known him, I’d noticed that he thought of them before himself and, though he tried to hide it, I could tell he was still hurting over Packard’s death. Sometimes at night, as I was working, I’d notice him sitting in a chair as he stared at the door. His body was in the coach with me, but his mind was a million miles away.
I heard my Jeep stop outside. “You ready?” Goose asked a moment later as he appeared in the door.
“Yeah.” I followed Colt to the door, nearly bouncing with excitement at the chance to go outside, if only for a few minutes.
“Want to go first?” Juice asked, hanging me a pair of earmuffs. “Don’t worry if you can’t hit anything. I haven’t zero’d the scope in yet. I thought I’d try to get it close today.”
I worked hard to hide my smile. “Sure,” I said as I took the muffs and pulled them over my head.
One of the men had lined up beer, pop, and tin cans about fifty yard out on the opposite side of Big Dick’s truck. On the hood was a sandbag with the rifle resting on it. I settled in behind the truck and pulled the bolt back a little to check for one in the chamber. There wasn’t so I worked the bolt to charge the rifle. I got comfortable, let my breath out slowly, and squeezed off a round. The rifle bucked against my shoulder.
“It’s shooting low right,” I said as I stood. I pointed at the scope. “You mind?”
The men began to chuckle. “Be my guest,” Juice said with a wave of his hand.
I pulled the caps off the scope adjustment and dialed in some correction. If I’d had a sighting chart, I could have gotten the adjustment close, but all I had was the puff of dust, so I had to guess. I worked the bolt then leaned into the truck, relaxed, let my breath out, and squeezed the trigger.
“Still low,” I murmured, almost to myself.