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“Sorry,” Becky said, flustered.
“Here, I’ll show you.” Cutter moved in behind Becky, reaching for the gun. He pressed his hips into her back and slid his arms around her waist, his inching fingers creeping beneath the fabric of her shirt. Becky tried to sidestep his grasp, but Cutter had her boxed in.
“I want Ethan to show me.” Becky lightly elbowed her way free. Cutter’s lips pursed into a sullen pout.
Ethan shrugged and showed her how to hold the rifle and peer through the sight.
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” Becky said, squinting at the bucket, now lying on the ground.
“You better not do that,” Josie warned. She looked around, afraid that someone might see. They would get in so much trouble.
“I just want to hold it,” Becky said in a voice that made it clear that she thought Josie was acting like a baby.
“Go ahead,” Josie said, “shoot your foot off. I don’t care.” She turned her back on them and strode to the truck to wait for the sound of more gunshots. A boom erupted, and an excited squeal came from Becky.
Cutter snatched the shotgun from her hand. “My turn.” He loaded the gun and lifted it to his shoulder, but instead of aiming at the bucket, he pointed toward the trees, slowly moving the gun from left to right. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed just before pulling the trigger. There was a bang, a rustle of leaves, and then the dull thud of something hitting the ground.
“Eww,” Becky said. “You shot a bird. Why’d you do that?”
They were too far away to see exactly what kind of bird the bullet struck, but it was good-sized and black. Maybe a crow or a turkey vulture.
“Trash bird, anyway,” Cutter said. “Hey, you coming out later?” he asked.
Ethan cut a glance toward his sister. “Naw, I’m grounded.”
“When did that ever stop you?” Cutter laughed. He turned to Josie and Becky. “How about you? You want to come out and play tonight?”
“No, thank you,” Josie said, rolling her eyes. Becky blushed. Cutter laughed, but his face reddened beneath his brown tan.
Becky rubbed her shoulder where the butt of the gun recoiled.
“Now that’s going to leave a bruise,” Cutter said. “Maybe Ethan will kiss it all better for you.”
“Shut up, Cutter,” Ethan said, grabbing the gun back from him.
“Can I try again?” Becky asked.
Again, Ethan positioned himself behind Becky, and she cast a shy smile back toward Ethan. He rested his chin on her shoulder and helped her take aim. That’s when William Doyle slowly drove past them in his truck.
“Oh, fuck, it’s my dad,” Ethan said, grabbing his shotgun from Becky.
“Gotta go,” Cutter said, jogging toward his truck. “I’ll see you later.”
As William made a sharp U-turn, Cutter pulled away and sped off down the road. William pulled up next to Ethan’s truck, stepped from his vehicle, and slammed the door. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“We were just coming back to the house,” Ethan said as if there was nothing wrong.
“Jesus Christ,” William said through gritted teeth as he strode toward Ethan. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“It’s no big deal,” Ethan said. “We were careful.”
“Careful?” William repeated, a red flush creeping up his neck. “I’ve told you about letting others shoot your gun. It’s not safe. Josie, Becky,” he said, turning to the girls. “Get in my truck.”
“I’m sorry,” Becky said, tears filling her eyes. Josie clutched her hand.
“Jesus, Dad,” Ethan said. “You’re scaring her.”
“Give me the gun,” William said, lowering his voice.
