Page 31 of Heaven Help Me

“I have some protective headphones for you, baby,” Deuce says, coming around the car to help me out.

“Oh good. These guns are just so loud,” I drawl in a sweet-Southern-belle tone that makes him lift an eyebrow. I can play my part. For now.

The men get set up, several handguns and one shotgun between them. They hang paper targets on the structure across the clearing that’s obviously been made just for this activity. I’m relieved to see them all use proper safety when handling the weapons. Maybe I’ve judged them too harshly based on where they live. And besides, below their hats, neither of Deuce’s friends have a neck that’s anything but lightly tanned.

They take turns, emptying each weapon and comparing targets. They’re all pretty good shots, but if I had to rank them, Silas is the worst. When he misses the mark, he chuckles, which then makes the next shot unsteady too. Rhett’s pretty good. I can tell he grew up shooting on the regular. But Deuce is even better, both in accuracy and speed, which provides quite a bit of relief considering he could be an asset if it came down to it.

“Ohh, great job, honeybear!” I squeal from the car where I’ve been leaning against the hood.

I see Deuce’s spine stiffen.

The boys slap each other’s backs and boast about their shooting ability like men exaggerating the size of the fish they caught. It’s enough to make me want to puke.

“Mind if I try, fellas?”

All three heads spin in my direction. I saunter over and pick up the handgun Deuce brought, taking up a spot over by the last intact target. The grip is a little larger than I’d prefer for my hand size, but totally manageable. Silas hands me the clip, already refilled. I thank him and slide it in with a decisive click. I look right, then left.

“Could y’all give me some room?”

Silas and Rhett immediately step back. Deuce just gives me a look that says to watch myself. I glare right back. My thumb flips the safety off and I take up a wider stance. Despite the floral dress, I wore flats today, just to get some practice in. Normally I wear stilettos, so my aim might be a bit off. I take one long breath in and then release it. Everything fades into the background and it’s just me and a woman’s best defense. With a gun in my hand I’m every bit as powerful as any man out there, a feeling that gives me enormous pleasure.

I squeeze the trigger…center mass, center mass, head. I repeat that rhythm until I’m out of bullets and there’s only two perfect holes burned into the paper. I slap the gun down on the makeshift table, barrel pointed down range, and step back. I pull off the headphones and shake out my hair. A squirrel or a bird somewhere close by in the brush moves around, but otherwise, there’s dead silence.

Remembering I’m not here alone, I look over at Deuce. He’s got his eyebrows drawn together staring at my target, arms crossed over his well-dressed chest. He looks hot in a dark gray suit vest, standing on a gun range. Silas clears his throat, a lopsided grin stretching across his handsome face.

“Remind me not to piss you off, Landry,” he drawls, breaking the tension.

Rhett chuckles. “I should have you give Mary London lessons. She downright refuses to try the shotgun but I have a feeling you’d be good with that weapon too.”

“You’d be right,” I answer before I can think it through. Before I can slide back into being Landry, all giggles and easy-breezy femininity.

Deuce unfurls his arms and puts his hands on my shoulders. He’s lost the fierce look and is back to wagging his eyebrows over a smirky grin. The man knows how to flirt, I’ll give him that. “I’m a little bit afraid of you, baby. That kind of competence is hotter than hell.”

“Okay!” Silas barks out with a laugh. “That’s our cue to leave, Rhett. Let’s give these two lovebirds some alone time.”

The two guys take their weapons and head for the truck they came in together. Deuce and I try to get them to stay, but they say they can’t. Wives, kids, and work duties are calling. When they’re nothing but a dust cloud, I turn back to Deuce.

“Let’s do one more round. Two targets. We’ll shoot at the same time.”

He scoffs. “Why? So you can win and lord it over me?”

I lean into his chest and wonder if he does pushups every day to get his pectoral muscles that large and firm. “I’ll shoot leftie.”

He snorts. “That’s even worse.”

I laugh and push off of him. “Come on, scaredy-cat. Just one round and then we’ll go. Think of it as practice under pressure.”

“Fine,” he sighs. “You reload, I’ll go hang the targets.” He starts to walk down the range, but twists to glare at me over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare shoot me in the back, woman.”

I stick my tongue out at him and get busy loading the magazines. He’s wrong about that urge for violence. I don’t want to shoot the man—today—but I do find myself sneaking glances at his ass in those suit pants. Goodness gracious, he must tailor them to perfection to hug the firm curve of his ass like that. He was always handsome and cocky, one of the reasons I slept with him when I was a naive seventeen-year-old, but he’s added a fully developed physique to his arsenal since then. Layer on the doting-son act the other day and he’s more lethal than I am with this fully loaded gun in hand.

“Alright, let’s get this humiliation over with,” he grumbles, coming back around the table to grab the larger of the two handguns.

I grin, already having a fabulous time. “We’ll shoot each round together. Alternating center mass and head.”

“I’ll count it out. On three.” Deuce waits until I’ve taken up my stance next to him, gun ready in my left hand. “One, two, three.”

We both fire and then check our own shot plus the other person’s. “Pretty close!”