Page 4 of In Her Sights

It had to be a weapon from her personal collection. Tessa had never seen a gun so . . . feminine. She set aside the Colt .45 she'd been practicing with and accepted the pretty little pistol. It fit her hand like it had been made for her, and when she raised her arm to take aim, the weight felt like feathers compared to the previous gun.

"This one is a double-action, so you don't have to cock it to shoot. A hard, steady pull will both cock the hammer and release it. You can manually cock the hammer if you prefer, but it's not necessary." She reached around Tessa and positioned her arm properly. "Sight your target," she murmured close to Tessa's ear. "Steady your hand. And remember to breathe."

Tessa brought up her support hand to steady the weapon and found the sight at the end of the pistol barrel. Focusing her gaze through her right eye, she took aim at the bottles standing on top of a pickle barrel twenty feet away. She'd not hit a single one up to this point. Not even a nick.

But this gun felt different in her hands. More suited to her. Her flagging optimism revived.

Releasing her breath, she squeezed the trigger. The gun recoiled, but she absorbed the kick. Then the most amazing thing happened.

Glass shattered.

Tessa turned a beaming grin on her mentor. "I did it!"

Annie's eyes brightened, and she gave a nod that felt like the queen bestowing a knighthood. "That you did." She tipped her head toward the bottles. "Keep practicing, then come see me after the others have left. I want to give you something."

Give her something? Questions threatened to swallow Tessa whole, but somehow she managed to turn her attention back to shooting targets. By the time Mr. Butler called an end to the lessons, she'd hit three more bottles and nicked two others. Of course, she'd also missed about two dozen times, but six out of twenty-five was a huge improvement over zero out of two hundred, or however many shots she'd taken with the shotgun and army revolver. Hitting six targets had to qualify her as at least a novice shootist, credentials that would surely garner the attention of a certain gun aficionado.

Tessa held back as the other ladies expressed their gratitude and took their leave. Finally, Annie waved her forward and led her up the steps into the pavilion building.

"Thank you, again, for letting me use this beautiful pistol, Mrs. Butler." Tessa hurried her steps to draw even with her mentor. "I know I'm no markswoman, but at least I have some reassurance that I'm not entirely hopeless. Apparently, I just need a smaller weapon."

Maybe if she dipped into her savings again, she could order a similar pistol from the shop where Jackson worked. He could even help her pick out a suitable substitute. She'd made a few mental notes about the pink-handled pistol while she'd been waiting to return it and was pretty sure she could describe it well enough not to sound like an imbecile when she spoke to Jackson about it.

Annie took the pistol from Tessa's hand and slipped it into a beautiful wooden case, one that had a matching pink mother-of-pearl inlay at the center of the lid. The inlay resembled a small bowtie or maybe an hourglass. Either way, the little decorative piece made Tessa smile. Any seamstress worth her salt knew the power of a well-placed ornamentation.

The lid clicked closed, then Annie held the box out to Tessa. "Keep it clean and practice often."

"What?" Tessa held up her palms, her mind whirling to make sense of what was happening. Surely the great Annie Oakley wasn't giving her one of her custom guns. "You can't give this to me," Tessa insisted. "It's far too valuable, and to be completely honest, shooting's not really my passion. It's Jackson's."

Annie smiled. "Is that the young man you're hoping to impress?"

Tessa pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Well, he must be mighty special to inspire you to go to such lengths."

"Oh, he is. He's kind and handsome and has the nicest smile you ever did see." Tessa heard the dreaminess in her voice and quickly stifled it in favor of a more professional tone. "He's also the best hunter in the county and seems rather set on avoiding female interaction."

Annie's smile widened. "Then you really ought to accept my gift." She extended the pistol case again.

Tessa took it, her fingers trembling slightly. "I don't understand. Why are you giving this to me? I don't deserve such generosity."

Annie patted her arm, her eyes twinkling. "I thought you might be the one when you admitted your true purpose in coming here. Then when you held the pistol in your hand, I knew. It was as if the two of you had been made for each other."

"I still don't understand."

"This ain't an ordinary gun," Annie said, her voice dipping into a rough whisper. "It's a courtship pistol."

Tessa's eyebrows reached for her hairline. "A what?"

Annie shook her head and held up a hand. "Don't ask me how it works. I haven't a clue. All I know is that a gentleman in Chicago crafted it in memory of his daughter and gave it to me to pass along when I found a woman who could benefit from its special . . . courtship properties." She waved her hands about as if those puzzling properties were as much a mystery to her as to Tessa. "There's a pocket in the lid lining. He put a note in there that explains things. There's a key inside as well, so you can lock the case when the pistol is not in use." She paced a few steps away and collected the shotgun Tessa had borrowed for her lessons. "I was never supposed to keep that pistol for myself." Annie strolled back to Tessa, shotgun draped over her arm as naturally as if it were a fine silk shawl. "It's meant to be passed from woman to woman, so as soon as you connect with your special someone, you can honor me by passin' this gift on to someone new. All right?"

What could Tessa do besides nod? One didn't argue with a legend.

On the train ride home that evening, Tessa selected a seat at the rear of the railcar and propped her shotgun next to her to discourage company. Once the train was underway, she opened the gun case and reached into the pocket sewn into the lid lining.

Glancing around to ensure no one was paying her any mind, she opened the paper and scanned words that would have been more at home in a fairy tale than in the hands of a rather ordinary seamstress from Caldwell, Texas.

Opportunity. Dreams. A weapon steadfast and true, able to lead an unmarried woman to a man of virtue. The promise of true love. Hope and faith guiding the way until her heart found its home.