Page 9 of In Her Sights

Target close, morale boosted, Tessa sighted down the pistol's barrel. And hit the edge of the heart! Elated, she made a miniscule adjustment and fired again. Well within the red fabric area! She shot a third time and a fourth, but her giddiness must have unsteadied her hand, for her shots went slightly wide into the blue and green flannel of the shirt. She lowered her arm, pointing the barrel at the ground to rest a moment and gather herself before she took her final shot. She wanted a bullseye in the middle of Jackson's heart.

She took several deep, cleansing breaths, then slowly lifted her arm.

"Who you tryin' to kill?"

Tessa jumped at the masculine voice and spun toward it, arms swinging wildly. A crack sounded. The pistol jerked in her hand. And Jackson Spivey fell to the ground.

Jackson hit the dirt the instant he saw the gun swinging his way, but the sharp sting burning into his arm made it clear he'd not dodged fast enough.

Stupid. He knew better than to come up behind a novice shooter, but he'd been so certain the gun was empty, he'd thought it safe. He'd counted the shots fired as he approached the schoolhouse. Five. He was certain of it. That little gun of hers held five shots. Not six. There shouldn't have been any bullets left in the cylinder. He'd watched her last two shots. Knew she hadn't reloaded.

"No!" A tortured cry split the air.

Jackson rolled onto his side to face Tessa. The pistol fell from her hand and thudded against the hard-packed earth. Horror twisted her features as shock held her in its grip. She broke free a heartbeat later and sprinted toward him, throwing herself onto the ground by his side.

"Jackson, I'm so sorry. Where are you hurt?" Her hands fluttered over him as tears streaked her lovely face. "I never should have . . . my fault . . . never forgive myself . . ."

Poor woman. Couldn't even string a full sentence together. This from a female who carried herself with a confidence he envied and a sunny demeanor he'd thought impervious to clouds of any kind. Heaven knew he'd thrown enough shadows her way over the last few months to dim anyone's shine. But not Tessa. Seeing her fall apart, hearing her sobs—over him, of all people—tore his heart out. He struggled to sit up. She came to his aid, supporting his back, rubbing his shoulders. Her touch felt so good, he nearly forgot about the crease in his bicep.

"What do I do, Jackson?" She took his face in her hands and tipped his chin up. His gut tightened as her lips hovered mere inches from his own. "Tell me what to do!"

Kiss me.

No. That wasn't right. But it sure would be mighty nice.

"I should fetch the doctor." Her hands fell away from his face as she started to rise. "I'll run the whole way, Jackson. I promise. I won't let you die. You can't die." Her words broke on a sob, the sound focusing his mind in an instant.

The confusing swirl of pain and desire impairing his brain function vanished, leaving one thought standing. Tessa needed him.

Jackson clasped her hand before she could dash away. "Don't."

She whirled to face him. "I have to. You're hurt. I have to fix it."

She tugged, but he refused to let go.

"I'm fine," he groused as he clumsily got to his feet. "See?" He smiled at her, but it didn't seem to help.

"You're bleeding!" She shouted the accusation.

"It's just a graze. I've had worse injuries shaving."

She gave no indication that she'd heard him. Her eyes remained locked on his arm and the blood staining his sleeve.

"Tessa." He tugged her close, hoping to jostle her enough to draw her attention away from his arm. When that didn't work, he cupped her face with his free hand and wiped some of her tears away with the pad of his thumb. "Look at me."

She sucked in a quivering breath. Her damp lashes lifted, and her glossy brown eyes connected with his.

"I'm fine."

More than fine, judging by the healthy pounding of his pulse. Holding her close, feeling the softness of her cheek, seeing the evidence of her concern for him—he'd be hard-pressed to name a time he'd felt better.

Her gaze scoured his face as if searching for evidence of dishonesty. "But I shot you."

He quirked a grin. "You grazed me. Trust me, I know what being shot feels like. It hurts a whole lot more than this little crease. Took one in the back when I was twelve. Woulda died if Crockett hadn't been there. Fella's doctorin' is almost as good as his preachin'."

His fingers must have knocked one of Tessa's hairpins loose because a dark curl sprang free and wrapped itself around his finger. Made holding on to his train of thought nearly impossible.

"You were shot in the back? At twelve?" Her outrage snagged his attention and brought it back to their conversation, where it belonged.