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“What if it takes more than that? What if we have to go through with it?”
This time, Gray did push his hat back enough to peek at her through one eye at that. “Go through with what? You mean…marriage?”
“Well, you can’t just stay on as my fiancé forever.”
“Didn’t plan on it,” he grumbled, ignoring the way his stomach was shimmying about at the thought of Mercy being his wife. It was that charred mess she’d called breakfast that was making him break out in a sweat. Nothing more.
“You don’t seem the type to plan anything,” she said wryly. “But doesn’t mean things won’t happen anyway.”
He sighed. “Damn, woman, if it’ll keep you quiet long enough for me to get a nap in, I’ll marry you or Josiah or my horse if that’s what it takes.”
She didn’t say anything, and for one shining moment he thought maybe she’d gone away. He wasn’t that lucky, though.
“Well, if you aren’t planning on providing any help aside from yourpresenceon my porch…”
“I told you, I’m retired.”
He could have sworn he heard her curse under her breath, and he pinched his lips together to keep from smiling.
“Fine, teach me to shoot, then.”
He pushed his hat back again and frowned at her.
“You know, of all the ways I thought I’d spend my retirement, chasin’ off people who wanted me to teach them was the last thing that would have ever occurred to me. I’m no teacher. I told you, no teachin’, no killin’, no protectin’. You said just bein’ here would help. Well, I’m here. No fair tryin’ to change the deal now.”
“Well, excuse me, but it didn’t occur to me that this”—she gestured at him slouching in his chair—“was how you normally looked. Or behaved. Your name is only going to go so far. Eventually they are going to see you like this and…well…” She waved in his direction again.
He grunted. “I don’t know what you’re goin’ on about. I don’t look so bad.”
She raised both eyebrows at that, her gaze raking over him. He glanced down at his rumpled, travel-stained clothing and the small paunch that was starting to form above his waistline. “Okay, maybe I look a little worse for wear. But that’s nothin’ that a bath and some fresh clothes won’t fix.”
“You bathe?” she asked, eyes wide.
“Occasionally,” he said, scowling at her.
“And do you own any clean clothes?”
“All right, you’ve made your point. Go away.”
She sighed. “Look, Mr. Woodson—Gray—I wasn’t aiming to insult you. Frankly, the fact that you agreed to this whole scheme was more than I dared hope, and I really am grateful.”
He grunted and gave her a sharp nod.
“However…”
He sighed and laid his head back against the chair again.
“I can shoot well enough to bring down small game, sometimes, and scare off predators. My daddy made sure I knew that much. But I’ve never shot a man before. Never even held a gun on one. I’d be no match for Josiah and his men. Or even the sheriff. For all his lily-livered ways, he still has the skills that got him the job. Plus, all I have is my shotgun. That’s good enough for my purposes, usually, but it won’t do me much good if whoever comes gets too close.”
Gray grunted again. She had a point.
“But pistols like yours…” She pointed at the guns he still wore strapped to his hips. “Those would be much better if I needed to fight closer range.”
He shook his head, though a twinge of what might have been regret poked at him. “Even if I wanted to teach you, and I don’t, these guns are much too big for your hands. They wouldn’t do you any good.”
“Ah, I’m sure they’d do just fine. Look,” she said, leaning forward to grab one from its holster.
“What—?” he yelled, right as she yanked it loose and it went off with an earsplittingbang. He yelped and jumped out of the chair with a little hop.
