Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The Ranch
Muddy parked the truck along the forest tree line and then cut the engine. She got out before I even had my seat belt off.
She went to the truck bed and carted out a black plastic case.
“What are we doing?” I asked as I followed her toward the tree line.
She didn’t reply.
But about twenty feet away from the truck was a wooden table and shooting targets.
I frowned as I looked at her.
She set the plastic case on the table and opened it. Muddy pulled out earplugs, earmuffs, and protective glasses.
“You ever shoot a pistol?” she asked me.
I shook my head.
Nodding, she removed a pistol from the case. In seconds, she had it completely loaded.
“I come out here when I need to work through something. Or when I just want a spot to myself. Shooting is a good way to feel in control again.”
“And you thought this might make me feel in control again?” I asked in confusion.
She shrugged. “Maybe. Earplugs in. Eyewear on.”
Once we were protected, she turned to face the target. She lifted the pistol, held it steady, and fired.
Her aim was impressive—she hit the bullseye four times out of fifteen rounds, and the rest were close.
She shot until the pistol slide locked back.
“You want to fire it?” she asked, setting the pistol onto the table.
“Not really . . . no,” I said.
She nodded. “That’s why you should. Just one round, yeah? I’ll even load it for you.”
“Okay.”
We swapped places after she loaded exactly one round into the pistol and then she guided me on how to hold it with authoritative care.
My heart thudded in my ears as I lifted the pistol and aimed it at the target.
I pulled the trigger, feeling resistance.
I squeezed slowly and then a bit harder.
It fired and kicked in my hand.
My palm buzzed from the force of it.
I lowered the pistol to the table with the slide locked back.
My breathing went from slow and steady to rapid. I placed a hand on my chest and began to rub my sternum.
“You’re okay,” Muddy said, her voice a low murmur due to the ear protection I still wore.
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. Emotion moved through my rib cage and up my throat. My eyes started to burn with the need to cry.
So, I cried.
Muddy stood by and watched, her face etched with understanding.
Once my blubbering was under control, I said, “I wasn’t expecting that. I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
I took a few deep breaths and eventually hog-tied my emotions. And then something stirred in me. “Can I fire another round?”
Her lips turned up into a smile and she nodded. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“What’s that?”
“Fire until it feels comfortable. Until you’re used to it. It’s not something to be afraid of—it’s something to learn that you’re in control of.”
She took the pistol and loaded it, this time with three rounds before letting it rest on the table again. I looked at it for a moment and then I picked it up.
I faced the target, lifted the pistol, and then, I pulled the trigger.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Finally, the chamber was empty.
“Better?” she asked.
I set the pistol down again. “Better. Not comfortable yet, but better.”
Nodding, she removed her eyewear and set it aside. She then took off the earmuffs and removed the earplugs.
“That’s good for one day,” she said as she began to pack up.
I glanced at the sky, the sun peeking through the tree canopy.
“Hadley and Salem told me they offered you the money for your bookstore,” she said.
I lowered my gaze to her. “Yes.”
“They also said you turned them down.”
I nodded.
“And I’m guessing you won’t take the money from Brooks, either, right?”
“Right,” I said. “Even though he’d give it to me without hesitation.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes. Good. Good that he offered and good that you know it’s there should you ever need it. But better that you marry him without that baggage.”
“I thought you of all people would say to take the offered hand when you’re in need.”
“I do say that,” she agreed, closing the case and locking it. “You’ll take the money, but you’ll take it from me.”
“I will?” I asked softly.
“You will.”
“Why will I take it from you?”
“Because I don’t need it.” She smiled. “And you do.”
“I’ll make you a partner,” I insisted.
“I don’t want to be a partner. Take the money. It’s a gift.”
“Was this your plan all along?” I asked with a laugh. “To bring me out here and offer it?”
“Yes.” She gestured with her chin to the truck. “Let’s get back to the house.”
“You think Salem is calm enough yet?” I asked in amusement.
“I’ll drive slow.”
Muddy was just parking the truck out front when Hadley ran around the side of the ranch house, screaming her head off.
The two of us jumped out of the truck as fast as we could and I ran to her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Fig,” she yelled. “Fig got a vole!”
I frowned in confusion.
Muddy sighed. “She’s part beagle.”
Hadley burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.
“What’s a vole?” I asked.
Hadley was too stricken to reply, so Muddy replied for her.
“They look like mice,” Muddy explained. “But cuter.”
“And chunkier,” Hadley blubbered. “And Salem’s dog found one and—and—”
“Ate it?” Muddy supplied. “Killed it?”
“Caught it and brought it to Salem and put it in her lap,” Hadley wailed. “It’s still bleeding and it’s not dead!”
“Where’s Salem?” Muddy asked.
“By the fire circle.” Hadley sniffed. “She said she can’t bear to put it out of its misery.”
Muddy patted her shoulder. “Go into the house with Poet.”
I took Hadley’s hand and led her toward the porch.
The house was empty, the remains of breakfast put away, the dishwasher whooshing quietly.
I settled Hadley onto the couch and sat next to her.
“You smell like gunpowder,” she said, her nose twitching.
“Muddy took me to shoot,” I explained.
“Oh.” She reached over to the end table and grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box.
The back door opened and a moment later, Salem came into the den.
Her face was white, and her jeans were stained with tiny blood droplets.
Fig, her beagle mutt, trotted in behind her and went to lay down in her dog bed in the corner of the room.
She licked her muzzle and then lowered her head, her eyes closing as though she’d just completed a job well done.
“You okay?” I asked her.
She nodded and then she too dissolved into tears before collapsing into Muddy’s patchwork chair.
Salem wasn’t normally a crier. But this event had set her off, apparently.
Fig got up and went to her and laid her head in Salem’s lap. Salem tried to bend over to press her head to Fig’s, but her belly got in the way. That only made her cry harder.
“You can kill chickens, but you can’t kill a vole in pain?” Hadley asked her sister between sobs.
“And be labeled the vole assassin of Elk Ridge?” Salem sobbed. “No thanks.”
I couldn’t help it.
I started to laugh.
And laugh and laugh until I couldn’t see straight.
Salem glared at me as she swiped the tears from her cheeks. “Have you ever seen a vole?”
“No,” I said, trying to stem the flow of hysteria and failing miserably.
Hadley whipped out her phone and pulled up a photo of a little brown rodent-looking thing.
“Oh, they’re cute,” I said.
Hadley nodded. “And they mate for life.”
Salem started bawling again.
“They mate for life?” I asked.
“Yep,” Hadley replied, teary eyed.
Suddenly, the humor in me fled and my lips began to tremble. And before I knew it, I was crying too.
“Why are you crying?” Hadley asked me with a sniff.
“Because that’s so sad!” I liquified into a fit of tears.
“This is nutty,” Salem muttered as she hiccoughed. “I get why Hadley and I are crying. We’re hormonal messes.”
“I’m a crier,” I announced. “We know this about me.”
Salem nodded slowly. “Yes. You are. You cry all the time.”
Hadley clenched the tissues in her hand as she looked at Salem.
Salem glanced at her and then the two of them peered at me.
“What?” I demanded.
“You don’t think you’re . . .” Hadley began.
“Think I’m what?”
“Pregnant,” Salem said. “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”
I frowned. “No. No chance of that.”
“None?” Hadley pressed. “Are you sure? Have you—ah—been using protection?”
I hid my head. “Not when I was on my period . . .”
Or my first time, but I wasn’t going to admit that.
Hadley’s fingers flew across her phone screen again.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Asking Dr. Internet if you can get pregnant while you’re on your period.” Hadley paused for a moment and then said, “Huh.”
“Huh what?” I demanded.
“You can get pregnant on your period,” she said. “It’s unusual but it can happen. Especially if you have a short cycle and ovulate sooner than normal. And sperm can live up to five days, apparently.”
“Maybe you should take a test, just to rule it out,” Salem said.
“I’m not pregnant,” I insisted.
The back door opened, and Muddy came into the den and stood in the doorway. “The vole has been taken care of. I buried him next to Roscoe.”
“Roscoe?” I asked.
“Our mother’s dog,” Salem said.
My lips quivered. I collapsed into tears again.
“You sure that test is a bad idea?” Salem asked.
“What test?” Muddy asked.
Salem winced. “Oops, sorry Poet.”
“It’s fine. It’s Muddy,” I muttered. “They think I might be pregnant, and they want me to take a test.”
“You don’t need a test,” Muddy said.
“See?” I looked at Salem and then Hadley. “Told you I’m not pregnant.”
Muddy cleared her throat. “I mean, you don’t need a test because you’re definitely pregnant.”
The three of us turned to stare at her in shock.
She raised her brows and shrugged. “I’m Muddy.”