Point Blank Protector. Joanna Wayne

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I’m sorry.”

      “Thanks,” she said. “It was a tough loss.” Kali dropped the subject and hoped Zach would, too. The painful loss made her feel vulnerable and the events of Friday night had already left her feeling defenseless enough.

      Zach stopped the car on a gentle incline at a spot where the dirt road disappeared into a sea of yellowed grass and scrubby brush. “Is this the shooting range?” she asked, not sure what she expected, but sure it was more than what looked to be just another pasture—albeit without cows.

      “The range is off to your left,” Zach said, “just past that cluster of water oaks and sweet gum trees.”

      She craned her neck for a better view. There was a mound of high grass that rose at least twenty feet, topped by a flat expanse that gave it the appearance of a plateau. In front of that was a cable with hooks. A bull’s-eye-type target hung from one of the hooks about midway down the cable. Not as sophisticated as she’d expected on what Sheriff Guerra had mentioned was the second-largest ranch in the state. No one could accuse the Collingsworths of being pretentious.

      “The hill stops the bullets?”

      “Right,” Zach said, shifting into Park, and killing the engine. “That’s the backstop to make sure that bullets that are shot here stay here, though there’s nothing beyond it but about forty acres of woods.”

      “I’m guessing someone had to construct the mound since most of the terrain is relatively flat.”

      “My dad built it years ago so that he could teach his kids to shoot in a safe environment. Unfortunately, he died before I was old enough to handle a gun.”

      He climbed out of the truck and Kali followed suit, walking to the front fender to get a better look. “Do you always hit the bull’s-eye?”

      “Not always, but I’m never far from it.”

      “Well, don’t expect that from me,” she said. “I can barely see the target much less find it with a bullet.”

      “I’ll pull it closer. That’s what the cable’s for. Accuracy at close range is what you’re looking for anyway—until you take up hunting.”

      Which would be never.

      Zach walked to the back of the truck and opened the large metal toolbox. “Aidan left some police targets here last time we had a little competition going. They should be perfect for our purposes.”

      He held up his find, and a hard knot settled in her stomach. The targets were tri-folded cardboard cutouts of a man’s body with markings for the brain and the heart. Hit the mark, take out a life.

      She backed against the truck. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Zach.”

      “You need to be able to protect yourself if you’re going to live out here.”

      “It seems so…so deadly.”

      “That’s the point.” Zach shrugged. “But it’s up to you.”

      Up to her, and she’d never had any desire to pull a trigger. Yet she’d gone for that shotgun quickly enough when she’d feared the killer might have returned to the scene of his brutal crime. And what if he had? Or if he hadn’t run the other night? Suppose he’d been waiting when she opened the door?

      A gust of wind tousled her hair and blew it into her face. She raked the wild strands back and tucked them behind her ears. “Don’t guns make you even a little nervous?”

      “Only if one’s pointed at me. I grew up with firearms. It’s just the way it is out here. Not that we have much crime, but a well-placed bullet can stop a copperhead in its tracks or protect a young calf from a predator.”

      Copperheads and predators. She was definitely starting a new life. This was no time for her to wimp out.

      “Okay, Zach. I’ll give it a try.”

      He nodded. “We’ll start slow, let you get used to the gun in your hand. Then we’ll cover safety and get in a little target practice. Don’t expect to master this in one day. You’ll need practice to become accurate.”

      “I hope I’ll never have to depend on my shooting ability to protect myself.”

      “Speaking of protection…”

      He hesitated, and her nerves grew taut. “Yeah, go on.”

      He propped a booted foot on the truck’s front bumper. “I’m going to say this straight out, Kali, not to frighten you, but just because it’s how I feel about it. I don’t think you should stay alone on the Silver Spurs until the man who abducted and killed Louisa Kellogg is arrested.”

      “The sheriff said there’s no reason to think he’ll come back to the ranch.”

      “That’s a nice, sensible assumption. I wouldn’t stake my life on it.”

      Zach left it at that and walked over to attach the target to the cable. The heels of his boots crushed the dry leaves and rustled the grass. His head was high, and he looked as if he owned the world. He did own his world.

      She was the imposter here—a rancher wannabe. But her dream of raising horses had miraculously fallen into her hands when her grandfather had left her the Silver Spurs, and she’d do whatever it took to survive and prosper—even if it meant learning to shoot.

      And she’d do it without falling again for Zach Collingsworth— or for any other sexy cowboy who waited in the wings. Ranch first. Romance a distant second.

      ZACH SHOULD BE getting ready for a night spent seducing a gorgeous artist. Instead, for some reason he hadn’t quite figured out yet, he was sitting on the hood of his truck drinking a beer with Kali and watching the water in the creek pummel the rocks that blocked its path.

      “Look at that unusual squirrel,” she said. “He’s watching us.”

      “That squirrel is a weasel.”

      “It’s adorable.”

      “From a distance. Don’t try to pet or pick one up. They’re not nearly as friendly as they seem once they sense they’re cornered or captured.”

      “He’s still cute.”

      “Didn’t you see weasels when you visited your grandfather?”

      “Not that I remember.”

      “How come you never came back after that one summer?”

      “My dad and my grandfather had a serious falling out right after that. I don’t think they ever spoke to each other again. I’m not sure about that, though, since my parents divorced when I was in eighth grade. Dad got transferred to the West Coast and started a new life. I didn’t see him much after that.”

      But still her grandfather had left her the ranch. There had to be more to that story than she’d said.

      “There’s a deer,” Kali said, pointing to СКАЧАТЬ