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“It wasn’t intended as an accusation. I don’t know anything about that stuff because I didn’t do it, so I don’t even know where to start. And guns are just tools to me, not friends.”
Dad laughed. “Yeah, when your weapon saves your life, it definitely becomes more than just a tool. And if you’d asked me yesterday, I wouldn’t have thought this would mean so much.” He looked down at the rifle again. “I mean, to a civilian, this probably seems gruesome, keeping something that you killed with. And not just keeping it but being so emotionally tied to it. But it’s not the lives it saved and took, or even the gun itself, although that means a lot.” He looked at Tom, blinking hard. “It’s the fact that that little girl went to so much time and effort to find it for me. I can’t imagine what I could ever do to come close to that.”
Tom snorted. “Are you kidding me? Hello, riding lessons? Dinner? Family? You’ve become the father she never had. There’s no question about it.” He laughed. “I have no doubt that she thinks the same thing, that this could never come close to repaying you for the time and effort you’ve put in.”
Dad sniffed. “Like I need repayment. Pshaw. That girl needs dependable people in her life, and I’m not doing a whole lot with mine, so why not?”
“Oh, you do plenty. But it is a real joy to see her come out of her shell. I think back to that first day when she rescued me, and she’s an entirely different person.”
“I think she is. I wish we could have met her before all the bad stuff happened. I suspect she wouldn’t have gotten so scared and isolated had we been there from the start.” Dad sighed and shook his head.
“Oh, no doubt there either. If I’d known her from the start, well... this would be an entirely different life. I can’t imagine abandoning her like that ass she was married to did.”
“She was married?” Dad frowned. “She didn’t tell me that. Although, now that I think about it, she kind of implied it. I just didn’t put it all together.”
Good, because Tom didn’t want to betray her trust. He didn’t see it that way, but she might if she hadn’t already said something to Dad. “Yeah. She told me over the phone one night. We were in a role-playing game, the kind where you build up a character as you play, sometimes for years. Anyway, she’d gone after this one character viciously. No holds barred, every trick in the book, and she cleaned his clock. I signed off before she’d finished because it was really late, and she called to apologize for not saying goodnight, of all things.” He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, still amazed. “Anyway, she told me that character was her ex-husband’s. After she came back, and she needed him, he just left, had divorce papers served on her.” Tom shook out his clenched fists. “He’d better not show up in person, ever, or I’ll clean his clock.”
Dad sighed heavily. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? But just like I told her, you got to be careful about revenge. It usually bites back.”
“If he ever shows in person, it will be about protection, not revenge. And I’m okay with her on-line revenge. It’s just a game, after all. It will cost him time and money, but he can rebuild his character. I thought it was pretty appropriate, actually. He had to know she was there and stayed anyway.”
Dad grimaced. “Maybe. I’m going to clean this beauty and put her in the safe, then we can head up.”
Tom grinned. Wasn’t very often Dad forgot the chores. “You can head up. I’ll feed the cows.”
Dad jolted, then chuckled. “Thanks, son.” He slapped Tom on the shoulder and left for the garage, where they kept the gun cleaning supplies, humming as he went. Tom grinned. It was a very, very merry Christmas so far.
After dinner, Tom sank into the comfortable mission-style couch at the far edge of the living room. Ryan and Craig played a video game, fortunately with headsets, while Amy and his dad watched. Wiz, Deb, Sam, and Erin stayed at the table, commiserating with Deb about her family’s noisy, kids-filled celebration, but they seemed a little envious too. Which he understood; he was pushing forty with no real prospects in sight. Well, he had her in sight, but whether or not it was a real prospect? Too soon to tell.
He took another sip of wine. Wiz had outdone herself on this selection. Sam had declared it “love in a bottle,” and she was right. The pinot noir was smooth, dark, and delicious. The entire meal had been wonderful and the company better.
Wiz broke away from the others, sitting in the chair next to his seat on the couch. “You look happy.”
“I am. This has been the best Christmas we’ve had for a very long time, and that’s all due to you.” He raised his glass. “Thank you.”
She blushed and clamped her lips together for a moment, looking at her feet. “It’s the best one I’ve had for a long time too. No, the best one ever.” A tiny smile lit her face.
“How did you think of the rifle, anyway?” He didn’t want to embarrass her too much or start her down the road of denial, and he really wanted to know.
She looked up at him, happiness still quietly blazing. “Oh, I’ve known a lot of Marines. Memorizing the serial numbers on their rifles is practically beat into them in basic training. They memorize all their weapons. The Army isn’t quite so insistent on it, but I figured with your dad’s additional training, he’d know. So, I asked him one day, and sure enough, he spouted it right off. And not just his sniper rifle but the M-16 he’d had before that, and the one he had in basic. It got to be kind of a joke. He’d tell me the serial number on his rifle, and I’d tell him the IP address of some server.”
Tom chuckled. “Neither of which would tell me anything.”
She shrugged. “It’s definitely a military thing. Never know when the computers and comm will go down, so you memorize what you can. And the grunts pile their guns together in a pyramid when they go to chow, so they have to be able to tell them apart, and the only way to do that is by serial number.”
“I guess that makes sense. They would all look alike.”
“The Winchester doesn’t look like an M-16, but there were lots of scout-snipers too. Anyway, to these guys, their guns are kind of like, hmmm, cops with their K9s. Leaving them behind is unthinkable; they’re precious and cherished. So, I was trying to find a Model 70 of the right era, and when I did the research, I realized that there were quite a few guys out there who had theirs from Vietnam. A lot of them were guys who had bought their own, when the scout-sniper school had just started and the military didn’t have the right weapons. So, I did just what I told you—I asked the question on a couple of boards, and we found it. I had a lot of help. The Vietnam vets are pretty excited about doing stuff like this; it makes their day when it works. Still, it was a minor miracle.”
Tom smiled and shook his head. “Oh, I think it qualifies as a major miracle, myself, one that required the intervention of an angel.” He pointed at her.
She looked at her feet again. “I’m no angel. A long way from one, as a matter of fact.” Her tone was mournful.
“I beg to differ. I think you’re angelic in every possible way. If you don’t agree, at least remember that even the fallen angels were forgiven when they repented. Not that I think you’ve fallen in any way, shape, or form or need repentance. Regardless of angelic status, forgiving yourself is the hardest part.” Nothing was coming out right; hopefully, she understood what he meant.
She frowned skeptically. “When did you start spouting the same stuff as your dad?”
Tom chuckled. “Honey, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Don’t you think I’ve heard all this before? And we did just go to Christmas service, remember? I can’t help but pick up some of that.”
