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Grace stood between me and Charlie, each of us holding our preferred weapon, loaded. Our future wife shouldn’t be between us ready to fire a gun. It wasn’t what I’d envisioned. It wasn’t the kind of woman any of the other men at Bridgewater had. But I didn’t want a woman like Emma or Laurel. I wanted Grace, just as she was, secrets and all.
“Each of you will get six shots,” Kane said, taking on the impromptu role of official. The others—Emma, Ian, Brody, Olivia and her husbands—stood behind us for safety. Mason and Laurel sat with Ann, Robert and Andrew closer to the house with the children to ensure they didn’t run into the line of fire.
I looked to Grace, who was gazing at the potatoes. Focused. Her hat was off, her long hair wild and pulled back in the thick, familiar braid. She still wore men’s clothing, but her breasts were unbound—that long strip of fabric would be burned—and outlined in the large shirt. I could even see the hard tips of her nipples poking against the worn material. I knew what they looked like, what they felt like in my palms. Fuck. Once this competition was over, her hair would be unbound, her clothes on the floor of my bedroom and Grace in my bed.
“The most hits wins.”
She glanced up at Charlie, then me.
He held out his hand. “Ladies first.”
She rolled her eyes and checked her weapon.
Turning to the side, she raised her right arm, weapon pointed. She was calm, her brea
thing slow and even. Her arm was steady as she exhaled, then fired.
Then again, and again until all six shots were used.
One potato remained on the top of the fence.
Closing her eyes, she swore under her breath, which made my lips twitch in amusement. She knew she’d get her ass spanked for such language, and it would not be a hardship to mete out another punishment. Fortunately, the next time I spanked her, I’d be able to fuck her directly after. Then she wouldn’t think it a punishment at all, for she’d come, and hard.
“I thought you never missed,” I murmured.
She looked to me and just shrugged. I narrowed my eyes and wondered. Had she missed on purpose? If so, why—
“Bloody hell, woman, where did you learn to shoot like that?” Kane came over, slapped her on the shoulder, albeit gently, and grinned down at her. “We could have used you in the British army.” She smiled up at him. The fucker. She didn’t smile like that at me. Then again, he wasn’t claiming her either. He wasn’t the one who seemed to make her more contrary than less. Yes, that was my job and I would be eager to see that fire and sass aimed right at me, just like her gun.
“Hands off, Kane. You’ve got a woman of your own,” I told him. Why did he need to touch Grace when he had Emma? She was a beautiful, lusty woman. There was no doubt she was satisfying her two husbands.
Kane’s gaze shifted to mine and he slapped me on the back and laughed. “Glad to finally see you claimed, Sheriff.”
He was vexing me on purpose. I knew it, but I didn’t care.
“My father taught me to shoot,” she replied, ignoring the way I practically pissed on her leg to stake my claim. “He taught my two older brothers. I watched and practiced when they weren’t around.”
This was an interesting bit of information. I glanced over her head at Charlie. It was more than we’d gotten from her on our own. It was a start.
“He should be proud of you,” Kane said.
She stiffened. “No. That wouldn’t be what my father thinks of me.”
Kane’s expression didn’t change when she answered, but it made my blood boil. From the crispness of her voice, she didn’t like her father at all. “And your brothers?”
She sighed. “One’s dead,” she replied as if she were speaking of the weather. There wasn’t a hint of sadness in her expression. “The other… we don’t get along.”
“Do we need to ask your father for your hand?” I asked. I was a gentleman in some things. I’d pay my respects to her family as was expected, but no matter his answer, I was claiming her anyway.
Her chin tipped down and she stared at her boots. “No. I’m on my own now.”
Charlie cocked a brow, but said nothing. “My turn to shoot, love.”
Kane stepped back.
She looked to him and he winked, then turned his attention to his target. He shot one potato easily, then the next. He lowered his arm, looked to Grace. “Did I tell you I was a sharpshooter in Mohamir?”
He aimed and fired again. And again. Like Grace, he missed one.
