Page 52 of Love’s Silver Bullet

“Wait …” Panic flared in Sheridan’s chest. “Annie won’t tell Uncle Finn about these lessons, will she?”

His smile softened as he slacked a hip. “No, ma’am—no names, I promise. All she knows is that I’m teaching a very petite person to shoot.”

A slow bleed of air seeped past her lips as she offered a wobbly smile. “As you know, Uncle Finn was pretty adamant about Blaze teaching me to shoot, but since he didn’t directly forbid me from working with you”—she gave a sheepish shrug—“I figure what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Clay said with a wink. He held the rifle aloft, carefully pointing out the barrel, shaft, chamber, bolt, sight, trigger, and butt of the Remington Model he’d chosen.

“I already know most of that,” Sheridan said shyly when he finished. “Jake taught me about gun safety and terminology, types of guns, how to clean and load them, and stance before he quit on actually teaching me to shoot.”

Surprise flickered in his brown eyes as he arched a brow. “Did he now? Well, that certainly makes my job easier, then, because we can move right into target practice.” Handing over the rifle, he nodded first at a box of ammunition on the table, then pointed at the bulls-eye target set up a distance away. “I thought we’d start out at 25 feet and move up from there with each lesson, so let’s see you load and take a stance.”

“Okay …” She cautiously took the rifle from his hands and checked the safety before pulling the bolt backward to load the ammunition, clicking it closed with a shaky smile. Moving around the table, she took her stance, not exactly remembering what Jake had shown her since she’d been rattled at the time.

“Here,” Clay said, coming up behind her like Jake had done to position her just so, his arms around her as he adjusted both her hold and the fit of the butt of the gun into her pocket. “Perfect,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath tickling her cheek and tingling her body. The scent of musk soap taunted her senses as his whisper turned husky. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Sheridan?”

“Uh, no,” she said, head fixed over the gunsight while she peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes.

I think.

Stepping away, he studied her through a squint, arms in a loose fold. “I know Blaze said Jake quit teaching you because you gave him trouble, and I can’t help but wonder what he meant by that? Because the truth is, you’re flat-out one of the sweetest and prettiest girls I’ve ever met, so I can’t imagine any man telling you no.” He idly scratched the nape of his neck. “I guess I’m just a little curious as to exactly what kind of trouble you gave him?”

Blood swarmed her cheeks—all the way to the roots of her hair. She lowered her gaze and bit on her lip so hard, it hurt. “Uh … well … uh …”

“Never mind,” he said with a gentle squeeze of her arm. “It’s none of my business, but I think I can figure it out. All I can say is I sure hope you smacked him silly.”

She blinked, remembering all too well the slap she’d given Jake when he’d compared her to one of those women at The Silver Pistol. A muscle worked in her throat. “Uh … as a matter of fact, I did,” she said with a seed of a smile, still seeing Jake’s glazed look in her mind.

Clay took a step back. “Good to know,” he said with a teasing raise of his palms and a crooked smile, the twinkle in his eyes putting one in her own. Giving a nod toward the bulls-eye target a fair distance away, he slid her a lazy grin that shocked her when it fluttered her stomach more than she liked. “Well, Miss Donovan, since Jake got you started, why don’t you show me what you know?”

“All … right.” Hunkering down over the rifle, she peered through the sight, more than a little flustered over the feelings he’d just provoked. Flutters, yes, but also surprise that just maybe Clay Morgan wasn’t the wolf she’d been so worried he’d be. Finger quivering, she gave the trigger a slow squeeze, the jolt of the rifle not unlike the jolt he’d just given her.

What did she know? Well, she knew one thing for dead sure, given these unwelcome tingles.

I could be in a whole heap of trouble.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Okay, tonight’s the night.” Libby threw her shoulders back with a firm thrust of her chin as she studied herself in the bathroom mirror, determined to fight for women’s rights, even if it meant only one woman at a time.

Beginning with my niece.

She reached for the perfume bottle Finn had brought back from his trip to Carson City and dabbed a little behind each ear and wrist. Pausing with a nervous grate of her lip, she scrunched her eyes closed to do the same to the cleft of her breast, wishing she didn’t have to resort to feminine wiles to change Finn’s mind.

Expelling a silent sigh, she set the bottle down and assessed the lay of auburn tresses spilling down the lacey front of her thinnest cotton nightgown. Finn’s favorite, of course, because it was the next best thing to nothing at all, he said.

Her smile took a slant.

But it worked, she supposed, so that’s all that mattered. Right?

Especially for Sheridan.

Slipping her robe on, she doused the light and tiptoed down the hall to her room, lightly touching her fingers to her lips before pressing a good-luck kiss to Sheridan’s bedroom door on the way. “Please, Lord,” she whispered, help Finn to see the light and allow Sheridan more freedom.”

With a silent twist of the knob, she entered her bedroom where Finn sat in their bed, obviously going over notes from his day given the open portfolio on the nightstand. He glanced up over the specs perched on his nose, and she shook her head with a smile, thinking Finn McShane even looked handsome in specs and an unbuttoned union suit.

She flashed him a bright smile while she quietly closed the door. “Still working?” Slipping her robe off, she hung it on the back hook before hurrying to climb into bed, Finn’s propensity for wide-open windows allowing a pleasant, if not somewhat cool, breeze. “Brrr …,” she said as she shimmied beneath the covers, cozying up to him with a playful jut of her brow. “I wonder if you would have run for mayor if you’d known the long hours involved.”

Smiling, he removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand. “Definitely, ma’am, because you see, I have a wife anxious to be married to a senator so she can wield him on behalf of women’s rights.” He stuffed his papers into the portfolio and laid it aside, turning out the light. “Which is when the real work begins, darlin’, for the senator and the suffragist.” He hooked an arm to her waist to slide her in close. “Come here, woman, and wield away.”