Page 34 of Quiver

“What? The bows and arrows aren’t enough implements of destruction for you? You intend to take up axe throwing or primitive surgery now, too?”

She barely glanced up. “You finished?”

“Yes. One hundred hit targets.”

“Okay. Time to call it a day.”

She didn’t argue about the work, not sure her arm could’ve drawn the bow one more time. “You’re not even going to grill me or quiz me or make me shine your boots to prove my dedication?”

Fletcher raised the axe and brought it down across one of the smaller branches, stripping it completely off the larger piece. “I don’t care if you’re dedicated or not.”

“A likely story.” She stared at her back. “I think you don’t need to check up on me because you sent Ava’s dog to spy on me.”

“He’s my dog.” Fletcher axed off another branch.

“I know. I’m wondering what he calls her, since he seems to associate you with the word ‘mom.’”

As if to prove her point, Bear barked once and ran to Fletcher’s side.

“Sit,” Fletcher commanded, and waited for him to oblige before finally turning to Kylie. “Seriously? You’re in there talking to my dog?”

She laughed lightly. “I sort of happened on the ‘mom’ thing, but how does he differentiate between you if you’re both ‘mom’?”

“I just say ‘Ava,’ but sometimes she uses other terms.”

“Like ‘mom’?” She enjoyed the way Fletcher folded her arms across her chest and glowered. “Does she refer to herself as ‘mama,’ or ‘mommy’?”

“No. She just, well, she’s got a silly sense of … you know what? I know you’re making fun of us, but I don’t care. She calls herself ‘Nice Mom,’ and I’m ‘Grumpy Mom,’ okay?”

This time there was nothing restrained about her laughter. It rolled out of her and into the cold winter morning. “You let this girl call you ‘Grumpy Mom’ to your own dog? I mean it’s shockingly fitting. Maybe not clever, but right on the nose.”

“Ava has a way of making things stick without letting them sting, so I’m ‘Grumpy Mom’ whether I want to be or not.”

Fletcher sounded resigned but not annoyed, and alarm bells blared in Kylie’s brain. Fletcher had let Ava cut against her grain, and she hadn’t fought her. The realization made Kylie’s stomach roil. Some other woman had lowered Fletcher’s defenses long enough to form a connection in ways Kylie used to. She ground her teeth together. “Bear must not be the only one who thinks of her as a nice mommy.”

Fletcher’s jaw twitched. “Don’t.”

“Oh, come on, don’t pretend—”

“I don’t.” Fletcher snapped. “You’re the one who pretends for a living. I signed up only to teach you mounted archery. Anything else that brings your claws out will have to be exercised on your free time. We shoot, we don’t chat.”

“Fine.” She didn’t agree with the assessment, but she’d learned to recognize a dead end a long time ago. “But before I go, we should probably talk about payment.”

That refocused Fletcher’s attention. “Like money?”

“How do you normally take payment around here? Have things regressed to squirrel pelts in my absence, or were you expecting me to work off my debts with farm chores or sexual favors?”

Fletcher’s dark eyes flicked over her body before her face flamed. “Do you have to make everything awkward?”

She smiled. “Is asking your ex-lover how’d she’d prefer to receive compensation for sharing the expertise necessary to get you out of her life as quickly as possible ever not awkward?”

Fletcher dropped the axe at her feet. “You could’ve asked someone else to help you. You could’ve walked away when I asked you to. Hell, you could’ve asked me what my training or workshop rates were. Some people go to my website, but I suppose they aren’t button-pushing drama queens. That’s sort of your thing, isn’t it?”

Kylie laughed again, but this time it sounded sharper and felt colder inside her chest.

“What?”

“Nice tirade there. Have you been letting it build the whole time you’ve been out here?”