Page 76 of Never Your Valentine

“Hitting the target is harder than it looks,” Logan adds. “The darkness distorts depth perception.”

“Let me show you how to nock an arrow,” Brick says, putting his hand over hers.

I’m about to step in, but Annabelle backs him off with a glare. She stands behind the line, hesitating for a moment, then lets her arrow fly, missing the target completely.

“Don’t worry about it,” Logan tells her. “These bows are heavy.”

“You need a lot of upper body strength to shoot,” Lincoln says.

“Be sure you’re facing perpendicular to the target,” Tim tells her. “No, not like that. A little more. A little more.”

Annabelle shoots again. Misses again. Felix tells everyone to drop their bows and stay behind the line while he gathers arrows.

“Can I try one more time?” Annabelle asks sweetly when Felix returns.

“What do you think, guys?” Felix asks. “This is your trip, so…”

“Let her shoot,” Brick says. “I’ll help. Here, let me show you how.” He comes up behind Annabelle, presses his chest to her back, and reaches around her, trying to put his hands over hers.

She lets out a little yelp and steps out of his range, but before she can say a word, I’m shouldering him out of the way.

I keep moving forward, forcing Brick back. I stay on him, calmly and deliberately marching him away from the others. When we’re out of earshot, I pause, staring at him with a murder glare. I want to pound him into a pulp, but I can’t. This is my brother’s business. His reputation. His livelihood.

Brick seems to know how badly he’s screwed up, and wisely doesn’t say anything. I gather myself, wanting to be sure that when I speak, my voice is calm, as if I’m just stating facts. “I have three brothers,” I say.

Brick’s eyes dart left and right, as if he’s looking for help.

“We’re standing on land my youngest brother owns,” I continue. “It’s about a hundred acres, and it bumps right up against the Hiawatha National Forest, which is another eight hundred thousand acres. Big number, right?”

“Hey man,” Brick says. “I didn’t mean any⁠—”

“Nobody comes here but us,” I tell him, my voice steady, as if we’re having a casual conversation. “We hunt up here all winter. Rifle season. Bow season. Follow me. Over here.”

I lead us back to the group. Brick is sweating now. Good.

I draw an arrow and roll it briefly between my fingers, letting the fletching brush against my palm. The arrowhead gleams like a shard of ice. I set the nock against the string with a snap that seems loud in the stillness. The bow is a familiar weight in my hands. Snow crunches under my boots as I shift my stance.

The target waits downrange, a bright circle against the winter woods. My breath slows. The cold fades. The world shrinks to the thin line between the arrow in my hand and the center of the target.

I release. The string snaps forward. The arrow flashes through the air, one brief streak of light racing toward the mark.

Bullseye.

Tim and his friends go nuts, cheering and whooping, while Brick looks like his guts just evacuated into his boots.

I hand the bow to Annabelle. “Your turn.”

Annabelle gives herself an exaggerated dope slap. “I know why my arrows weren’t connecting. I can’t shoot from this distance.”

“You want to get closer?” Tim asks. “Ladies can…” He trails off as we all watch Annabelle back off twenty more yards to the tree line.

“This will do. Watch out, lads.” She shoots three arrows in a row. They all hit the center of the target. Whump, whump, whump.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

Strangely, I’m the only one cheering this time.

I put my arm around Annabelle and we watch the others shoot a few more rounds, but all the swagger has left them. Finally, Felix announces that it’s time to head back. We strap our snowshoes on and let the rest of the group go ahead.