Page 2 of In Her Sights

"Let me explain by telling you about my daughter, Pauline. My only child." Josiah's heart twisted, and his voice cracked. "My greatest joy." He paused a moment, locking away his grief long enough to say what must be said. "She fell in love with a young man but was too shy to make her feelings known. She admired him from afar for many months, waiting for him to notice her, to return her affections. Sadly, he failed to do either. He married another and broke my little girl's heart."

Josiah hung his head and blinked away the film of tears coating his eyes. "Pauline had always been a quiet, sensitive girl, and this heartbreak ravaged her soul. My wife and I tried to console her, to assure her that the pain would pass and that the Lord would bless her in a way she couldn't yet imagine. But she lost faith. Lost hope. She withdrew into herself to the point that I knew if something didn't change, I would lose her. I pleaded with her to tell me what I could do to restore her hope. She looked at me with dull eyes and assigned me an impossible task. Present her with Cupid's bow. Only then would she believe love could be hers."

Josiah forced his chin up and met Annie's compassion-filled gaze. "If I could have stormed Mount Olympus and retrieved that mythological weapon for my Pauline, I would have done so, Mrs. Butler. But one can't retrieve an item that doesn't exist. So, I set out to do the next best thing. Pauline needed something tangible. Something she could see and touch. Something to act as a guarantee that hope would not disappoint."

He reached into the pocket his wife had sewn into the lining of the gun case lid and pulled out the note secreted inside. He handed it to Annie and waited to gauge her reaction. Everything hinged on her cooperation.

She unfolded the parchment, and her eyes moved back and forth as she read the inscription he knew by heart.

She who possesses this pistol, possesses an opportunity that must not be squandered. Cast in the tender dreams of maidens from ages past, the steel of this weapon is steadfast and true and will lead an unmarried woman to a man forged from the same virtuous elements. One need only fit her hand to the grip and open her heart to activate the promise for which this pistol was fashioned—the promise of true love. Patience and courage will illuminate her path. Hope and faith will guide her steps until her heart finds its home.

Once the promise is fulfilled, the bearer must release the pistol and pass it to another or risk losing what she has found.

Accept the gift . . . or not.

Believe its promise . . . or not.

But hoard the pistol for personal gain . . . and lose what you hold most dear.

Annie shook her head and looked at him as if she doubted his mental stability. Not a good sign.

"I don't mind passin' on the pistol to a gal in need, but this note . . . it sounds like it's promising some kind of hocus-pocus. I'm a God-fearing woman, sir. I won't promote no falsehoods. This is just a piece of metal. It ain't gonna magically lead a girl to her special fella."

"Of course it won't." Josiah shifted uneasily in his chair. "The note is not to be taken literally. Look at it again. The pistol isn't supposed to be used like some kind of divining rod where the young lady waves it at every man she meets until it flies from her hand to stick to a man's chest like iron to a magnet. No, the young woman is supposed to open her heart, to believe that true love is possible. She's instructed to exhibit patience and courage. To cling to hope and let herself be guided by faith. Isn't that how we all find love? The power is not found in the pistol. The power is found in hope."

"Then why doesn't the note just say so in plain language?"

An image of Pauline sitting in her favorite chair, engrossed in one of her stories, made itself at home in Josiah's mind and brought a nostalgic smile to his lips. "Because this note wasn't written for you or me, Mrs. Butler. It was written to appeal to young women like my daughter. Women of a fanciful nature, with romantic leanings. My Pauline would have read this and been reminded of stories where true love conquered all. She would have been inspired to open her heart instead of closing herself off. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . she would still be alive."

A tear rolled down his cheek, and Josiah brushed it away with an impatient swipe of his hand.

Annie reached across the table and gently clasped his arm. "I'm so sorry you lost your daughter, Mr. Hartman."

"Thank you." Josiah nodded, touched—and encouraged—by her sympathy. Clinging to the tattered remnant of his own hope, he straightened his posture and cleared the residual emotion from his throat. "My greatest regret is not finishing this pistol in time to make a difference in my daughter's life, but it can still make a difference in the lives of other young women." He took the note from Annie and slipped it back into the lining pocket. Then he closed the case lid with a quiet click. "A pistol might seem an odd item to encourage courtship, but I thought with your history, you might see its potential."

Annie's attention slid to her husband, and Josiah held his breath. He'd heard the tale of how she'd won Frank Butler's interest and affection when she bested him in a shooting contest nearly two decades ago. A gun had brought her true love. Surely she'd be willing to offer the same chance to others.

A long moment passed while Josiah's heart throbbed in his chest.

Finally, she glanced down at the polished mahogany case, traced the mother-of-pearl inlay at its center, then flattened her palm over the top and dragged it over to her side of the table.

"All right, Mr. Hartman. I accept your gift and the commission that comes with it."

Tears pooled in Josiah's eyes again, but instead of the salty sting of grief and loss, they dampened with the sweet joy of gratitude.

Pauline's legacy had begun.

Austin, TX

November 16, 1893

Tessa James never expected to need an actual gun for husband hunting, but desperate times called for desperate measures. She'd been in love with Jackson Spivey for nigh on a year, yet despite her best efforts to win him with fresh baked goods, flirtatious glances, and dozens of dropped hints of decreasing subtlety, he remained oblivious.

A woman of flimsier constitution would have given up by now and turned her attentions elsewhere, but Tessa was built of sterner stuff—or stupider stuff, according to her brother, Daniel. But what did he know? Just because he was two years older didn't make him wiser, especially in the ways of the heart. He wasn't married or even courting, for pity's sake. Her sister, Mollie, on the other hand, had married a year ago at the age of seventeen, which made Tessa feel like the veriest old maid when she'd turned twenty last month. Her baby sister loved to crow about beating Tessa to the altar, and the fact that she was expecting her first child next spring only made matters worse. Nevertheless, Tessa refused to accept defeat and chase after easier prey.

Jackson might take more effort to win, but he'd be worth the trouble. She just had to find the right path to his heart. That's why she'd spent half a week's wages on a train ticket to Austin. Because the woman currently performing on the lawn outside the Hyde Park Pavilion could show Tessa the way.

Annie Oakley. The greatest sharpshooter the world had ever seen.