Page 52 of The Cowboy and the Stray

“Revolvers are tricky. Better just let me—” Calder’s voice had that easy drawl that made me crazy, made me think too much about things I shouldn’t. The heat made me think too much, too. And the way he rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Distracting. Unfairly distracting. I squinted and pulled the trigger.

“—show you.” He stared as the post cracked. “Never shot a gun, huh?”

He took a step back, hands raised in surrender. I smirked and did it again.

“Steady grip, nice and firm.” He raised his own hands, as if the gun was there between them. “And keep your elbow⁠—”

“Relaxed,” I said, pulling back the hammer again. It made that lovely sharp sound. God, that sound was addictive.

His mouth quirked in a half smile. “Revolvers are, uh, tricky,” he repeated, but it didn’t sound so sure this time.

I squinted down the sight, lining it up again, but all I could see was his face. “Better show you again.” I aimed, breathed, squeezed. Another hit, this one just as solid.

“Damn.” He shoved a hand through his hair, and I tried to pretend I wasn’t noticing the muscles under his t-shirt, or the dusting of dark hair on his forearm, or the way my own heart wouldn’t settle. Damn it, heart. Chill.

“I thought you said you never⁠—”

“I haven't," I said quietly as I squeezed off another round. "But it's fun."

“Remind me never to cross you.” He looked at me with a quiet intensity. “Or to trust you when you say you’ve never shot a gun.”

I tipped my chin up and handed him the revolver. “Think you’re safe now?”

“I'm not sure I ever was.” He took the gun from me like it might break, then slipped it back into my hand. “Reload. I want to see if you can do it again.”

I flipped open the chamber, letting the spent shells fall into my palm, and reloaded them. He was still watching, still close. Why did that feel more dangerous than the gun?

The shots rang out, one-two-three.

“I can do it again.” I tossed my hair back, then gave him a smirk. “Need another demonstration?”

“Maybe I do,” he said. He moved in close enough to rest his hand on my hip, close enough for me to notice that he smelled like cedar. He lifted my arm to guide me. “Relax your grip. Just a bit.”

The weight of his touch was distracting, more distracting than the sun, more than the gun. His mouth was right by my ear. I couldn’t tell if the goosebumps on my arm were from the breeze or from the things he was whispering about how to hold the revolver. Definitely not the breeze.

I made a noise, some vague acknowledgment that I was still alive, that I wasn’t entirely focused on how warm his hand was on my shoulder.

“Just like that,” he said, backing off a few inches. It wasn’t enough. Seriously, back off a few more. Or not. Ugh.

I shook myself, blinked, and tried to remember we were supposed to be practicing. He was doing things to my concentration, things I couldn’t afford. I had to keep my head on straight, keep my guard up. “You’re in my way,” I said, and it was a lame protest, a cowardly little bluff. Good job. That’ll scare him off. I pulled the trigger, quick and sharp. Dead center. The post splintered. I handed him the gun, then ran a hand through my hair to look like I wasn’t breathing hard. “Did I do it right that time?”

“You sure did,” he said. He rubbed his thumb over the barrel, thoughtful. “I think you’re better at this than I am.”

I laughed. “Probably better at a lot of things.” Oh geez, that was lame. Was that even flirting?

“Watch yourself.” He slipped the gun back to me, easy and light, but his eyes said something different.

“What?” I said, feigning innocence as I started to reload. “I can’t believe you're letting a woman show you up.”

“You did, though.” He laughed and shook his head, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself.

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” There was a beat between us, an opening. I pretended not to notice, then didn’t duck fast enough when he took advantage of it.

He pulled me toward him by my belt loops, not like he was about to kiss me but not like he wasn’t, either. The sun was hot, but Calder was hotter.

“I should’ve known better than to underestimate you, Tess,” he murmured, voice rough. He leaned closer until I could feel his breath on my lips.

"You did," I whispered back, my heart pounding in my ears like a drum. “You really did.”