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He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Our birthdays. My dad’s is the twelfth, mine is the fourteenth, and my uncle’s is the twentieth.”
“Not your mom’s?”
Hunter had never thought about it. He shrugged. “I guess he ran out of numbers.” He hesitated before pushing the door open. Now that they were down here, he was having second thoughts.
Clare put a hand on his arm. “Are you going to get in trouble for showing me?”
Her fingers were warm, and when he turned his head to look at her, her lips were close.
Stop thinking about her mouth.
He had to clear his throat. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
Because no one was going to know about this.
Before he could think better of it, he threw the door wide.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
Hunter tried to see the room with fresh eyes, but it was tough. He’d grown up with this stuff. The hunting rifles in racks along the far wall, the Peg-Board on the right with hooks for the handguns, the military-style guns hanging on the left. Low cabinets lined the sidewalls, the counter space clear. A table sat in the middle of the room, empty, of course. His dad had way too much military training to leave anything out of place.
Clare had sucked back a bit, and Hunter gave her a smile. “They won’t jump out and bite you.”
“Am I being ridiculous?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never showed this room to anyone.”
Ugh. Why did he say that?
“Can I go inside?”
“Sure.” He stood back, then followed her through.
She walked to the wall of military-style weapons first. He couldn’t really blame her; those were definitely the most impressive.
“Do you know how to use all of these?” she asked, her voice hushed.
“I haven’t fired all of them, but most guns work on the same principle.” He took down the AR-15, which looked pretty badass but was really rather simple.
She flinched.
“Relax,” he said, more at ease now that they were in here. With weapons, he knew what he was doing, and it fed his confidence. He did what his dad always did, unclipping the magazine and checking to make sure it wasn’t loaded. Each click was loud, heavy steel sliding into place. When he was sure the gun was safe, he held it out to Clare.
She shook her head quickly.
“No bullets,” he said. “You can hold it.”
She gingerly started to take it from him, just her fingers wrapping around the barrel. Hunter shook his head. “Don’t do it halfway. It’s heavy. Just take it.”
He didn’t let go until her hands were wrapped solidly around the weapon. She held it at a distance from her body, like a poisonous snake.
He had to smile. “Here. Like this.” He positioned her left hand on the front of the gun, supporting the barrel. “Now put your right hand on the pistol grip—”
“I don’t want to shoot anything.”
“Bullets don’t magically appear. Work with me.” He reached around for her right hand.
And then, somehow, her back was against his chest, and he was holding his hands over hers, positioning the rifle against her shoulder.
