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I pull away from his grasp and face forward again, but then I see him bring something up from behind me, and I tear my gaze away from the peak again to see that he holds a gun.
Or a rifle.
Sliding the chamber open, he shows me the long, sharp golden bullets and then yanks the bolt back, chambering a bullet and making sure I’m watching as he does it.
“Do you see the broken rope bridge hanging over there?”
I look across the river, seeing the remnants of a wooden rope bridge hanging down the rock wall.
Jesus. My heart skips a beat, taking in the drop below. Was that bridge actually a thing at one time?
He puts the rifle in my hands. “Aim for it.”
I grip the long firearm, the steel barrel tucked into a dark wood casing, and I’m kind of thankful. At least he’s not wanting to talk.
Did he shoot that deer with this?
I let out a breath.
Not likely. The mountain man probably has a whole cabinet of these things.
Hesitating a moment, I finally lift the rifle, positioning the butt against my shoulder and wrapping my hand around the guard with my finger on the trigger. I close my left eye and peer down the line of sight, toward the muzzle.
“Okay,” he tells me. “Now calm your breathing. The bullet is already chambered, so just look down the sight, and line up—”
I pull the trigger, the bullet firing out of the barrel, echoing into the air, and a pop hits the rock wall down the opposite side, kicking up rock dust and cutting the board in half. Both parts fall and dangle by their respective ropes against the cliff.
A breeze kicks up my hair a little, and I lower the rifle, opening both of my eyes as the thunder of the shot disappears in the distance and the peaceful sound of the waterfall fills the air again.
Jake sits behind me, still, and I hand the gun back to him and turn my attention back up to the peak, seeing some kind of a large bird breeze past my line of sight.
He clears his throat. “Well…I was going to suggest the boys empty some beer bottles for you tonight, but…looks like you don’t need the practice. I thought you said you couldn’t shoot.”
“I can’t shoot animals,” I tell him. “I thought that’s what you were asking.”
The peak is massive. But so close. Such a strange feeling, something so big, reminding you that you’re small, but also reminding you that you’re part of a world full of magnificent things. What a great thing to be able to see—and relearn—every day.
Jake dismounts the horse, and I ease back in the seat, which is still warm from his body.
“I’m going to check some traps, so I’ll walk home,” he says.
I look down, meeting his eyes as I take the reins now.
“Start breakfast when you get back to the house,” he tells me. “After you unsaddle the horse, of course.”
I narrow my eyes without thinking. Cook?
I have no problem helping out, but why that?
I look away. “I’ll pitch in, but I’m not staying in the kitchen.” I’m not sure if I have a problem with cooking or because that’s where he wants me.
Put the girl at the stove, because of course she doesn’t know how to ride a horse or shoot, right?
“Do you know how to tend crops instead?” he asks.
I straighten my spine, already knowing what he’s getting at.
“Weed, water, fertilize?” he goes on. “Aerate the land? Plant? Do you know how to prepare to store some of those crops to feed the horses and livestock over the winter months?”
