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“I can handle you,” I countered, “so I can definitely handle a gun.”
His laugh rumbled through his body. “That’s funny.”
“Hey,” Trent smiled. He was dressed casually in a pair of shorts and t-shirt. The tattoo that covered his upper arm looked like some sort of waterscape. His dark hair was tousled in the front, making him look even more like his brother. “Ready to learn to shoot?” He asked me, pointing at one of the targets. “Trace said you wanted to know how to shoot a gun.”
“Uh, yeah,” I muttered.
“You don’t need to look so scared,” Trent chuckled and bumped my shoulder with his. “Us Wentworth boys have excellent aim. Right, Gramps?”
Warren shook his head, hobbling towards us. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Olivia,” he assured me.
“This will be fun,” Trace smirked cockily, and strode over to a golf cart I was sure Warren and Trent had used to get here from the house. Poor Warren obviously had trouble getting around.
Trace opened a lock box that was on the back of the golf cart. I walked over and peered over his shoulder at the weapon that could kill someone with a simple pull of a trigger.
Trace clucked his tongue, looking at the different guns in the box. “Let’s try a revolver and a semi-automatic pistol for you. Those should be easier for you to handle since you’re a beginner, but they still have some firepower to them,” he murmured, tapping a finger against his lips.
“You’re taking forever,” Trent groaned from behind us. “Just pick one and show her how to shoot.”
“Why do you have to be so impatient?” Trace snapped at his brother.
“Why do you have to be so annoying?” Trent raised a brow.
Trace shook his head and grabbed two guns. I followed him over to one of the targets Trent and Warren set up.
“This is a revolver,” he held the gun in his right hand aloft. I was of medium size with a silver cylinder that held chambers for the bullets. “And this one,” he held the other where I could see it, “is a semi-automatic.” This one was sleeker looking. “Which one do you want to try?”
I pointed to the semi-automatic.
He grinned. “Why am I not surprised?”
He returned the other gun and jogged back to my side. Warren and Trent were already shooting at their targets while Trace explained what I needed to do.
“Semi-automatics are slimmer and lighter than a revolver,” his eyes were serious as he spoke. “They can fire more bullets, quicker, and the trigger is easier.”
He loaded the magazine with bullets, and directed me with how to stand and hold it, before he finally handed it to me.
I held it in my hands, surprised that I wasn’t shaking.
“Take a deep breath,” Trace coached. “Look at the target, and when you think you’re ready, aim and fire.”
I swallowed, eyeing the paper target.
I pulled the trigger and resisted the urge to close my eyes. The bullet missed by a few feet, not even connecting with the paper, but I had done it. I had actually shot a gun.
“That was close,” Trace chuckled.
“You’re such a liar. That was nowhere close,” I shook my head at him.
“I was trying to make you feel better,” he defended.
“I want to try again,” I told him.
He helped me back into position, but he kept distr
acting me with a brush of his fingers over my shoulders…down my back…playing with my ponytail.
“Trace,” I warned, “you’re distracting me.”
