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He threw himself on the ground, stretched out, rifle ready. Broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and his boots, worn and scuffed, pointed back toward her. He’d long since lost his cowboy hat, and his hair was only slightly longer than the stubble on his face.
In those two seconds she looked at him, it hit her for the first time in her life. Palmer was rugged. Tough. Handsome.
Attractive.
That thought was what made her stumble.
It was a rogue. There was no way she could think like that. Palmer was her best friend.
She flung herself down on the ground beside him, lifting her rifle. It would take him seven shots to hit the five targets. That meant she had nine seconds on him, since she would hit all of hers, and he’d waste those nine seconds reloading twice more than she would have to.
Except...she missed.
Frustration rocked through her. She missed maybe five percent of her shots. Maybe. On a day she had the flu. Today, with the sun shining down and her in perfect health, she couldn’t believe it.
It only took her a second to set her jaw and adjust her grip on the rifle. She didn’t miss again, but Palmer must not have either, because he rose when she did, his targets all shot down, and raced to his machine.
They took off together, side by side, and flew wide open the last short distance to the far corral gate, which was always their unofficial finish line.
It wasn’t enough for him to pull completely ahead of her. His body was even with her front tire. So, still holding the throttle wide open, she took her other hand off the handlebars and stretched out over her rifle, leaning forward as far as she could. Her fingertips just passed his handlebars as the gate flew closer.
She yelled, “I’m first, Cowboy!” as they flew by it, her fingertips just inching past him.
He turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes widened at her position. She probably looked like a bird on a death dive, but it didn’t matter, because her fingers had crossed the line before any of his body parts.
She straightened on her ATV and punched her fist in the air. “Yahoo!” she cried.
Whatever little glitch she’d had at the last range was gone, and she turned brilliant eyes to Palmer. His shining blue eyes smiled back at her, even as he shook his head.
They hit the brakes, and their machines fishtailed in different directions, coming to a stop facing each other. How many hundreds of times over the years had they done this together? Maybe thousands since she’d decided in high school she wanted to compete in an Olympic biathlon.
Palmer had never wanted to be anything but a rancher on his grandparents’ spread, but he’d been more than happy to help her get better.
“I won!” she said triumphantly, just in case he’d missed it.
“You did not. I was across the line well before you.”
“Maybe. But my fingers broke the plane first, so that makes me the winner.”
“All I had to do was scratch my nose, and my elbow would have been ahead of your fingers.”
She tossed her hair. “Maybe you should have had an itchy nose, then.”
“Fine. I’ll let you say you won. This time.”
“I win every time.”
“No, you don’t. I beat you once ten years ago, Squeegee.”
Oh, he had to break the nickname out. She slapped her handlebars and crossed her arms over her chest. “That was the summer I had a broken leg and I let you talk me into racing anyway.”
“I talked you into it, because I had a broken leg too.” He lowered his head. “My broken leg was your fault, Squeegee.”
Okay, so that was true. She’d thought bungee jumping from the top barn beam was a good idea, and she’d talked him into doing it with her, doubles. “How was I supposed to know the bungee cords would stretch like that?” After they’d been carted off to the hospital, both of them unable to walk, and after the pain meds had kicked in, he’d dubbed her Squeegee. She thought it was his way of combining Squashed and Bungee, but she wasn’t sure. Sometimes with Palmer, she was better off not knowing.
Anyway, he didn’t use it all the time but usually brought it out sometimes to remind her of her own stupidity. She wasn’t falling for his mind games. “Why did you go along with it? No one made you jump off the top of the roof.”
“Seriously? I was a loyal friend, and now, somehow everything is my fault?”
