Page 27 of Feral

“A rifle’s a good choice around here,” she said, running her hand over it, then lifting it up, checking to see if it was loaded with an easy skill of someone who’s used one before and often. “Got a lot of wild animals?”

“Bears up in the hills although I like to give them room, so I don’t have to shoot them.”

She smiled. “That works. Jett Markle said he saw wolves.”

I stilled but grabbed a box of bullets to keep from wanting to go over to Markle’s land and shoot the fucker.

“You know how I feel about the guy. Let’s not ruin our afternoon talking about him. I assume your Glock is loaded?”

“Of course.”

I grabbed the rifle and two boxes of bullets, one for her Glock and one for my gun. This was Montana. We had many weapons and were prepared to use them all.

“The target’s over there. I put the first paper sheets out earlier. Grab the hearing protection?” I tipped my head toward a stack of hay bales in the distance and Natalie grabbed the ear plugs. Beyond it was nothing but open pasture for miles and was wide open on both sides. If someone happened into view, we’d know well before they got in the line of fire.

I led her to where we stood to shoot, two hay bales stacked to rest bullets and unloaded guns. I left the extra target papers there earlier.

“Warmup round?” she asked, watching as I loaded the rifle.

I clicked it shut and aimed the barrel at the ground. “All right. Ladies first.”

She put her ear protection in, moved a few steps away, and stood so her right leg was forward and raised her arm. Looking my way, she waited for me to get my ear plugs in, then focused on the target. Fired.

I had no idea if she was hitting the target. My gaze was on her. The way she stood, confident in her shooting. The vibe of power she was giving off was hot as hell. It might have also been the way she filled out her jeans or the curve of her breasts beneath the snug t-shirt. Or the red hair that caught the sunlight.

Fuck, she was incredible.

When her cartridge was empty, she aimed her gun at the ground and slid it open. I took her place and looked at the targets. All of her shots were neatly placed around the bullseye. She handled a weapon like Colton did, with military precision. She hadn’t mentioned she’d been in the service, and I had to wonder the story she wasn’t telling me. She’d said she’d been scared. While the idea of her being afraid of someone didn’t sit well with me, I was reassured by her skills. No guy was going to get past her bullets. Not with her aim.

I lifted the rifle, aimed. Fired.

“Not bad.” She set her empty weapon on the hay bale. I did the same, and we walked in companionable silence with new target sheets across the field.

When we returned, she loaded her Glock. “How’s the shootout going to go?”

I shrugged, looked from her to the prepared targets.

“Fifteen shots. Closest to center wins.”

“Sounds good.”

We reloaded.

“I’m guessing ladies first again?”

I only grinned at her in reply.

She took her position again.

“Angel,” I called.

Looking over her shoulder at me, she quirked a brow.

“Use your left hand.”

Her mouth fell open. “How… I… what…?”

“You’re left handed. I assume that’s your dominant hand, yet you did your warmup round with your right.”