Page 64 of Project Duke

Calliope nodded and retrieved a small lead ball, handing it to him. He picked it from her fingers.

“Now, put it at the top of the barrel,” he said, indicating. “Press it down.”

Using the wooden ramrod, he pressed the bullet down, feeling the subtle give and resistance as it compacted against the charge. He made sure to hold the pistol downward and away from Calliope. He knew all too well how deadly those things could be.

“Now take the stance I’m taking,” he said and demonstrated. “Feet shoulder-width apart, angle your body slightly to the side. Distribute your weight evenly.”

As Calliope copied him, he nodded. “Good.”

He raised his straight arm and aimed at the target.

“You need to brace yourself for the recoil, Calliope. The kickback is going to be strong.”

As Calliope mirrored his position, he moved behind her, and pressed the pistol into her hand, putting her finger on the trigger and making sure she held it correctly. He could feel the strong muscles of her arms, the ones he’d admired when he saw her naked. She boxed every other day in one of the free bedrooms. A punching bag had been hung from the ceiling, and she had a jumping rope lying nearby as well as leather fist mitts to protect her hands.

Then he stood close enough that their bodies nearly melded together. His arms reached around her, aligning her elbows and wrists, guiding the pistol into position. He felt her resilient form against him, her softness belying the strength within. Her natural fragrance and her delicious perfume intertwined with the damp, earthy scent of morning dew made his head swim and his blood stir. He should be taking her into his arms and kissing her and making love to her again and again. Instead, he had just put a deadly weapon into her hand and was teaching her how to use it.

He looked at the target. “The key to good aim isn’t solely in the hands or eyes.”

“Oh?” she asked.

“Take a deep breath and hold it,” he said, his chest brushing against her back as he did the same. He could feel the slow rise and fall of her breath synchronizing with his own. He couldn’t help the quickened rhythm of his heart, though, threatening the calm he wanted to exhibit.

“Feet apart, good…now, bend your knees slightly, just like this.” His free hand pressed lightly on the small of her back, encouraging the subtle shift in her posture.

Her body aligned with his, mirroring his stance. He moved his hand away, placing it back on hers which held the pistol. “Now, extend your arms. Full extension, love,” he instructed, the familiar motion of his own arms providing a silent guide.

A terrifying image of her needing to use the pistol against a real foe hit his inner vision and sent a deep chill down his spine.

“Good. Now, line up the sight with your target,” he continued, pointing to the small notch at the rear of the pistol and the protruding point at the muzzle end. “When they’re aligned, both should point to your target, just there.” His finger traced an invisible line towards the tree.

“I see,” Calliope whispered, the words drifting into the dawn air.

“Finally”—Nathaniel’s voice dropped to a murmur, his lips close to her ear, inhaling her intoxicating scent—“squeeze the trigger, don’t pull.”

The sharp report of the pistol sliced through the morning stillness, leaves fluttering in response to the echo. A flock of birds darted into the sky, the beating of their wings cut through the silence. He could see that her bullet had hit one ring away from the bull’s-eye.

The kickback was strong even in his own body, and he was proud to notice Calliope held her stance well.

As the ringing in his ears subsided, Calliope turned to look at Nathaniel, a spark in her eyes that mirrored the burst of pride in his chest. He knew then their connection wasn’t just in the stance, the aim, or the shot. It was in the trust, and her appreciation for his support and instruction.

“Good shot,” he said. “Quite close to the mark. Very good, love.”

But his voice was still quiet, not ringing with pride and confidence as it should be.

“Thank you,” she said, beaming.

He nodded. “I’ll give you two muff pistols so that you always have them at hand.”

She frowned, her eyes going wet. “Are those the muff pistols…from that night?”

He nodded somberly. He only hoped they would bring her more luck than they had him.

“Now try and reload it by yourself,” he said.

As he watched her pour the gunpowder, then put the bullet in, he knew he didn’t feel any better knowing she would be able to shoot. He knew he was going against his instincts, against everything he knew to be true, by allowing her to keep putting herself in danger.

Would he ever be able to let her be? She’d promised not to go out and investigate by herself. That should help him not to die inside every time she wasn’t where he expected her to be.