Page 17 of DFF: Delicate Freakin’ Flower (Family Ties #5)

It was Eddie. He had a coil of fishing wire in one hand, one eyebrow raised like it was trying to take off from his face, and a look that screamed you idiots are going to be the death of me .

“Easy,” he snickered. “Don’t shoot the guy on your side.”

Webb lowered the gun with a curse and shoved it back into his waistband. “Jesus, a little more warning next time.”

“I thought the flare was warning enough,” Eddie muttered sarcastically, scanning the clearing like he expected something to go boom . “That was me. My boot caught the outer perimeter line, and I tripped it by accident.”

I let out a breath and leaned back against the nearest tree, the adrenaline still buzzing through me.

Eddie’s gaze moved to the crate of dented cans and the firepit, then to me—clearly clocking the fact that I was seconds from raccoon deployment.

Then he looked at Webb. “Is that seriously the best trap she’s got? Because if that’s all she’s working with, she’s screwed.”

“Gabby’s got more,” Webb muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ve got the good ones set farther past the ridge. That flare was just a warning line.”

Eddie didn’t look convinced.

Webb jerked a thumb toward me. “This was all I was willing to let her handle. I didn’t want her getting caught in anything sharp or swinging.”

He glanced at me with something between fondness and defeat. “She’s got salmonella in a can and an army of raccoons.”

“Don’t forget the wieners,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes and already mentally aiming one at someone’s head.

Eddie gave us both a long, baffled look, as if we were the punchline to a survivalist joke he didn’t want to hear the setup to.

“You know what,” he shrugged. “I’m not even going to ask.”

He still squinted at me like he was trying to figure out what kind of creature I was, though. I held his gaze, my arms still crossed, because I wasn’t moving. Not while Webb was out here. Not while any of us were still in danger.

“If I dare ask,” Eddie said to Webb, “can she at least shoot in the general direction of someone trying to kill her?”

Webb sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, she can shoot. She’s not perfect,” he added, giving me a sideways glance, “but she can keep a threat busy.”

Eddie winced like it physically hurt him. “Then she should be carrying. All the time.”

“No,” Webb snapped immediately, head shaking. “We’re not turning the cabin into a full-time live-fire zone. She doesn’t even always know where the muzzle is pointed.”

“Once,” I muttered.

“Twice,” he countered.

“That’s not entirely fair,” I called out cheerfully as I pushed through the front door.

“I do know which end’s the dangerous one!”

Behind me, I heard Webb’s voice echo after me. “That’s not comforting!”

Eddie, of course, had something to add. “Look, if she’s sticking around long enough to start naming backup raccoons, she needs to carry. End of story.”

I disappeared into the cabin before either of them could argue further and headed straight for the gun stash. If I was going to help, I needed more than expired sardines and raccoon diplomacy.

Outside, their voices got quieter as Eddie shifted into full survival mode, listing traps as if he were preparing for war. I caught snippets through the screen door.

“I’ve got bear traps set east of your perimeter,” he was saying, calm and focused now. “There are also rope nets and wire snares. But the real prize is the tripwires. High tension and steel coil, not that fishing line garbage.”

I peeked out the window and saw Webb nodding as if he were mentally mapping everything out. Then Eddie pulled something from his duffel—a black canister with a weird little trigger on it.

“What is that?” I heard Webb ask.

“Homemade bear spray grenades,” Eddie replied. “Pull and roll. They’ll mess up anyone dumb enough to come through the trees.”

There was a pause, then Webb’s cautious voice asked, “Is that even legal?”

“Nope, but it's effective.”

By the time I emerged back onto the porch, they were deep in conversation about a group of men spotted in town. Their shiny trucks and too many questions painted bad news in clear letters.

I figured that was my cue. It was wicked, but it was also pertinent to what we'd been discussing earlier, so it was a win-win.

“I picked the lightest one!” I announced proudly, waving the gun like a prize from a fairground. “Didn’t want something heavy pulling down my yoga pants!”

Their reaction was immediate and dramatic—Webb ducked behind a tree as if I’d just pulled the pin on a grenade, and Eddie practically leaped behind a branch like it was a bomb shelter.

“Gabby!” Webb barked. “Watch the muzzle!”

“What? I’m just holding it!”

“You’re swinging it!”

“I am not!”

Eddie crouched lower, muttering like his soul had briefly left his body. “I swear I just saw my life flash before my eyes. I thought you were meant to be okay with guns, woman!”

Fine, maybe I’d been a little too enthusiastic with the demo I'd put on for them. I froze dramatically, then raised the pistol vertically like a baton in a parade. “Okay, better?”

Both of them cautiously peeked out like I was a rabid squirrel with a bazooka.

“Better,” Webb agreed slowly. “Just don’t wave it around like it’s a damn hairbrush.”

“Is the safety on?” Eddie called, staring at the gun as if it were sentient.

I frowned and held it closer to my face. “The what?”

“The safety! ” he practically screeched. “Little switch that stops it from firing!”

I squinted. “How will I know if it’s on?”

Both of them groaned like synchronized dads.

“If it’s showing red,” Webb called out, “it’s off. Covered means it’s safe.”

I flicked the switch and nodded. “Okay, Ithinkit’s safe now.”

“You think? ” Eddie shouted, his voice rising a full octave.

I glanced up in time to see the look that passed between them—Webb with that sinking expression that meant he was regretting his entire life, whilst Eddie shook his head like I was a one-woman chaos engine.

“You’ve got your hands full, man,” Eddie muttered.

Webb let out a breath that was half sigh, half prayer. “Tell me about it.”

I ignored them both and looked down at the weapon in my hand. I lowered it carefully, tucking it close to my side. I wasn’t great with it yet—but I was focused. Ready. Proud, even. And hey, at least I hadn’t named it yet.

But I was definitely thinking about it.

I lowered the pistol slowly, keeping my grip steady and my expression serious—because, for once, I wanted them to see I could be serious and focused. Maybe even a little proud of myself, if I was being honest.

For the briefest moment, I felt it in the air—Webb’s hope. As if he actually believed I might treat this thing like a real weapon and not, say, bedazzle it or try to recruit it into my imaginary raccoon militia.

I could practically hear the internal monologue: She’s maturing. She’s getting it. Maybe she won’t name it.

Poor, sweet, deluded man.

I smiled and held the gun up just a touch. “I’m gonna call her Tinkerbell.”

Webb winced, Eddie's mouth dropped open, and I beamed happily at them.

“She’s small, but she packs attitude,” I noted brightly, giving the gun a gentle pat like it was a beloved kitten. “And if someone tries anything, boom. They get a whole lotta fairy dust.”

Webb closed his eyes and exhaled hard enough to make his soul rattle. “I knew I'd spoken too soon.”

Eddie didn’t even pretend to keep a straight face. “You’re honestly doomed, man.”

I just smirked and tucked Tinkerbell into my waistband like she was the answer to a question only I knew. And somehow, despite all of that, Webb still looked at me like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.