Page 111 of Traces Of You

“Moving slow can get a person killed. Try living with that regret.”

30

INNER DEMONS

She had this.

Deep breath in, let it out. Once more.

Close one eye, extend her arm out, aim, pull the trigger.

Sure, sounded easy enough.

Except every time that Clay or Ford shot at the target in Clay’s backyard, her body jolted, her knees slapping together. She was positive she’d have bruises to explain.

This wasn’t for her to feel safe but for Ford. But she understood it’d be smart to know.

“You’ve got it,” Ford said.

“What if I miss completely? There could be people back there in the apple trees.”

“You won’t miss the wall,” Clay said. “You’re aimed right at it. We don’t expect you to hit the target.”

There was a wall of wood that was easily twenty feet in width, ten feet in height with targets tacked on it. All she had to do was pull the trigger and at arm level she’d hit it in front of her.

Once again. She could do this.

She turned to look at Clay. His facial expressions were unforgiving and let on to nothing.

Ford, his were softer.

Concern but encouragement at the same time.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“You don’t have to announce when you’re firing,” he said.

Her finger pulled toward her. It was tighter than she thought. Or maybe she assumed it’d be so loose that a whisper could pull it.

She bent her finger fast, the gun went off in her hand, sent her a step back and had her ears ringing even though she had earplugs in.

She survived it, so she pulled it again and then a third time.

Her palm stung some, but that was all Ford loaded in the gun.

He took it out of her hand and put it down by his side.

“Did I hit anything?”

“The wall,” Clay said.

“That’s something at least.”

“I don’t think guns are your thing,” Ford said.

“I could have told you that,” she said dryly.

“Everyone in the family can fire them,” Clay said. “You can’t be on the farm and not know. Even Gale can do it.”