I took the gun from his hands. It was sleeker and smaller than mine; it would be a perfect weapon for Trace to learn on. “Thanks for this.”
“I do what I can. Now, try to stay alive.” His blue t-shirt fanned in the wind as he stuffed his arms into his jeans pockets and walked off.
“Nixon!” Trace yelled from the fence. “Come on!”
I walked over to her and sighed. The cows weren’t used to people. Meaning she was most likely scaring the shit out of them.
“Nice.” I pointed to the brown creatures and lifted her off the fence, “Now, we only have an hour or so, then we have to head back into town. Let’s make good use of it, shall we?”
Chapter Five
Nixon
“I suck at this,” Trace said for the tenth time. “I don’t understand how you can shoot something without falling down.”
I braced her body against mine and wrapped my arms around her in order to help her position the gun. “That’s why it takes practice.”
“Why does it look so easy on TV?”
“Because it’s TV,” I whispered in her ear. “Now, focus on the target. Remember pistols always have a slight kick. Do you want the earplugs?”
“No.” She breathed. “Because then I can’t hear you and for some reason having you behind me, helping me, it’s easier to concentrate.”
Funny. I was just thinking the exact opposite. It was damned difficult to concentrate on breathing, let alone shooting an actual target with her body squirming in front of mine.
“Remember,” I whispered. “You want to relax but also take a stance that allows you to breathe and take the hit.”
“Hit?” Her voice dripped with dread.
“From the kick, not a bullet. I wouldn’t let you get shot.”
She straightened her shoulders and pulled the trigger, hitting a good foot away from the actual target.
“Not too bad,” I lied.
Trace handed me the gun. “I can’t be awful at this, not when we’re still in danger.”
“Hey.” I took the gun and placed it on the wood stump next to us. “You’re not terrible and it’s not like you’re supposed to know how to do this well. You’re just a little rusty and used to shooting rifles on a farm. Not a smaller gun that doesn’t have great aim.”
“I know.” She looked back toward the mansion. “I take it Sergio isn’t going to join us at all?”
I cringed, thinking it best to keep most of the truth from her. The more she knew, the more in danger she would be. “He doesn’t like to involve himself in the business.”
Trace grabbed my hand and pulled me down to sit on the wooden table with all the ammo. “I don’t understand. Why help you, then?”
“Sergio’s what I like to call a ghost. He doesn’t exist. He likes it that way. After his father was put in prison, well, it was easy for him to get out. The feds were sniffing around too much and the family basically let him go off on his own. Of course, he’s still watched, but he’s basically free to live his life as he sees fit. He helps me when he can; he’s brilliant when it comes to computer hacking and research.”
Trace squinted. She had that look on her face, the one that meant she was thinking really hard about something. “So if Sergio decided he wanted to just up and marry some normal girl and live a normal life out with the cows… he could?” Her eyes looked hopeful. Damn, but I hated being the one snuffing out that hope.
“In theory,” I answered slowly. “But Trace, you’re never really free from this. You’re always going to be watching your back. You’ll always carry a gun with you just in case, and you’ll still never trust the other families or sometimes, even your own.”
She exhaled. “Sounds kind of awful.”
I cupped her chin with my hand. “It used to be. But now”—I kissed her softly across the lips—“not so much.”
“Are you afraid?” Her eyelashes fanned across her high cheekbones.
“I’ve known fear twice in my life. Once when I was little and watched my mother get beat and then suffered at my own father’s hands. And now…”
“Now?” she prompted.
“With you. Every damn second fear threatens to overtake my sense of peace. Because, in the end, I can’t control anyone’s decisions but my own.”
“I’m sorry”—Trace laid her head on my shoulder—“for making you feel that way.”
“Hey.” I pulled back and held her head firmly between my hands. “You make me feel—incredible. I think of the fear as something healthy. It means I’m that much more careful with the treasure I’ve been given.”