Page 60 of The Saloon Girl's Only Shot

“Owen.” She sounded exasperated.

“People always accuse me of not being serious, but most of the time, I’m being as honest as I know how. Now, I want you to empty this at those sticks I set up on the log over there.” He pointed, taking up a stance behind her where he could smell the fresh air in her hair overlaying the traces of smoke from their breakfast. “The noise and the kick will scare you, but that’s what I want you to get used to, so it won’t make you hesitate if you actually have to use this thing.”

“I am definitely going to hesitate to shoot a person,” she stated, but she let him adjust her posture before she squinted down the sight and squeezed the trigger.

She flinched as it kicked back, and she stumbled into him.

He steadied her. “There you go. Try again.”

She did, reacting less violently with every shot. Her last one picked the stick off the log.

“Good work.” He squeezed her shoulders, then set the pistol aside and picked up his long gun. “Let’s try Mrs. Stames.”

“Mrs. Stames?”

“I’ve slept with her a lot more often than any flesh-and-blood female. She’s reliable when it comes to getting my dinner too.”

Temperance tsked and rolled her eyes.

“You only get one shot, but we’re here so you might as well give her a go. She veers a little to the left.” He helped her fix her posture and gave her tips on lining up the sight.

He was doing his best to keep his touches to only the strictly necessary variety, but he liked having the excuse to stand close and touch her. She was sturdy, but soft and warm. And cute as hell, concentrating so hard as she aimed.

“Now move it just a hair— There you go.”

She squeezed the trigger and staggered back into him while her shot kicked up a bit of bark close enough to the stick that it would have counted on something bigger.

“Ouch.” She rubbed her shoulder.

“Mrs. Stames is the jealous type.” He took the gun and showed her how to load it.

He let her take a few more shots, so she could practice loading it, then they packed up to walk home in the fading light.

“When do you think the saloon will open?” she asked as they ambled over the bridge.

“As soon as I have whiskey. Couple of days, I expect.” He glanced in the direction of the mercantile, but there was no use badgering Mick until he got his shipment in.

“I’d better finish my gown then.” She’d shown him what she had so far, and he’d asked her to put more lace on it, wanting it to look fancier.

“Oh! Mr. Greenly.” They turned a corner and nearly walked straight into Elmer.

“You!” Elmer was red-faced and, for once, didn’t spare a leer for a woman, too busy baring his teeth at Owen. “We had a deal.”

“Go on up to let Clarence out.” Owen touched Temperance’s elbow, muscles gathering with watchful tension. “It sounds like Elmer and I have business to discuss.”

Temperance hurried away, sending him a concerned look over her shoulder.

“Are we doing this here?” Owen shifted his grip on the long gun propped on his shoulder, never liking to use Mrs. Stames as a bludgeon, but it wouldn’t be the first time if he had to.

Elmer looked around. They were outside the cabinet maker’s shop. There was a cabin next door with a coop full of laying hens behind it. Otherwise, they were alone on the street.

“I gave you that building, so she would leave town,” Elmer said through his teeth, pointing in the direction Temperance had gone.

“I bought the building for the price of your debt,” Owen corrected him.

“You know exactly what I expected, Owen. Don’t play ignorant.”

“Yeah. You expected you could leave your child and his mother to starve to death.”