Angela lowered the weapon, surprised by the small surge of pride she felt. She'd actually hit the target, even if it was just barely. "I can see why some people find this satisfying."
"It's about control and precision," Jude explained, stepping closer to examine her stance again. "You're doing well for someone who was so nervous about it."
The compliment made her stand a little straighter. She'd spent so many years being told she wasn't quick enough, smart enough, good enough at whatever task Jim or Sandra had assigned her. Having someone like Jude—someone whose opinion she valued more than she should—tell her she was doing well felt like a small victory.
"Let's try a few more rounds," he said. "I want you to get comfortable with the weight and the recoil."
Angela nodded and raised the gun again.
Over the next several minutes, she shot at the target many times. Jude helped her reload, then she tried again. Some of her shots hit the target, though never the bullseye.
“Can you hit the bullseye?” Angela asked after she’d emptied the gun for a second time.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Maybe.”
“I want to see,” Angela told him. “Otherwise, I’ll always assume I’m better than you.”
Jude chuckled at that. “Well, if you practice enough, you could be better than me.”
She set her gun on the shelf that was on the divider next to her. “I think I need some incentive.”
“Alright.” Jude removed the gun from the shoulder holster he wore. “Let’s see how I do.”
Angela moved to the side as Jude stepped to where she’d been standing to shoot. He didn't hesitate the way she had.
His movements were fluid and practiced as he raised the weapon, and Angela studied the confident set of his shoulders, the way he seemed to become completely still for a moment before firing.
The gunshot cracked through the air, and Angela's gaze immediately went to the target. A hole had appeared dead center in the bullseye.
"Show off," she muttered, though she couldn't keep the admiration out of her voice.
When Jude glanced over at her and winked, Angela’s heart just about stopped. The moment didn’t last long, and soon he was focused back on the target.
When he fired again, another hole appeared right next to the first one. Then a third shot, so close to the others that Angela wondered if he'd hit the same spot twice.
Lowering the gun, he turned to face her. His expression was a little smug, but there was a twinkle in his eye that made her smile.
She shook her head in amazement. "That's just not fair. How long have you been shooting?"
"Since I was twelve," he said, ejecting the magazine with practiced ease. "My dad started taking me to the range when I was old enough to hold a gun properly."
“Was he a good shot?”
“The best,” Jude said. “My goal from the moment I first held a gun was to be as good as he was.”
“And did that happen?”
“Eventually. Once we moved here, where I had more access to this gun range, I improved significantly. I was around seventeen when I finally bested him.”
“I bet he was proud of you,” Angela said.
Jude didn’t talk often about his family, but from the little he’d said about his dad, she felt confident in that statement.
Jude’s expression saddened, though he did smile. “He was.”
“You and your dad were close?”
“Very. When my mom left, it was just us guys.”
