“Um.” I’m already walking away from her to set up more beers for myself plus a cork on top of each one to increase the level of difficulty. “I guess now would work. You should step back inside the bar, though, while I shoot a round.”
As soon as I return to the spot, I set my feet and bring the butt of the gun into the pocket inside my shoulder and rest my cheek against the stock. I release the safety, slide my finger inside the trigger guard, and slow my breathing down. Then, I start to squeeze the trigger.
I wait until the moment between the beats of my heart, and then I shoot. The bullet hits the leftmost cork straight on. Dye cheers, and I immediately slide back the pump and line up to go for the next target. I don’t stop except to reload until I’ve hit all eleven of the remaining corks.
“Wow, Macey.” George whistles. “You’re definitely gonna win again this year. Nobody in town can shoot like that.”
I better win the Hunt County Target Contest because I’m losing the Logan contest to Gigi by a mile.
The contest isn’t between you and Gigi, Macey. It’s between two couples that have nothing—nothing—to do with you.
I turn to Gigi with the fake smile God surely gave me so I could get through this summer. “Ready for the mall?”
I lead Gigi through the mall in San Antonio, but after two hours of looking with no luck, I’m worn out. I’ve learned far more about Logan’s fiancée than I ever cared to, and it’s all made me feel like shit. She’s fluent in French, she went to a private all-girls school since the third grade, she’s in a sorority, blah, blah, blah.
And she’s so much pickier about this gift than I’d anticipated. I pick up a gift for the two of them while Gigi’s in the restroom—a salt and pepper set that I know Logan will hate, but I figure Gigi will like.
As we wander through the last section of the mall, she complains that there’s nothing here that’s right. And then, she sits down on a bench and starts to cry. I sit down next to her and pat her leg uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry we haven’t found anything,” I say. “But it’s okay to wait. Logan will understand.”
“I just want to thank him,” she says.
“For what?” I say.
Her face freezes. “Oh.” She waves her hand in the air. “You know, for putting up with me.”
I clench and unclench my hands.
“Macey, I’m just so stressed about it.”
I don’t know how to help her, so I invite her over for a cup of tea.
As we step into my duplex, I apologize for the mess. “I didn’t plan to have a guest over. Not that that’s an excuse for a messy home. But I’ve never been the tidiest person and I’ve had so much on my mind lately…”
But Gigi’s not even looking at my place. She’s staring at the quilt on my couch. “Oh, how lovely. It matches Logan’s tattoo. What a perfect engagement gift.”
My stomach drops, and I shake my head no, but she’s too entranced by the quilt to see me.
The blanket did come out beautifully. The colors are as vibrant as I’d envisioned, and the red raindrop in the center stands out perfectly against the dark blue and purple hues of the rest of the covering. I always planned to give it to Logan, but I couldn’t decide on a good time. Once he got engaged, nothing seemed appropriate.
“It’s so gorgeous!” Gigi says. “Handspun and everything. And I just love the giant red raindrop in the center balanced by all those smaller raindrops and the sun peeking out from the topmost corner.” She walks over to the quilt and holds it up. “And it’s so soft! Wherever did you find this, Macey? It must have cost a fortune.”
I manage a nod. “It didn’t come without a price, that’s for sure.”
“Well, how much?” She reaches into her purse. “Darn, I only have credit cards on me today. I’ll get you cash first thing tomorrow and bring it by The Cowherd. It’s just the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on!”
I start to say it’s not for sale, but Gigi starts to cry again. “I don’t want Logan to think I don’t appreciate him. I don’t really get why he chose a raindrop for a tattoo, but I can tell it means very much to him.”
I bite my tongue rather than answer her.
“And Logan said the tattoo has some link to his scar. You know, from when he was nearly gored by that mean bull.”
I raise my eyebrows. Well, that’s an interesting parable Logan used to keep her off the truth without completely lying.
Though I can’t blame him for keeping the truth private.
Logan’s daddy was the bull of the family, that’s for sure. And that day, when Logan was sixteen and stood up to his father in the barn while I hid up in the loft and listened in terror, I was certain he’d be gored.
