Wade stepped away from the refrigerator with his palms raised.His heart rate launched into overdrive as he looked down the barrel of the gun.The woman brandishing it appeared nervous, which alarmed him further.She might pull the trigger on accident.He swallowed hard, weighing his options.He could hear the tick of an old-fashioned wall clock in the next room, and the light fizz of bubbles from his freshly opened soda can.He could smell gun oil and dish soap.His vision sharpened as he studied the young woman.
She had dark brown hair and wide-set eyes that reminded him of a fawn.A smattering of freckles across her nose accentuated the resemblance.
Bambi was going to shoothim.Wasn’t that ironic?
Wade could have introduced himself as a police officer, or said his mother lived here, but he wasn’t quite himself.He’d had a rough couple of months.He’d been bitten by a feral Chihuahua.Having a shotgun aimed at his face didn’t improve his mood.It sent him right over the edge, into a place where rational acts were beyond him.
“That gun isn’t loaded,” he said conversationally.
An emotion he didn’t recognize flashed in her eyes.They were light brown, maybe hazel.She was about his age, and quite lovely.He wanted her to check the cartridge, which would give him the opening he needed to disarm her.Instead, she moved the barrel a few inches to the left and pulled the trigger.
Buckshot sprayed through the screen door in a shocking boom.
Goddamn.
His mistake.The weapon was loaded, and this sweet young thing wasn’t afraid to use it.The can of soda fell from his slack hand and fizzed all over the floor.
Wade didn’t wait for her to reset.The shotgun had a considerable kick, and although it didn’t knock her off-balance, she was forced to take a step back.He strode forward and wrenched the weapon from her grasp.Anger suffused him as soon as the life-or-death threat passed.This complete stranger had pulled a gun on him in his mother’s house.She’d fired it, too.A few inches to the right, and she’d have taken his head off.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”he roared.
She wasn’t as brave without the shotgun in her hands.He’d overpowered her easily, and now she was in a precarious position.Cringing away from him, she pressed her back to the wall and brought her arms over her head in a self-defensive posture.Her hands were trembling.Her entire body was trembling.
Wade regretted his outburst, even though it felt justified.He was still angry, his muscles tense, but he wasn’t a violent man.It was clear that she thought he was going to strike her.She slid down the wall, as if her legs would no longer support her.
He stifled a curse at the sight of her collapse.Turning away from her, he stashed the shotgun on top of the kitchen cabinets.Then he removed his Stetson and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.His nerves were frayed, like hers.When he glanced her way again, she was sitting on the floor, watching him.The dogs were barking up a storm.The wind had picked up, rattling against the single-pane windows.There was a strange pressure in the air.Rain was coming, and all of his belongings were in the back of his pickup truck, unprotected.He’d been planning to unload it as soon as he arrived.
She eyed the screen door, as if calculating her chances of escape.She was wearing a sleeveless top, faded jeans with grass stains on the knees, and work boots.Her ponytail was charmingly off-center.Dirt smudged one freckled cheek.She was beautiful, and afraid of him.He felt a tug of sensual awareness that unsettled him further.
“I’m Wade Hendricks,” he said finally.“My mother lives here.”
She moistened her lips.“Your mother?”
“Yes, my mother.She owns this place.Is she home?”
“No.”
“I’m assuming you’ve met her.”
“She didn’t say she had a son.”
“Well, she does.And I’m him.”
Wade could read the doubt in her expression.His mother looked young for her age, and Wade didn’t.It was one of life’s cosmic jokes.Wynona had been a teen bride, and decades of hard living hadn’t caught up with her.Meanwhile, Wade felt older than he was, and it showed.He’d probably go gray early from the stress of being a Hendricks.
The strange young woman recovered from her shock.She grasped the edge of the table and rose to her feet.She was about five feet six, with a delicate face and a slender figure.The dogs outside continued to bark and howl.She kept glancing toward the screen door.It appeared that she’d fired clean through the mesh.
“Are those your dogs?”he asked.
“Yes.”
Wade noted that she seemed disturbed by the ruckus they were making, or perhaps she was plotting to sic them on him at the first opportunity.He took out his wallet to show her his badge.“I just signed on with the Lost Lake Sheriff’s Department.I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill me again.”
Her brow furrowed.“I didn’t try to kill you.”
“It was pretty close, for a warning shot.”
“I thought you were an intruder.I was standing my ground.”
