She dipped her head. “Not bad. I was thinking of offering a handicap, but I can see now that would have just been insulting.”
He barked out a laugh. She must have suspected that had been what he was thinking. Not anymore, though. “We’re pretty evenly matched,” he admitted.
She hummed her agreement as she took the crossbow back, touching him briefly over the stock. Her hands were slim with long, elegant fingers, and so very competent.
She lifted the crossbow sighting carefully, breathed out, and fired. But her bolt missed, rattling the apple as it flew past.
“I knew there was a reason I didn’t trust crabapples,” she said with a huff of laughter.
“You don’t trust crabapples?” he asked, amused.
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Of course not. How can you trust a fruit that’s so sour on the inside? They pretend to be little apples, but you can’t even eat them covered in sugar and pastry.”
Tor nodded slowly. He’d never had a view on crabapples before. Mostly, he just wanted her to keep looking at him. To keep speaking to him as if his opinion mattered to her.
She passed the crossbow over, still smiling.
He loaded the bolt, sighted carefully, and fired, splintering through the tiny apple with a shower of juice.
Damn, it felt good. He was tempted to say something about the sweetness of victory making up for the tart crabapples, but he held it in.
“Go on.” Her eyes sparkled. “You can gloat.”
His lips twitched, and he fought to stop himself from grinning. When last had target practice been this much fun? Honestly, nothing in his life had been as enjoyable as this, for longer than he wanted to remember.
“Remind me what the prize is,” she said as she took hold of the crossbow once more.
“Plucking.”
She snorted, not at all delicately and Tor froze. He was pretty sure he’d said plucking. He thought back. Yes, he’d said plucking. Not fucking. But now all he could think of was that smooth, bare skin under his hands. Gods.
She loaded the next bolt. “Well, I’d better be sure to win.”
She smashed the next one and gave a small bow of victory as she handed over the crossbow.
He raised the weapon, trying desperately to clear his mind of images of Keely, naked, skin flushed as he…. He shook his head. He had to concentrate.
He sighted. Fired. And missed by at least an inch.
She looked at him, chuckling in commiseration. “I warned you about those crabapples.”
Keely was the perfect opponent. Challenging, but playful. A good sport when her shot missed, complimentary toward his successes, gracious about her wins. They were tied on two hits each and a small part of him wanted her to win—wanted her to have that moment of joy—but a much bigger part wanted to take the victory. He wanted to show her what he could do, to prove that he was good enough to be there in that clearing, shooting apples with her.
She reached for the crossbow but didn’t lift it immediately, simply stood still, carefully considering the last two apples on the branch.
Somehow, he’d moved closer to her during their game, and now she was in touching distance. She was tiny compared to him, her head just a little over his shoulder, lean and lithe, the complete opposite of his heavy bulk. What would it be like to reach out and pull her closer? Would she come into his arms? Or would she push him away?
She threw him a glance filled with laughter, and then loaded a bolt and lifted the crossbow. She took her time sighting, minutely correcting herself, and then let the bolt fly. Not into the next crabapple in the row, but into a dead branch a few levels higher in the tree.
The bolt struck home, shattering the old branch, which fell in a heavy cascade of dry wood and brown leaves to crash into the last two apples and throw them to the ground.
She looked at him over her shoulder, tilting her head questioningly as she raised one fiery eyebrow, and he couldn’t help his surprised laugh.
“Good enough?” she asked cheerfully.
What could he say? The rules had been that the most hits won, and she had, undoubtedly, hit the most. He gave her a small salute, still chuckling. “My lady, you are the winner.”
She grinned back and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, next time we can compete with weapons you’re more comfortable with… needles, perhaps.”
