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Mac raised his arm in greeting with that wide, easy smile of his, and everything inside Jodie went loose and warm.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Jodie called.
Mac’s smile widened. “Fancy meeting you here,” he echoed. He reached the covered firing line and set his range bag on the bench beside hers. As they talked, Jodie watched him unpack like he’d done this hundreds of times. Hearing protection came out first, followed by eye protection, then his rifle. His knuckles were still torn and bruised from punching Dale. A pang of guilt shot through her.
“Kyle told me someone was training this morning. Didn’t realize it was you.” Mac chuckled. “He said to treat you like a VIP.”
“Oh, did he?” Jodie looked toward the main building. That sneaky devil.
Mac checked the rifle before setting it pointing downrange on the bench, all without interrupting their conversation. “He did. Direct order from the boss.”
“Well, you can tell the boss I know which end of a rifle goes bang.”
Mac’s gaze dropped to the rifle on her bench, then back to her. “I know, Jodie. I figured that out when I saw how you had everything set up.”
That pleased her more than it probably should have.
He lifted his chin toward her target. “How long’s it been?”
“Since I shot regularly? Years. I’ve done the Watchdog familiarization stuff, but that doesn’t count. Back home I shot all the time.”
He nodded. “Ranch girl from Montana.”
He remembered! “Damn right.”
Mac grinned as he put on his safety glasses. “Then I’ll stay out of your way unless you ask.”
And he did. He didn’t hover or reach over and correct her before she had a chance to find her own rhythm. Best of all, he didn’t mansplain or insult her. He simply moved to the lane beside hers and started setting up his own target while Jodie loaded her rifle and settled her muffs over her ears. She brought the stock firmly up and into her shoulder. Her first shots were grouped well, but they landed low and to the right of center.
“Ugh.”
Mac didn’t look over or comment.
Bless him. He’s the Anti-Dale.
Jodie stifled a laugh. Then she dry-fired three times, focusing on her trigger finger. She reloaded, slowed her breathing, and fired again.
Closer, but no bullseye.
Then the last shot hit dead center.
There you are.
She set the rifle on the bench and removed her hearing protection. Beside her, Mac had already finished his first group. Jodie looked at his target.
“Oh, come on.”
Mac lifted one side of his hearing protection. “Sorry, what?”
Jodie rolled her eyes and put her hand on her hip. “You know what.”
He looked downrange at the tight cluster he’d put at the center of his target. “What?”
“That false modesty isn’t attractive.”
“I wasn’t trying to be attractive.”
Not that Mac ever had to try. And the thing was, he honestly looked confused. He seriously wasn’t trying to impress her or out-shoot her.
