trigger to target.”
He looked at her with unfeigned interest. “Do you shoot?”
“I grew up here,” she replied. “It’s what we did for fun
when I was a kid, although we used BB guns and air rifles. I haven’t been to
one of these in years.” City-bred Evan hadn’t approved of such unsophisticated
rural activities.
“So your son will not compete?”
“This is his first shoot. I’ll wait to see if he’s
interested. His father doesn’t approve, and I hate to cause dissension.” The
story of her life — avoiding conflict.
“Target shooting is a man’s sport dating back to the
beginnings of weaponry. Why would he disapprove?”
She had assumed Jacques and his sophisticated friends had
come here to laugh at their primitive entertainment, much as Evan and his city
friends might have. She was surprised that he showed such interest. “Evan
thinks hitting a ball around a golf course is a man’s sport because it costs
more.”
Jacques laughed. “Golf was invented by poor Scots who had
only sticks and stones to play with.”
Amused, she sipped her champagne and enjoyed conversing with
someone who could see more than one side of things. “I imagine shooting was
invented by someone who was hungry and needed meat to fill a pot, so don’t go
all snobby on me.”
“No pot-filling in Europe. Not for centuries.” He waved away
her argument. “It is about equipment these days. But I see this is not so here.
May I look at these outlaw shotguns?”
“You’ve never used a shotgun?” Since he’d entered the
competition, she’d assumed he had some knowledge of the sport. Well, that took
care of one worry. She’d kissed Hoss before she’d left for college. She could plant
a smacker on him and walk away untouched when he won.
But it was a shame….
“I am a connoisseur of guns.” Jacques lowered his leg from
the stool and pushed to a standing position with the strength of his arms. “I
own a pair of Manton’s finest, but they are kept in glass cases. Modern weapons
can be exceedingly dangerous in comparison. Will you show me the field I am to
compete on?”
Amy grabbed an ebony cane with a brass horse’s head handle
that was leaning against the cooler and shoved it at him as he limped across
the weedy ground. “You don’t have to do this. Just sit and watch. No one will
think anything of it.”
Jacques took the cane, but caught up in his new obsession,
he ignored her suggestion. Accustomed to being ignored, Amy led him over to
Flint and some of the judges, then left them to their man talk.
It seemed odd to watch an elegantly dressed Brit engaged in
deep conversation with a bunch of truckers and farmers. Normally, such
disparate company would not give each other the time of day, but Jacques slid
right into the conversation as if he’d lived here all his life. She was just
used to Evan setting himself apart from his workers with designer suits and
attitude.
She had spent years believing his assurances that she needed
to copy the board of directors’ wives in their Nordstrom’s ensembles. She’d
given up gardening to keep her manicure neat and given up her weaving because
Evan didn’t like anything as plebian as a loom cluttering up the family room.
Where could she find another handloom? Maybe Flint and Jo
could sell her handicrafts in Nashville with their mother’s quilts, she
thought, with a quiver of excitement. Once upon a time, she’d loved creating
her own designs on her mother’s loom. She adored working with fabric.
She didn’t need Dr. Evil telling her she was a fool to
dream. She had the freedom now to make her own life, a fun one this time.
If she could buy the mill manager’s cottage — she could set
up a handicrafts store in the front room in that bay window! She knew a B and B
wasn’t a highly profitable operation, but a small shop of her own goods….
She still needed a job with a salary and benefits. But this
inspiration gave her hope. And determination. She would
He looked at her with unfeigned interest. “Do you shoot?”
“I grew up here,” she replied. “It’s what we did for fun
when I was a kid, although we used BB guns and air rifles. I haven’t been to
one of these in years.” City-bred Evan hadn’t approved of such unsophisticated
rural activities.
“So your son will not compete?”
“This is his first shoot. I’ll wait to see if he’s
interested. His father doesn’t approve, and I hate to cause dissension.” The
story of her life — avoiding conflict.
“Target shooting is a man’s sport dating back to the
beginnings of weaponry. Why would he disapprove?”
She had assumed Jacques and his sophisticated friends had
come here to laugh at their primitive entertainment, much as Evan and his city
friends might have. She was surprised that he showed such interest. “Evan
thinks hitting a ball around a golf course is a man’s sport because it costs
more.”
Jacques laughed. “Golf was invented by poor Scots who had
only sticks and stones to play with.”
Amused, she sipped her champagne and enjoyed conversing with
someone who could see more than one side of things. “I imagine shooting was
invented by someone who was hungry and needed meat to fill a pot, so don’t go
all snobby on me.”
“No pot-filling in Europe. Not for centuries.” He waved away
her argument. “It is about equipment these days. But I see this is not so here.
May I look at these outlaw shotguns?”
“You’ve never used a shotgun?” Since he’d entered the
competition, she’d assumed he had some knowledge of the sport. Well, that took
care of one worry. She’d kissed Hoss before she’d left for college. She could plant
a smacker on him and walk away untouched when he won.
But it was a shame….
“I am a connoisseur of guns.” Jacques lowered his leg from
the stool and pushed to a standing position with the strength of his arms. “I
own a pair of Manton’s finest, but they are kept in glass cases. Modern weapons
can be exceedingly dangerous in comparison. Will you show me the field I am to
compete on?”
Amy grabbed an ebony cane with a brass horse’s head handle
that was leaning against the cooler and shoved it at him as he limped across
the weedy ground. “You don’t have to do this. Just sit and watch. No one will
think anything of it.”
Jacques took the cane, but caught up in his new obsession,
he ignored her suggestion. Accustomed to being ignored, Amy led him over to
Flint and some of the judges, then left them to their man talk.
It seemed odd to watch an elegantly dressed Brit engaged in
deep conversation with a bunch of truckers and farmers. Normally, such
disparate company would not give each other the time of day, but Jacques slid
right into the conversation as if he’d lived here all his life. She was just
used to Evan setting himself apart from his workers with designer suits and
attitude.
She had spent years believing his assurances that she needed
to copy the board of directors’ wives in their Nordstrom’s ensembles. She’d
given up gardening to keep her manicure neat and given up her weaving because
Evan didn’t like anything as plebian as a loom cluttering up the family room.
Where could she find another handloom? Maybe Flint and Jo
could sell her handicrafts in Nashville with their mother’s quilts, she
thought, with a quiver of excitement. Once upon a time, she’d loved creating
her own designs on her mother’s loom. She adored working with fabric.
She didn’t need Dr. Evil telling her she was a fool to
dream. She had the freedom now to make her own life, a fun one this time.
If she could buy the mill manager’s cottage — she could set
up a handicrafts store in the front room in that bay window! She knew a B and B
wasn’t a highly profitable operation, but a small shop of her own goods….
She still needed a job with a salary and benefits. But this
inspiration gave her hope. And determination. She would
Similar Books
