Winna hummed. “Like this.”
The arrow inched back slightly when her fingers pressed on the top of my arm. Through the jacket, she applied a gentle pressure, forcing my elbow and shoulder into alignment.
“Perfect,” she murmured and, though I knew she was talking about my stance, all I remembered was how her touch felt last night, her small fingers curled into my chest rather than around a bow, pulling me closer, drawing our desire taut—
Thunk.
I released the arrow like I needed to release that thought—with the forceful urgency to get it away from me as fast as possible before it did more damage to the easy comfort we’d found.
“You’re a natural,” she said, her words triggering me to actually look at what and where I’d hit—on the border between the second ring and the bullseye, slightly to the left.
I held the bow at my side, taking a moment to be proud of my shot. Hunting—shooting—was an activity that hadn’t even been on my radar back in Virginia. I could say because Hailey would’ve never approved and it wouldn’t be a lie, but the truth was I’d retreated into my work when our private life had turned into a public show.
“Almost as good as you,” I teased, grinning at her.
She lifted her own bow, eyes narrowing with a devious smile on her face. “Almost.”
Her arrow sailed forward, sinking straight into the dead center of the bullseye.
We spent the next several minutes in silence, wordlessly taking turns firing off shots at the colorful circle about twenty feet in front of us. With each launch, more tension—tension I’d been holding down deep—fired from my body with the spring of the arrow and afterward, my solid frame, recoiling slightly from the effort, felt less burdened.
I didn’t realize it when I’d nodded, accepting her invitation for an archery lesson, but the controlled release was exactly what I’d needed.
I didn’t want to lose control. I didn’t want to lash out in anger and wail into a punching bag to burn the anger from my body. I didn’t even think this same activity performed with a gun instead of a bow would’ve produced the same effect. I didn’t want explosive. I didn’t want to deal with the recoil of how I felt. But I did want to eliminate it.
And each time my arrows sank into the thick foam of the target, more of the weight I’d carried here fell away.
“Why the bow? Why not a gun?” I asked.
“Higher skill. Quieter than a firearm.” She let loose another arrow. “I mean, I have those too, but I prefer the bow and arrow. My dad always said the choice of weapon determined whether you were a hunter or a killer.” She paused, letting me focus on my shot before continuing. “A killer only cares about the kill, not how it happens. But a hunter…” She trailed off and drew her bow and fired another bullseye. “A hunter cares about his skill, and crafting it in a way that gives reverence to the life he’s about to take.”
“Or she,” I murmured.
Her eyes locked on mine, pink rising above her scarf. “Or she.”
I looked away, quelling the desire that eagerly rose up like a wave at the slightest provocation. This was fine. Neighborly. Friendly. It was all fine.
But if I wasn’t careful, one slight move—the smallest degree of change, and I would no longer be aiming at what was fine. I’d be shooting for what I wanted, and that was a whole different target.
“Interesting,” I grumbled.
“I think he got gun-shy when he realized he was about to teach his daughter how to shoot, and no matter how skilled of a hunter he was with both arrows and firearms, the father in him preferred to see his daughter with the bow than the gun.” She chuckled and I caught her small, loving smirk.
“He taught you?”
She nodded. “And my other uncles.” Her smile faltered. “He passed away three years ago. Heart attack.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, but it’s okay.” Her fortitude inspired me. “There was a season when it was hard, but seasons change. Everything that dies in the winter becomes new in the spring. The cycle of everything in life. Sometimes, you look around, and you have to wonder what could possibly survive… what could possibly be left to grow or how it will outlast the frozen ground.”
She began to approach toward the target and I followed her, out of arrows to shoot.
“But then a new season rolls around, and suddenly everything starts blooming from something that appeared to have nothing left to offer.”
She’d walked ahead of me so, when she looked back, her plump pink lips widening into a smile that was more assured than anything, I had no choice but to stare. “Trust me, the place bleeds with the green of life once spring rolls around.”
She turned away, reaching the target and beginning to pull our arrows from its grip.
I shouldn’t have, but I let myself get close, feeling her warmth next to me, enticing me, as I helped. Clenching my jaw, I forced on the task and kept my gaze away from her.
What she said didn’t bother me. In fact, it struck a chord so deep I knew I’d feel the reverberations for quite some time. And it wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. No, what really made my body thrum with discomfort was knowing that I had to take her word for it… because I wouldn’t be here in the spring to see it.
Not overthinking the situation with Ryan was a battle I was losing.
For days after our kiss, we’d walked a tightrope of friendship though neither of us were incredibly balanced.
He tried to stay in his cabin, and I tried to mind my own business, but somehow, over the last week, we’d ended up spending hours together each day. I’d taught him how to shoot. Then we’d navigated his SUV back to its parking spot. Even hunting, I tried to stay out in the hut for as long as I could last, finally heading back just before the sun cracked open against the horizon, but there he was—staring at the pile of wood with a determination that could’ve split the logs had he been a Jedi instead of a reformed jerk.
Slowly but surely—and most times without prompting—I learned a little more about the man who was staying next door. I learned about his company. How he started it. How it grew. He had a lot to be proud of, but it was easy to see why he felt lost.
Sometimes, you see only the top of the mountain for so long that, by the time you climb it, the unsettling sight of an unfamiliar horizon drowns out the accomplishment of finally reaching the summit.
I jumped at the knock on my door.
There was no sign of Ryan yesterday afternoon or this morning; I think we both knew that the more time we spent together, even to accomplish mundane tasks, would take us down a path we shouldn’t go. So, we drifted back, like snow melting under the warming sun, pulling away from an intense heat that would change everything.
But today, I knew he’d taken my advice this time and gone to Hurd’s. His SUV was gone when I went out to my freezer to get the meat I would need for today.
There was another snowstorm set to land tonight and carry throughout the weekend; it was the kind that would keep you in the house for days, and he needed to be prepared. Meanwhile, my plans were to bake jerky all afternoon, followed by several trays of my famous casserole to hold me over.
I opened the door and my breath caught.