Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(50)

“Honey, my wife shoots better than most men I know.” He stepped over to me and smirked. “That boy tried to teach you how to use his weapon, all right. But it had nothing to do with the gun in your hand. If I’m going to get any work out of Jake, then I thought it best I step in before his so-called private lessons got any more explicit than the tent in his pants.”

“Oh God.” My cheeks reddened.

“I’d go to church to pray for you both, but I doubt it’ll help your situation any,” Hank added with a laugh. “Now let’s get to work. I’m going to give you a crash course in target practice. Before long, you’ll be outshooting Jake.”

“But Jake hits the bull’s-eye nearly every time he shoots.”

“Then he’s almost as good as me,” Hank said.

“Okay, what do I do?”

“Point, shoot, and hope for the best.”

“I thought you said I’d be shooting like a professional in an hour?”

“The hour’s not up, honey. It’s easy. Point and shoot. You can’t mess this up,” Hank said, watching as I lifted the gun and aimed. “Wait, that’s not how you do it.”

By the time the boys came back, Hank and I were sitting in the shade drinking some iced tea Floss had brought down. I was more confident with the gun and wasn’t flinching anymore at the sound.

Jake strolled up with an acidic grin on his face. “We were going to unload the truck first, to give you some extra time to practice, but since you don’t seem to need it…” he trailed off. “I want to see what you got.”

That prompted a chuckle from Hank. “She’s a natural. Damn good shot.”

“Emily can’t hit the broad side of a barn,” Jake said, grinning at the other men. “In fact, I’ll bet fifty dollars she can’t hit the scarecrow in three shots or less.”

“So you’re a betting man now, are you, Jake?” Hank asked, eyeing them all. “Any of you other boys want to get in on the action?”

Unreassuringly, they all jumped at the chance to bet against me.

“Can’t wait to see this,” Jake said, walking ahead toward the target with his tight-knit group. They chuckled and bumped fists in a show of macho posturing.

It made me regret letting Hank bet on me. “Hank, I appreciate what you’re doing, but you know you’re about to lose some money, right?”

“Emily, I have faith in you. Get your adrenaline pumping and focus. It’ll be like second nature. You’re the minority, and you have a temper. It won’t take long before these guys light a spark under you. You’ll do fine.”

Once I was standing there, lining my sights on the target, I knew Hank was on the wrong side of the betting pool. The pressure of performing like a seal with a ball on my nose got to me.

Jake glared at me, waiting for me to mess up my first shot, which wouldn’t be a problem since I was genetically programmed to short circuit around him. It didn’t help that the others heckled me.

I squeezed the trigger gently, and my first shot went wild, not coming close to my target. All the boys laughed.

“There’s one,” Jake said.

“Glad you can count,” I replied icily.

When I shot for the second time, a piece of the bark flew off the tree, but the scarecrow remained untouched.

Jake had a smile plastered on his face. “There’s two. Maybe Hank should’ve made a sticker chart for you.”

“At least I hit the damn tree. He said the more I practice, the better I’ll get,” I said, shrugging off his comment.

“Or the luckier she gets,” Jake muttered to the guys, making them laugh more.

“You’re all a bunch of comedians, aren’t you? I’ve been shooting for only an hour. Heaven forbid you pass a compliment my way. It’s nerve-wracking enough shooting while you’re all staring at me as if I were standing here in my underwear.”

Cowboy spoke up. “Darlin’, if you were in your underwear, none of us would care if you hit the target. Hell, I doubt we’d even notice you missed. Might be worth fifty bucks to watch you shoot in your panties.”

The male chauvinist attitude pissed me off. Call me oversensitive, but their remarks left me motivated to hit my target more than ever. On a whim, I lifted the gun, barely aimed, and squeezed off another round, working more on instincts.

My third shot hit the scarecrow in the crotch, blowing a hole in the target’s pants. All of the men winced and let out a collective groan. I doubted it had anything to do with the money they’d lost.

Hank walked up, tickled with my shot, and slapped Jake on the back. “That girl sure knows how to twist the knife, doesn’t she?”

“Jake, maybe you should get Emily to show you a few things about shooting,” Judd said, laughing. “She must have a knack for it if she can make a shot like that.”

I smiled proudly at my win. Men are such pushovers.

Cowboy, Judd, and Ox all dug out their wallets and slapped cash into Hank’s hand. Jake was the only one who hadn’t paid up. He reviewed the target, probably wondering how I made that shot. Hell, I wondered the same thing.

I couldn’t help but gloat, though. “Man up, Jake. It’s not every day you get shown up by a girl.”

Jake was irritable, but I never expected him to react the way he did. He pulled the 9mm out of his shoulder holster and unloaded the entire clip into the scarecrow. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with a temper. About three seconds after he put away his gun, the scarecrow fell off the tree. Show-off.