The River Widow(71)

His expression stilled Adah and dried her mouth. What was the smug smile about? Did they already have an attorney lined up to fight her? Did they have what they thought was a foolproof plan?

She forced herself to breathe in deeply. It no longer mattered. It mattered only that the Branches believed she intended to stay here and fight them, when in truth she was going to escape and do nothing of the sort.

When she saw Jack next, she told him she’d found the still. He just stood there quietly, a look of resignation washing over his face. Then he walked inside and came back holding a gun. It was so small it looked like a child’s plaything.

“What have you done?” she asked, searching his face. “I thought you were going to get me a stick of dynamite.”

“I will, but first things first.” He met her gaze, and she found something of a plea inside it. But he matter-of-factly said, “I told you I was going to get you a gun.” Without waiting for her protests, he said, “This is a Colt 1903 .32 caliber—an older model of what’s still being made today. It’s perfect for carrying in your pocket or a purse.” He held it out to her. “It’s not loaded. We’re going to get to all of that later, but for now, just get used to the feel of it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I see you’ve made a decision for me. And I don’t like it.”

Jack was acting as if he had something important to do and there was no chance anyone would stop him. “Take it. How could it hurt to have it just in case? Think of it this way: it might save not only your life but Daisy’s, too.”

Conceding his point, Adah studied the pistol. It was only about seven inches long, not even one inch wide, and about four inches tall. “It looks light.”

“It’ll be heavier with the magazine in.”

Her gaze shot up. “What’s a magazine?”

“It holds the bullets.” He paused. “I know you have no experience with guns.”

She heaved in a hot breath. Every day the surreal quality of her current life was starting to feel more and more normal. “No experience whatsoever. I never thought . . .”

Jack, looking determined, continued: “The advantage to this gun is its size and ability to be concealed. But it’s a classic, too, used by the police and even the army. It’s a simple gun, easy to fire.”

Adah made a closer inspection and then took it from him in one hand. It fit.

He added, “You might find it interesting that Bonnie Parker used one of these to break Clyde Barrow out of jail, and John Dillinger had one on him when he was shot by FBI agents.”

She let out a tight sigh. “Yes, those are people I aspire to emulate.”

He gave a low chuckle. “Just thought I’d try to make you smile.”

She shrugged. “Smiling is rather out of my realm right now. Sorry.”

His face fell. “Alrighty, then.”

Inside the barn and out of sight, he showed her how to handle the gun, load the magazine that held eight rounds into the butt, retract and release the serrated slide, and apply and release all three safeties. He gave her all sorts of safety instructions. Then they went into the woods, where she could practice shooting at a tree.

Jack showed her how to hold the gun with both hands and how to aim, coming up behind her and resting his right arm on hers, and then his hand on her hand, checking her hold on the gun. “Then you squeeze,” he said. But her fingers suddenly lacked strength as she focused on Jack’s darker, tanned arm alongside her paler, creamier one. His hand fit over hers like a clamshell protecting the life it held inside.

She looked over her shoulder at him. “What about the shots? People will hear.”

Jack’s breath was warm on her neck. “They’ll think someone is out hunting or practice shooting. I doubt anything will come of it, and you have to practice. Try to hit it about five feet up from the ground.”

She took her first shot. She didn’t hit the center of the tree trunk, but she did hit it. And she took a few more shots until she had satisfied Jack.

He said, “I knew you had it in you.”

Adah had to suppress a smile. “I’m not sure how to take that.”

“Let’s just say you did well.”

Shrugging off an awful feeling, she said flatly, “Maybe I’m a natural.”

He told her to trigger the safeties; then he gave her a full magazine to load, and she slipped the gun into her apron pocket.

Her apron felt heavier, but not remarkably so.

By that time the forest seemed to be closing in and the air was steamy. Perspiration gathered on Adah’s upper lip. They slowly worked their way out of the woods and walked back to the house, where Adah waited while he went indoors to retrieve a basket of dirty laundry.

She stood on the grass in front, and he came down the porch steps as if he was weary, as if something was weighing heavily on him. As she was preparing to leave, he said in a low-pitched, worried voice, “Where will you go?”

Adah was already backing away. The last thing she had wanted was to hurt this man. There was a silent, gentle wind that day, no sounds except for the occasional cry of a hawk overhead and the whizzing of insects in the air around her. She could hear her feet crunching on the dry ground, and it might as well have been the sound of her bones breaking. She barely eased out, “I don’t know.”