A Shot at Love Page 14

  The aroma of fresh coffee lured her down to the kitchen where she found Ky standing with his back to her, a mug in his hand.

  The tiny jump in her pulse at the sight of him clad in trousers and a collared pullover was mildly annoying.

  “Hey,” she said as a way of greeting.

  Ky turned and that little jump catapulted to a leap.

  Why did he have to be so damn good looking? Why couldn’t he look like a troll?

  “Good morning.”

  And why couldn’t he have a cringe-worthy voice, and not a deep, sultry, tummy-fluttering one?

  The bad mood she’d woken with shot up ten degrees.

  “Did you ever get back to sleep?” he asked as she came around to the coffeepot. She assumed the empty mug sitting next to it was for her so she grabbed it, poured it full of the hot liquid, and shrugged.

  “Took a while, but yeah.”

  “I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

  “I do when I’ve got a headache from lack of caffeinated soda.”

  He pointed to the plate of toast. “There’s that or oatmeal for breakfast. No eggs or milk. And no butter. We’ll need to get provisions if we’re gonna be here more than a few days.”

  “Toast is fine.” She slid two slices onto a plate and took it and her coffee to the breakfast bar without another word.

  Ky watched her movements.

  When the first hit of hot, slightly spicy liquid washed over her taste buds, Gemma groaned, tipped back her head and closed her eyes, letting the steam from the coffee drift up over her face.

  Ky’s warm and throaty chuckle filled the space between them. “You may be the only person I’ve ever known who has as much of a deep visceral reaction to that first sip as I do.”

  Taking her time, Gemma opened her eyes. He’d moved to sit across from her as he had in the middle of the night, elbows resting on the table, his own cup suspended in his hand. The slight upward tug of his lips softened his features but did nothing to douse his blessed-from-God sexiness.

  Gemma swallowed. “My sister makes her own brew from a recipe she got from our grandmother. She tweaked it by putting in some different herbs, spices. I never liked the taste of coffee until I had hers, and now when I have a rare cup, I don’t drink any other kind. This,” she lifted her mug, “tastes remarkably like Kandy’s mixture.”

  “It probably is, since a jar of it was in the pantry next to the jam.”

  Gemma grinned, her mood lifting considerably. “When I see Rick again I’m going to give him a big kiss on the mouth for stocking it here.”

  Ky’s eyes darkened. His gaze flicked to her mouth, her cup just touching her bottom lip, and then back up to her eyes. She caught that cauldron of flaming emotions she’d noted before in him blazing to the surface again, and as quick as she recognized it, he extinguished the fire.

  Very carefully, Ky put his mug down on the table. “I need to go over a few things with you.”

  And there was the ice again.

  “’K.”

  Ky told her the conversation he’d had with SAC Tiege about Jon Winters.

  “So, he’s okay physically?”

  “From the sound of it, yes. Or he will be.”

  “Will he be able to shoot again? I mean, if the doctor says he’ll make a full recovery, isn’t that what it basically means? He’ll be able to use his arm for everything?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. I’m hopeful, as I imagine Jon is.” His brows tightened together. “Why do you ask about shooting?”

  Gemma took a sip of her coffee. “It’s important for you all to be good shots, right? You’ve told me how much he loves his job. Being able to shoot is an important part of that. Where does it leave him, career wise, if he can’t?”

  Ky stared at her for a few beats, the intensity of his gaze boring down on her, making her want to squirm in her chair.

  “What?” she asked when he didn’t answer.

  Ky shook his head, almost as if he was pulling himself out of a trance. “Nothing. I just keep forgetting how very astute and observant you are.”

  Surprise at his words warred with the little jolt of pleasure that shocked through her.

  The pleasure won.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see how well he recuperates,” Ky continued. “If his arm affects his shooting, he’ll deal with it. Trust me, Jon is nothing if not resilient.”

  He finished his coffee, rose, and filled his mug again. When he held the pot up to her and cocked an eyebrow, she shook her head.

  He brought his filled mug back to the table, sat, and said, “Speaking of guns, do you have any experience with them?”

  “Yes. I’ve got a license to carry. Why?”

  “Even though we’re isolated here, and maybe more because we are, we need to be vigilant and prepared for anything.” He went on to describe the weapons stash he’d found that morning. “What kind of firearms have you used?”

  “Glocks, mostly. I like revolvers with six-inch barrels the best, but you have to load the bullets one by one after the chamber empties, so it’s time consuming. But I love the feel of a revolver in my hand. It feels, I don’t know,” she shrugged, “comfortable and solid are the best words. Josh showed me how to use an automatic assault rifle once, but the kick was too much. Bruised my shoulder like a bitch, so he thought I should stick to handguns.”

  “He ever take you to the range to practice?”

  She nodded. “Couple times. Rick was the one who gave me most of my info and instructions. He was a sniper in a previous career, one he never talks about, so I learned a lot. It’s like with my martial arts training.” She shrugged. “I’m good at it.”

  “I would bet it’s because, as a photographer of your caliber, you have excellent hand-to-eye coordination.”

  She lifted her shoulders again. “I guess. I don’t own a gun, personally, though.”

  “When you’re finished I’ll show you the room and you can choose the weapon you want. There’s enough ammo that we can practice. It makes sense for the both of us to be armed while we’re here.”

  “Okay. Do you think—” She stopped, hating she had to ask permission for something. For anything, really.

  “Do I think what?”

  She scrunched up her face, her lips pulling in at the corners. She began rubbing her palms on her thighs, much as she did as a child and had done something to incur a scolding from her grandmother.

  “Well, I’ve got my cameras. I’d like to…explore a little. Just around the property. Maybe take some pictures? We’re isolated here, like you said. No one knows where we are. I’ve been cooped up for days and I just need…to work.”

  It had all come out in a rush and when she stopped, she felt a wildfire of heat rush up from her neck to her face.

  Ky stared down at his mug for a moment. When his gaze hit on her face again, compassion warmed his eyes. “I know you do,” he said. “I know how hard this all must be on you, I really do. Witnessing a murder, getting attacked, then shot at. It’s not what you’re used to.”

  “No lie,” she muttered.

  His mouth quirked as he took a hit of the coffee. “Let’s do this. You can choose a gun and we can get in some target practice just so I’ll know you’ll be able to use it, and then we can take a walk around the property.”

  “Together?”

  Laughter danced at his lips. “That’s what we usually means. Yes. Together.”

  “I wanted to go…you know…alone.”

  “Not gonna happen.” And just like that, once again, frost formed in his eyes.

  She wanted to fight him on it. A few days ago she would have. She would have argued relentlessly. But in the end, she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She’d come to understand his intractable stubbornness where her safety was concerned. He wasn’t going to leave
her side, no matter what.

  So Gemma did something she never did if she could help it: she acquiesced.

  Chapter Ten

  “How many do I have to hit for you to be satisfied?”

  Ky looked over to where she stood at the side of the garage, the Glock in her hand, its barrel aimed at the ground. Her eyes had gone wide at the hidden supply of weapons Bannerman had in the pantry access room, but her only comment had been a muttered, “Why am I not surprised?” before she’d made her choice.

  He’d watched her load the clip, then weigh and balance the gun in her hand like she did it every day of her life.

  “This’ll do,” she told him.

  He found a box of empty beer and wine bottles in the garage and set them up at varying distances from where he’d told her to stand. He wanted to ensure she was comfortable shooting up close and far.

  “All of them.” He came and stood next to her.

  “Are you kidding? All of them?”

  “You might never get a second chance if a first bullet misses an attacker, so yes. All of them.”

  She moved to the line in the grass he’d drawn for her to shoot from, mumbling something he couldn’t hear, but guessing it wasn’t something complimentary.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yup. Any particular order you want me to hit them in?”

  He had to bite back the grin threatening to fly free at her snooty, disgruntled tone.

  “Your call.”

  Gemma nodded and planted her feet. He wasn’t surprised when she angled her body with one foot slightly behind the other in a Weaver stance—a more aggressive, weight-forward position—and not the triangular, or Isosceles stance. Gemma held her gun up to her face, lining up her shot, both elbows bent and close to her torso. Her brother-in-law, Josh, had been a New York City cop, and if he’d taught her to shoot, it made sense he’d taught her this way. Although the Isosceles stance was the more popular, Ky knew the Weaver was a power stance, and Gemma was a woman for whom power could have been a middle name.

  She flexed her shoulders and neck, the motion so subtly erotic, it made his pulse quicken, and shifted her weight. From his viewing position behind her, he appreciated just how tall and lean she was. Narrow shoulders were relaxed and tapered down into a waist no bigger than a hand span. How many times in the past few days had he thought what it would be like to slip his own hands around that tiny area and pull her in close? Too many for prudence, that was for sure.

  The first bottle, the one he’d placed the farthest from them, shattered into a thousand fragments. Before he could take a full breath, she’d hit the next two.

  The final three closer ones she dispatched with equal ease.

  When she turned to him and asked, “Satisfied?” in a tone filled with condescension, Ky had to physically restrain himself from running to her, lifting her up in his arms, and kissing the gorgeous smirk off her mouth.

  Because he’d discovered how much he liked sparring with her—go figure that out—he pursed his lips and nodded. “Not bad.”

  Gemma’s smirk grew into a self-satisfied grin.

  “But they were all stationary targets. Really adept shooters practice with moving targets, so I really can’t gauge how well you’ll do with that. But for now, you’ll do.”

  The squinty-eyed glare she aimed at him would have made a lesser man run for the hills.

  “Trust me.” She dropped the empty cartridge case from the weapon into her free hand. “I can shoot those as well.”

  He handed her another clip and watched as she loaded it.

  “Let’s hope you never have to prove it to me.”

  Gemma slapped the cartridge in place. Ky handed her a holster and waited until she fastened it around her waist.

  After tightening it, she secured the gun in place, dropped her hands on her hips and asked, “Can we go now?”

  She looked like a warrior armed for battle. Strong, self-possessed, and so bad-assed sexy standing in front of him, her bangs blowing back from the slight breeze surrounding them, her perfect chin tilted up defiantly. He could imagine her leading an army into a crusade against evil, each soldier following her blindly, minions pledged to fight for her, perhaps die for her without hesitation.

  And he’d be one of them.

  “Sure. Get your camera. I’ll secure the house.”

  * * *

  “I think we should head back,” Ky said.

  They’d been walking for hours. The woods surrounding the cabin had, just as she’d hoped, provided her with an overabundance of perfect beauty to film.

  They’d started out as soon as she’d secured her camera around her neck and checked the availability of the memory card for space. With the Glock on her hip, and Ky’s own gun in his hand, they’d ventured out from the back of the cabin, into the thick, lush woods surrounding it.

  After a few moments the house was no longer visible. A mild sweep of alarm brushed through her, but when Ky looked down at a compass he’d pulled from his pants pocket, it dissipated.

  “Were you a boy scout or something?” she asked, pointing to the compass in his hand.

  His response had been a tiny lifting of his lips and an, “or something,” in reply.

  He’d led her in every direction she’d asked to go, following the sunlight from above them.

  She took hundreds of photos. The break in the canopy when the midday sun had peeked through, slitting light through the trees, giving the illusion the leaves were wet and shimmering like glass mirrors; the raging brook they’d happened upon, the water barreling over lichen-covered rocks, tiny white bubbles bursting around them as they came in contact.

  A trio of foraging deer munching on several bushes had frozen in place when Gemma aimed her camera at them. Just as she’d captured three shots in succession, they’d bolted, their white tailes bouncing away from the noise. A monarch butterfly had decided to follow them at one point. When it settled on a leaf, Gemma played with all the stops on her camera, photographing the insect on zoom, in black and white, even out of focus. She couldn’t wait to transfer them to a computer and play with the composition.

  In all, it was just the break she needed. She’d let her mind clear of the events of the past few days and simply enjoyed the beauty, the quiet, and the natural splendor surrounding them.

  But she’d never for a moment forgotten the man walking with her, ever vigilant, his eyes darting and surveying every inch of ground they covered. Positioned a few steps in front of her at all times, guiding her way, alert to any noise and movement before she saw or heard it, Gemma knew even in this secluded, apparently safe environment, Ky was still protecting her from any and all potential threats.

  He’d been patient and agreeable the numerous times she’d asked to stop to capture something with her camera. He hadn’t been chatty, peppering her with questions or making comments on her shots. Instead, he’d allowed her the pleasure to walk quietly, lost in her own thoughts, and simply be.

  When was the last time she’d felt so comfortable with a man—with anyone other than her family, really—and didn’t need to keep up a conversation? Didn’t need to engage in small, inane talk to quell the nervous anxiety seeping through her? Didn’t need to explain why she was taking this shot, not another?

  “How far do you think we’ve come from the cabin?” she asked.

  “Hard to tell.” He consulted the compass. “We’ve circled around a few times. We’re facing the front of it now. We should get back.”

  Gemma nodded and followed him.

  A few minutes later they saw the cabin come into view. They were, as Ky had said, approaching it from the front road they’d traveled on the night before.

  He disengaged the alarm and preceded her into the house, motioning for her to stay behind on the porch. He entered the cabin, did a quick, thorough sweep of the great roo
m, and when he gave her the signal that it was safe to enter, she realized, with utter astonishment, that she’d obeyed him without hesitation.

  The realization she’d blindly and compliantly consented to his command floored her. Never before with any other man had she followed what amounted to an order.

  Why now?

  Despite his primitive male sexiness and the fact that he made her quake at times with the sheer power of it, Gemma still wasn’t even sure she liked him, much less trusted him. She’d all but proven to him that morning she could defend herself if need be against an assault and he was aware she was as proficient in hand to hand combat as he was. She could take care of herself, and had been for most of her adult life.

  “Are you hungry?” He re-holstered his gun. “There’s some canned soup I can heat. Some bread.” He’d moved to the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. “It’s not much, but it’ll do.”

  She didn’t answer him, still lost in thought.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He moved so quickly, before she could blink and lift her head he was standing in front of her, his hands locked on her upper arms.

  She stared at his hands, securely, yet gently wrapped around her. Each finger was long and lean and she could feel his natural heat passing through them and burning into her skin. She lifted her head. His brows were pulled in tight to the center of his forehead, concern swimming in his eyes.

  “Nothing,” she said, astounded her voice sounded as steady as it did, despite the cyclone of emotions spinning within her. “I’m just not hungry. I think I’ll go upstairs and lay down for a little while.”

  “Are you okay?” His splayed fingers squeezed around her arms and she wondered if he realized he was doing it.

  “I’m fine. I’m tired. The walk…” She shrugged. “It tired me out some.”

  He kept staring at her, an unasked question burning in his gaze. Finally, he released his hold.

  For the life of her, Gemma couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt lonely.

  With a nod Ky said, “Okay. I can imagine you’re exhausted after not sleeping so well last night.”

  He took a step back, dropped his hands into his trouser pockets. “If you get hungry, let me know.”