Chapter 11

                                    

                                          
"Time for some target practice. Just imagine these tin cans are rustlers, hiding behind rocks," Duke said as he walked thirty feet away to set up an array of leftover cans in the dusk. The last gleam of sunset cast shadows around the rocks. He lit a lamp and placed it behind a rock, partially illuminating the makeshift "rustlers" represented by the tin cans.
"Here, take my revolver and let's see if you can hit them."
Anna took the gun, squinting at the shadowy targets. The revolver barked, "Bang," and the recoil nearly sprained her wrist.
"Okay, it's a big pistol. You need to brace yourself against the recoil, or you'll hurt yourself. Like this, brace it with your other hand," Duke instructed. He reached around her body, steadying her wrist as she pulled the trigger again. "Ping," she hit a tin can with her second shot.
"See, that's better," he said.
"Yes, that is better, Duke," Anna replied. She couldn't help but lean into his strong arms, feeling the comfort of his body against hers. Duke's strength came from days of hard work on the ranch. What was this strange, warm tingling sensation flowing through her? She had never felt anything like it before. But wait, she was just catching rustlers and learning to shoot. She leaned back against his hard chest and stole a glance at his face. He seemed to be enjoying the contact as well. His face wore a tender expression, and he tightened his arms around her.
Ping, Ping, Ping. She rapidly shot the cans in succession. "I guess I'm a much better shot when you hold my arm," she exclaimed excitedly.
"Pretty good. You're a young lady gunslinger and quite dangerous," Duke said, reluctantly releasing her. She missed the intimacy but wasn't sure if such contact was appropriate when alone with a man in the pastures.
"Help me again," she requested, drawing his arms around her once more.
Ping, Ping, Ping. She shot the tin cans again, warmed by the strength of his embrace.