She looks at me quickly. “Why?”
“It’s a long story. Go on. Take your aim. Rest your right hand on your left palm. Your hold will be more stable like that.” Wrapping my arms around her from behind, I cover her hands over the gun to demonstrate what I mean. “Now curl your forefinger around the trigger.” I place my finger over hers to guide her actions. “Like this. See? You’re doing great. Shall we pull the trigger?”
She shifts her weight and leans her back against my chest. “It’s empty, right?”
“Right,” I say, brushing the word with a kiss over her ear. “Do you want me to go first?”
Her nod is small.
“Here goes,” I say. “Ready?”
I apply gentle pressure until I press her finger down on the trigger. The hammer pulls back and falls with a smooth click.
“There,” I say, kissing her neck. “You did it. See? It’s not so hard.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know you don’t, but you’re doing great. I’m proud of you.”
She glances up at me. “You are?”
I feel the smile that curves my lips all the way to my heart. “You’re very brave. Again?”
“Okay,” she says meekly.
I let her do a few trial runs with the empty chamber until she feels confident enough to pull the trigger without my aid. Then I show her how to load the bullets into the chamber and fit the chamber into the frame. We do this a dozen times. I show her the safety and teach her the basic rules, starting with always pointing the barrel away from yourself or someone else.
When we finally get to the point where I click the safety off, I hug her in the vise of my arms, holding her back securely against my chest. “Want to try with a bullet?”
Her chest rises and falls with a few deep breaths.
“I’m right here, darling,” I say. “Nothing is going to happen, but I won’t force you. Only if you’re ready.”
“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” she says.
“Because I keep weapons in the house, and I want you to be comfortable around them.”
“Do you have to? Keep weapons in the house, I mean.”
My answer is regretful. “Yes.”
Turning up her face, she searches my eyes. “Why?”
“You know why.”
“Why?” she asks again, the weight of the gun bearing her arms down.
“Because sometimes, I’m a dangerous man.”
A look of sadness comes over her features. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“I know,” I say with more regret. “But this is where we are, and it’s not going to change.”
She considers the answer for a moment, and then she steels her spine. “Fine. With a bullet.”
“You’re sure?” I don’t want to traumatize her all over. That’s not my objective.
“I’m ready,” she says with resolution, her jaw tightening.
“That’s my girl.”
She has strength in spades.
After fitting our earmuffs, I help her take aim, but this time, she applies the pressure on the trigger by herself. The bullet flies from the chamber, hitting the target far to the right. She lowers the gun with shaking hands.
I kiss her temple. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” she says, her whole body trembling. “Again.”
“You sure?”
“That was a shitty shot.”
Her competitiveness makes me smile.
We empty the chamber and then a carton of bullets. She doesn’t hit a bullseye, but she’s comfortable with holding the gun in her hand, flipping off the safety, and pulling the trigger. That’s plenty considering where we started.
Moving her earmuff aside, I say, “Let’s call it a night.”
She blows out a breath. “Good. I’m starving.”
I grin. “Shooting does that to you.”
Turning in my arms, she stares up at my face. “You’re corrupting me, Leon Hart.”
This moment may just be the happiest of my entire life. I take the gun from her hands and set it aside before replying in a low voice, “You’ve been corrupted long before I met you, Violet Hart. Admit it. That’s why I’m perfect for you.”
She doesn’t reply. She ducks under my arm and saunters to the exit, leaving me standing in the box a little giddy and a whole lot smitten.