“Pull!”

I covered my ears against the explosion of gunshots and shattering clay. A clay pigeon shoot would not have been my first choice of activity to spice up the Wednesday before the wedding, but it was already abundantly clear that TRC and I didn’t agree on anything.

“They shouldn’t have given us guns.” I shook my head. “This seems like a horrible idea.”

“At least the quails are safe,” Jamie said. “The only casualties here are ceramic.”

“For now. This will not end well, mark my words,” I said ominously.

“In your FACE, Kirby!” Heaven cheered. She slammed her gun down on the ground and commenced an incredibly elaborate victory dance that incorporated the Sprinkler, the Tootsie Roll, and the Worm.

“Not fair!” Kirby whined. “Not fair at all! You’re at a better angle! The sun’s in my eyes!”

“Oh, waa, waa, waa.” Heaven was now back up on her feet and rubbing her eyes exaggeratedly. “Should Mary Poppins come pick you up for your nap, you big baby?”

“Mary Poppins doesn’t make babies take naps!” Kit Kirby threw his gun to the ground angrily. “She takes them on magical adventures.”

“Winners get magical adventures. Big baby losers get naps.” Heaven started moonwalking back and forth in front of Kit Kirby. “And I only see one big baby loser here.”

“Not fair!” he whined. “Not fair! I want a rematch.”

“You can have your rematch after I finish my victory dance, fool.” Heaven was now doing a very realistic shopping-cart move.

“That’ll be in approximately twelve and a half minutes.” I mimed checking my invisible watch.

“Any takers?” Kit addressed the line of shooters. “Who wants to shoot against an honest man in a fair match?”

Heaven rolled her eyes exaggeratedly as she cartwheeled past him.

“Don’t let him shoot against Dusty,” I warned. “He’ll never stop sulking. She’s lethal.”

“You’re joking,” Jamie said.

“I’m totally serious. In high school she dated a couple guys who were big into hunting and one whose dad was a cop, and she is a total killer. She can probably outshoot anyone here.”

“Anyone? Hardly. Not Ronan,” Jamie scoffed. “He’s a rather good shot.”

“Even Ronan,” I said confidently. “She can easily outshoot Ronan, I bet. You want to make this interesting?”

“Are you asking me to place a wager?”

“Heck yes. Loser makes the winner a snack. And it has to be delicious.”

“I accept that wager.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “We have an accord. I very much look forward to your delicious snack.”

“Don’t count your crumpets before they’re toasted, buster.”

“Sorry?”

“You heard me. Hey, Dusty!” I shouted. “You wanna win a bet for me?”

“You say somethin’ about winnin’, Dilly?”

Say what you will about Dusty, there was nothing she loved more than winning. Well, except for her fiancé—maybe. She disentangled herself from Ronan’s embrace, grinning through her smudged lipstick. Personally, I wouldn’t have made out with anyone in front of my mom…or future mother-in-law…or long-lost father…but Dusty apparently had no problem with it. The three adults were bundled up under a tree behind the line of shooters, drinking coffee out of thermoses and making awkward small talk. I was sure I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that Mom had positioned herself as far away from Cash as possible.

I also wouldn’t have ever worn pink Hunter boots and a pink plaid coat, so there was a lot Dusty did that I didn’t understand.

“Who are you supposed to be, Foxhunt Barbie?” I asked as she and Ronan joined us.

“Dressin’ for the hunt is tradition!” she chirped in a baby voice, widening her eyes. “Which you would know if you ever bothered to get outta that damn hoodie!” Playfully she pulled my hood up, leaning in close as I tried to swat her away. “I’m playin’ nice, Dylan,” she whispered, little louder than a breath. “Givin’ ’em exactly what they want. The dumber I look, the less reasons Pamela’ll have to go sniffin’ around for more plotlines. Dumb makes for good television.”

I was sort of impressed, in spite of myself. The idea of giving Pamela what she wanted was anathema to my very being, but even I could understand that there were more important things at play here than foiling TRC. Or trying not to look like an idiot on TV.

“All right, baby sister,” Dusty said loudly. “What am I winning this time?”

“Shooting contest. I bet Jamie that you could outshoot Ronan.”

“Is that all? Easy pickin’s!” she crowed. “You ready to lose, baby?”

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” Ronan asked carefully, placing a comforting hand on her back.

“I’m fine, sweets.” Dusty laughed it off. “I’m not made of glass. I’m not gonna break, I swear.”

I froze—was shooting a gun bad for the baby? In areas unrelated to alcohol, I had no idea what a pregnant lady could or couldn’t do. But Dusty didn’t seem in the least bit concerned, and presumably, she knew what she was doing.

“I think you’re just scared.” Dusty poked Ronan in the chest. “Scared that you’re gonna get your ass whooped by a girl.”

“Ronan’s not scared of anything!” Kit said loyally. “He once wrestled an earless seal!”

“Why would you wrestle a seal?” I asked.

“It wasna a wrestle so much as a cuddle,” Ronan clarified.

“An earless seal?” Heaven asked.

“They lack external ears, but they can still hear,” Jamie said.

“Why do you know that?” I shook my head in disbelief.

“This is not the first time I’ve heard the tale of Ronan and the Earless Seal,” he replied.

“Well now, seems like I’m hearin’ a lot of chattin’, and not a lot of shootin’.” Dusty tapped her foot impatiently. “Why don’t you quit stallin’ and march that cute butt right on up here to the pigeon-launchin’ shooter thing.”

“Ooo, she knows the technical terms, Ronan,” Kit said sarcastically. “Perhaps you should be scairt.”

“Oh man, this is going to be so great.” I rubbed my hands together gleefully as Dusty stepped forward, raising the gun to her shoulder and checking the sights. “He has no idea what he’s in for. No idea.”

“Much to my surprise, she does look somewhat…lethal,” Jamie said.

“Can’t back out now, snack boy,” I cackled. “You agreed to that bet.”

“I would never renege on a gentleman’s agreement,” he said, horrified.

“You boys may be gentlemen,” Dusty said, “but I’m about to shoot like a lady. You ready, baby?”

“I willna take it easy on ye, Dusty,” Ronan said seriously.

“If you dare take it easy on me, I’ll shoot you,” she threatened. “I wanna know I whooped your ass fair and square.”

“We shall see whose ass is whooped, madam!” Kit proclaimed. “Shooters, don your earmuffs!”

Dusty put on Heaven’s ear-protection things, careful not to smush her hair, while Ronan, much less carefully, grabbed Kit’s and jammed them on his head.

“Pull!” Dusty shouted suddenly, and the first clay flew into the air. Seconds later, it exploded. As did the next. And the next. And the one after that. Dusty eviscerated five clays; then Ronan shot, then Dusty again. To be honest, it was pretty boring—just yelling and explosions. But what was not boring at all was watching Jamie’s and Kit’s expressions of shock as Dusty shot. Round after round, as each clay exploded, Kit’s jaw dropped lower and lower.

“Bloody unbelievable.” Kit shook his head in disbelief. “This is bloody unbelievable! How is—How can she—She’s wearing far too much makeup to be good at sports.”

“Sexist!” Heaven scolded.

“I’ll never understand American girls. I swear,” he muttered. “They dinna make any sense. Supermodels with shotguns.”

Ronan was good, but he was no match for Dusty. He got nearly all of his, but not quite. Of the twenty-five clays that were launched, Dusty didn’t miss a single shot.

“Wooo-eeee!” From underneath the tree, Cash emitted an earsplitting whistle. “Helluva shot, baby girl! That’s my baby girl, y’all! She’s a killer!”

“Thanks, Daddy!” Dusty chirped.

Barf. I couldn’t decide which was worse—if Dusty was completely fine with the reappearance of Cash Keller, or if she was just pretending for the cameras. Either way, from looking at them, you’d never know they hadn’t seen each other in sixteen years.

“Brilliant shooting, darling.” Ronan folded Dusty up in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “You canna let me win just once?”

“Never.” She grinned.

“Not even wi’ my masculine pride at stake?”

“Especially not then.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

They started making out again, and the rest of us discreetly turned away.

“Well, Dylan,” Jamie said, “I honestly must say I did not see that one coming. That was…not what I expected from Dusty.”

“Don’t judge a book by its pink cover,” I said smugly. “Now pony up.”

“What, now?” he asked, bewildered. “I don’t happen to have a delicious snack on my person.”

“Who’s got a snack?” Heaven asked.

“Those are the terms of the bet. Since Dusty won, Jamie has to make me a delicious snack,” I explained.

“Way to aim low, dude.” Heaven shook her head. “You should have bet him a car or something.”

“He doesn’t have a car. And neither do I.”

“Wouldn’t have been your problem.” She shrugged. “He just would have had to come up with one. Somehow.”

“Not everyone shares your cavalier attitude toward grand theft auto,” I said.

“I borrowed Kit’s car.” Heaven glared at me. “Borrowed it. With every intention of returning it.”

“Only in the face of forcible coercion,” Kit said grumpily. “I wouldna been surprised if ye’d been halfway back to the States if I hadna arrived in time, ye wee besom.”

“Anyway,” I said to Jamie, interrupting them. “Is there somewhere in the castle we can make a snack?”

“The kitchens shouldn’t be too busy at the moment,” Jamie mused. “It’s ages until dinner. Hopefully, they shan’t be bothered if we mess around a bit in there.”

“Time for a snack now, is it? Och, I wouldna say nay to a bite of summat.” Kit patted his belly genially. “Feeling a wee bit peckish, myself.”

“No,” Heaven said firmly. “We’ve got stuff to do. And I need you at fighting weight.”

She poked his tummy, and he squealed like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Weird. What “stuff” could Heaven and Kit possibly be doing? And I didn’t even want to think about how Kit’s weight could possibly factor into it.

“Oi, away from there!” he commanded. “I’ve got a decent manly shape, thank you very much! And no matter what I eat, it willna make much of a difference to my shape in three days’ time. So I dinna see any reason why I canna have a wee sweetie.”

“No sweeties!” Heaven barked. “We’ve gotta practice and you know it.”

“She’s verra cruel, this one.” Kit jerked his thumb at Heaven, then turned to face her. “Your mum got it all wrong when she named you Heaven. Beelzebub would have been much more appropriate.”

“Hilarious. March. Back to the castle. Now. Go.”

Heaven gave him a decided shove in the back, and he started slowly moving toward Dunyvaig, sighing heavily.

“Hey, Heaven.” I grabbed her arm. “What exactly are you doing with Kit?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I narrowed my eyes.

“It’s a secret, Dylan,” she said, like she was talking to a child.

“You’re not, um…I mean you’re not…uh…are you?”

“Am I what? Oh, ew!” Suddenly, realization dawned. “God, Dylan, ew, no! He’s old! Like super old!”

“I’m sorry!” I said desperately. “I just had to ask!”

“Well, you asked, and now you know, so we never have to contemplate that horrific possibility again.” She made a barf face. “Ugh, you’ve blinded my mind’s eye. Thanks for that.” She shook her head, and followed Kit up to the castle.

“To the kitchens, then?” Jamie held out his arm, and I took it.