This woman was strange as hell.
Not only did she have a set of ear-piercing lungs on her, she also had some fight in her, although her screaming and punching didn't amount to much.
She was a petite little woman, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes that were filled with stark terror the first time she saw me.
And the second time too.
Now, she held a rifle, rather poorly I might add, aiming at a target that she might never hit.
I’d put my money on it that she won’t.
Ever.
I’d just come back up from the river, where I was washing a couple of shirts when I heard the shots being fired.
At first, I thought I was imagining it, my mind playing tricks on me, but then I heard it again, and again.
I recognized the sound of a .22 rifle.
Nothing like the sound of gunshots to ruin my peaceful day.
I stomped up to the house to see what the hell she was doing, besides ruining my quiet existence.
When I rounded the corner of the house, I saw the rifle was held by none other than the city girl herself, though I knew that even before I’d spotted her.
If someone else had been at the house firing a gun besides her, she’d be screaming her head off.
As she rightly should.
She held the rifle awkwardly, and I figured that it was the first time she had fired a gun or held one for that matter. She seemed afraid of it, which was ironic, but I doubted that she’d find the irony as funny as I did.
For a moment, I was pissed at whoever thought it was a good idea to sell a rifle to a woman who’d never held one in her life.
Sure, she would be less likely to shoot herself with a rifle than a pistol, unless she tripped and hit her foot or something. I couldn’t understand why she felt the need to buy a gun in the first place without knowing how to shoot one.
It was stupid and irresponsible.
Someone was going to get hurt.
Like her.
Or all the trees behind the damn paper target she kept missing.
The whole thing is pissing me off. It was hard watching her as she fired the rifle, missing the target every single time. Hell, she wasn’t even coming close. Not by a mile.
It reminded me of one of the recruits in our unit at the very beginning of our training.
William Nixon.
His father was a baker in a small town in Nebraska, and Nixo, as we fondly referred to him, had never held, or even seen a firearm in his entire life.
He was the son of a baker, so he was quiet and reserved.
Until he joined the Army.
Whether it was running ten miles in the rain and sleeping outside in the mud without ever complaining, he constantly showed me the endurance he had. He never gave up and just kept on trying.
When it came to firearms training, we were all convinced that Nixo would shoot himself in the foot, or the face before he got the hang of it.
I remembered the day everything clicked for him, and he didn’t miss a target after that.
That scrawny little son of a bitch became one of the best sharpshooters I ever had the privilege of working beside. His nickname was later changed to Headshot Will.
Ironically, it had been a headshot that killed him on our last tour, from an enemy sniper. After his death, people started calling him William Nixon again. Which sounded too formal for him. He never liked being called William anyway.
I felt lost after he died, lost and alone.
Not only had I lost a fellow sniper, but also a damn good friend.
If I could teach him how to shoot, I’m sure I could teach this tiny slip of a woman too. Or at least get her to the point where she wouldn’t shoot herself by accident.
Or me.
Damn! The thought just occurred to me.
As jumpy as she is, she might just blow my head off if I’m not careful. Maybe the best and smartest thing to do would be to hide her bullets. That way we’d all stay safe, including the trees.
I walk up behind her and slide my hand over hers.
“Don’t close your eyes,” I told her.
“So what am I supposed to do then? I can’t help blinking. Hold my eyes wide-open in a crazed stare?” she asked in a huff.
I positioned my hands over hers, guiding her how to hold the rifle properly, without being hit by the recoil, and to effectively hit the target.
Or try to at the very least.
If I’m being honest, she’s a long way from hitting targets on her own.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
“I heard you. Stop talking and listen.”
I felt her bristle at my instructions and tense up.
“Relax,” I said. “Look at the target, for one, and line up the site.”
“Okay,” she answered.
“Let out your breath slowly, and squeeze the trigger,” I said to her.
She followed my suggestions as well as she could. Then she hesitated, which I found odd.
If she was so damn intent on shooting, why not just get on with it?
She inhaled again, slowly breathed out and squeezed the trigger.
The rifle fired and she actually hit the far edge of the target.
“Wow! I did it,” she said as I lowered my arms and stepped back.
She turned around, looking at me with a mixture of shock and excitement.
“I actually did it.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I lined up the shot and steadied her rifle for her. She needed a bit of confidence if she ever wanted to learn how to shoot on her own.
“I take it this is the first time that you’ve fired a rifle,” I asked dryly, as I already knew the answer to that question.
“Yes,” she answered and glanced at the target again.
She didn't hit it dead center, but at least she hit it, and apparently that was good enough for her.
“That’s not surprising.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
“Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but this is my property now. You don’t need to be a smartass.”
I crossed my arms to look at her.
“Do you even know one damn thing about this property?” I asked. “Do you know there is a stream to your right?”
“No,” she answered and narrowed her eyes at me, “but I know that there used to be a family of bats living in my house. You’re the caretaker. Isn’t that part of your job to keep bats and snakes out of the house?”
“Nope,” I said. “Not in my job description at all. I take care of the ranch, not the ranch house. Maybe you ought to head back to the city where you belong, missy.”
“Or maybe you should watch yourself,” she said in a low furious voice.
“Or what?” I asked, knowing that I had the upper hand here. “Or you’ll fire me?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“No, you won’t.”
“You’re annoyingly confident for someone who works on my ranch.”
“I know that you won’t fire me, because one, I am technically not employed by you, and two, you could die out here without me.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but she hesitated. She knew it was true, and so did I.
“I’m sure you’re being overly dramatic,” she said, though she didn’t look quite sure.
“Time will tell. Do you know how to spot the warning sounds of a tornado heading this way?”
She eyes widened and she shook her head.
“Or recognize the footprints of a mountain lion in the dirt beside the front porch?”
“No,” she said, with less bravado in her voice now. “You’ve made your point. Thanks for showing me how to shoot.”
“Sure,” I answered nonchalantly as I turned away.
“Hey, wait.”
“What?”
“You’re just going to disappear again into thin air?”
I looked at her with a slight frown and answered, “Yeah. I have stuff to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like make sure those bats don’t come back, apparently. Since you’re all worked up about them. They won’t hurt you, you know.”
She sighed and looked at me apologetically.
“I didn't mean that you had to get rid of them.”
“Then who will if I don’t? You?”
“Yes.”
I laughed and turned away.
“Oh, so now I’m not capable of doing that?” she asked and crossed her arms.
“No, you’re not.”
“Because I’m a woman?”
“No, because you’re a city girl who has no idea what you’re doing here, who has no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, and who is in way over her head.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of assumption.”
“I don’t need to know you to know that.”
“Oh, really?” she asked and shifted her weight.
“Yes. I know your type. You think because you’re from a big city that life on a ranch is easy. Well, it’s not, Cupcake, and soon you will realize how hard it is. You’re going to wake up with blisters on your feet and calluses on your hands. Your fair skin will be sunburned. Your fancy little manicure will be ruined before the end of the week and you’ll go to bed wishing that it was all a bad dream. You’ll wake up in the mornings and instead of seeing the beauty you saw on your dude ranch vacation, you’ll be wishing you could draw a bubble bath or have lunch at a chic restaurant.”
Her bottom lip trembled slightly and I turned away before she turned on the waterworks. I don’t have the energy or the patience to deal with a crying woman.
I still had a lot to do, so every minute I spent here, arguing with her city slicker ass, was another minute wasted.
She did have a great looking ass, but that was beside the point.
I wasn't in the mood to deal with her and I just walked away.
I didn't really care if she thought that I was being rude, or judgmental. Everything I said was the damn truth.
She didn't belong here, and she knew that.
She was in way over her head, and deep down she knew that as well. She had no clue how to run a ranch. Even if by some miracle she did manage to restore this place to its former glory, she’ll probably use up all the money from her rich Daddy’s trust fund. Then she’ll be sitting on her pretty little ass with nothing but mounting debt and a house with a leaky roof.
Don’t get me wrong, there were times when people surprised me, like Nixo, but mostly people were who they were. People always show you the truth about them if you’re willing to look.
Some were meant for the solitary ranch life, and others weren't.
Leah is meant for the dude ranch life where the meals are prepared for her, the animals are taken care of by staff, and her bed is turned down for her at night.
The fake ranch life is where she belongs.
Not here and certainly not with me.
With any luck, I can run her off soon.
Me or the bats.
I chuckled at the mental image of her trying to chase the bats away. I understood that bats and snakes might be scary. Screaming like she was being savagely attacked and about to be murdered was completely unnecessary.
It only served to rattle the poor critters, and possibly wake up the larger predators in the area.
If she ever encountered a mountain lion on her porch one morning, then she’d really have something to worry her pretty head about.
That would be something I’d pay good money to see.