Page 44 of Cowboy Elite 2: Mike

“Are there any kings?” she asked, voice barely there.

“Not in this kingdom.” His grin flashed in her periphery. “Press the trigger straight back. Slow. Surprise yourself.”

“Like before?” she said.

“Exactly like before.”

“Less kick,” Kenny offered. “Different kind.”

Mike hummed. “Snappier. She’ll talk back fast.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“No need. I’m right here.”

“It’s not going to fly out of my hands?”

“Nope.”

Heather and Charlotte had moved closer, forming a little half-circle that somehow managed to feel protective instead of intrusive. Charlotte was clutching a sheet of sparkly stickers to her chest like a medal rack.

“You ready?” Mike whispered.

“Not even a little.”

“Perfect,” he said, and straddled his feet around hers until their boots almost touched. His hands bracketed her wrists, not holding, just there. A promise of steady if she needed it.

She lined up the sights. The pistol felt alive in her hands, coiled like a spring. The air shimmered in the heat.

She pressed.

The shot cracked. Not as loud as the rifle. The muzzle jumped, a quick kick against her palms that startled her even though she expected it. The can shivered, wobbled, and settled right back where it was, rude as a cat turning its back.

“High,” Kenny said calmly.

“Reset,” Mike coaxed. “Keep your eye on the front site.”

He smelled like cut grass and soap, distracting her. It’s a wonder she could even think.

She tried again. Press. The can tipped and fell, clattering to the dirt and rolling a little before it kissed a thistle and stopped.

Charlotte squealed. “Yay! You get another sticker!”

Heather whooped. Kenny’s chin dipped in approval.

Liv felt the grin break across her face before she could stop it. Mike’s hands tightened a fraction, his own pleasure humming through his touch and into her.

“Again,” she said, surprising herself.

“Bossy,” he teased. He brought the pistol down, checked the chamber, tucked another magazine in, the motions so smooth they were nearly a dance.

“Two this time,” he said. “One for the can. One for that bottle cap by its foot. Tiny target. You’ll have to really mind your front sight.”

“Are you trying to impress me?”

“Yes,” he said, shameless.

She laughed. “At least you’re honest.”