Page 37 of Specter Bred

"What do you think she's looking for, Farm Boy?"

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Someone to tell her she can't."

The range fell silent.

Then Archer snorted.

Actually snorted.

Hayes looked far too pleased with himself.

And despite myself, I almost laughed.

Because the kid wasn't wrong. Archer didn't run on encouragement. She ran on spite, stubbornness, and an almost pathological need to prove people wrong. The fastest way to get her to do something was to tell her she couldn't.

More interestingly, this was the first time I'd seen Hayes show any backbone.

The pup usually avoided tension whenever possible. He smiled, cracked a joke, and somehow diffused every argument before it could become a problem. Yet here he was, stepping into a conversation that had nothing to do with him and pushing back, anyway.

Not for himself.

For Archer.

Apparently, he'd decided she wasn't going to fight every battle alone anymore.

Interesting.

I nodded slowly.

"Well," I said, motioning toward the firing line, "let's see what Farm Boy taught you then, Teacup."

She took a deep breath, reeling in whatever snide comment was loading, before making her way to the shooting line. Hayes leaned back against the wall, watching from a distance, but I stepped closer, wanting to rattle her.

Then she started shooting.

The first few rounds struck steel cleanly, each hit proving that Farm Boy's advice had actually done some good. One shot landed slightly wide. Not enough for anyone else to care. More than enough for Archer. I saw the frustration flash across her face before she buried it.

That was my cue. I stepped forward, taking up residence in the space Hayes had just vacated behind her. The moment I stopped there, every muscle in her body tightened. The reaction shouldn't have pleased me.

It did.

"Relax."

"I am relaxed! Why does everyone keep saying I’m not?"

The lie wasn't remotely convincing the second time she said it.

My hand settled on her shoulder before sliding down to her elbow, adjusting the angle slightly.

"This is your problem right here. You're locking the joint every time you anticipate the shot."

"Funny. That's almost exactly what Hayes said."

The corner of my mouth twitched.

I could still smell the faint trace of Hayes' arousal lingering in the stall and, even worse, on her skin. Now it mixed with Archer's natural scent, threading through the gunpowder and whiskey in a way I found deeply distracting.