How to Knit a Heart Back Home: A Cypress Hollow Yarn by Rachael Herron

Author:Rachael Herron [Herron, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780062065889
Google: 6bM5lq0VuVsC
Amazon: 1410439208
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-03-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Surprise yourself. Use a paper clip instead of a stitch holder. Knit with twine, or grass, or dandelion stalks. Dance while you knit. Sing.

—E. C.

In Lucy’s mind, the gun range was going to be a sexy place to be. It would be a dark, narrow chamber, much like the barrel of a gun, slim and dangerous. Scary-looking trench-coated men and women in stilettos wearing European glasses would slink by her on their way out, casting shifty glances to planes flying low overhead.

Instead, the range was a squat concrete building that looked like it had been dropped in the parking lot temporarily and no one had remembered to come back for it yet. It was smack-dab between the Costco and the dump, and Lucy couldn’t believe she’d never noticed the crooked wooden sign that said, rather grandly, CYPRESS HOLLOW GUN CLUB.

Inside, a balding man wearing grubby camo sat reading Guns and Ammo, looking bored. Maybe he’d cheer up when he saw a girl. Lucy gave him a bright smile.

He didn’t even look at her, just slid a clipboard to Owen and said, “Sign in. Both got eyes and ears?” Owen nodded. “Twelve each. Ammo? Targets?”

“Nope.”

“Pistol?”

“Yep.”

“Lane eight.”

The sound of wild and careless gunfire ricocheting around inside the room they were headed for didn’t seem safe, not in the slightest.

Lucy was terrified.

Just out of sight of the clerk, as Owen started to pull open the heavy side door, Lucy clutched Owen’s sleeve and pulled out one of the earplugs he’d motioned her to put in. “Hey.”

He removed one of his earplugs, too. “You okay?”

“What if . . .” Oh, she should just say it. “What if I shoot and kill someone? Or someone accidentally kills me?”

“In the range? That really doesn’t happen that often.”

“That often?”

“I’m kidding.”

Lucy scowled. “If you think that’s funny, then . . . You don’t want to be the first casualty, is all I’m saying.”

In a low voice close to her ear, in a tone that gave her shivers, Owen said, “You’re going to be great at this. And it’s fun. It’s like this.” Putting one hand at the small of her back, Owen put his lips against hers. Parted, his lips whispered against hers, a kiss and a promise. “You can do this.”

Lucy wanted more. More of what his lips said to hers. She kissed him, hard, shocking herself, and she felt him react. The same electricity that jolted her must have shocked him, too, because the hand at her back tugged her in even closer, and she felt how ready he was, hard against her. His mouth became hotter, heavier, and his tongue demanded something she was almost ready to give him right there, against the ugly concrete wall. Owen scrambled Lucy’s brain cells, and God, she wanted more.

But then Owen stood upright and put his earplug back in, looking straight at her. His eyes didn’t so much dare her to do the same as much as expect that she’d be able to.

Sure.

Lucy took a deep breath and put her shoulders back, willing her heart to slow down and her jelly-filled legs to hold her up.

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