Sliding Home by Kate Angell

Author:Kate Angell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2009-08-03T13:00:00+00:00

Ten

Two days later, Psycho stepped from his Dodge Ram, his expression surly. He held up a piece of paper with scribbled directions. “You said to turn left at Tri-Corners, when you meant right. I drove for thirty minutes in the wrong direction.”

“Only thirty?” Kason had hoped the man would drive all the way to the Civil War battlefields.

Psycho ignored him, scanned the woods. “Damn, it's quiet. How many acres?”

“A thousand,” Kason answered. The Dixons and Lawrences had pulled out late last night, now headed to Miami to catch the Rogues' series against the Marlins. The land sat free and clear of visitors.

Psycho looked toward the double-wide. “Yours?”

Kason nodded. “Construction trailer until I build my home.”

“The aluminum egg?” The man was nosy.

“Rental property” was all Kason gave him. He'd purchased the Airstream from Frank at the Food Warehouse. He didn't want the man uprooting Dayne after she'd settled in and seemed happy with her tin can. He would sign over the deed to Dayne shortly.

“Where are the wolves?” Psycho told people Kason was raised in the wild. Some doubted; others debated.

Kason paid no attention. He crossed to the trailer, released the dogs. “Cimarron and Ruckus,” he told Psycho. Both animals shot out, wiggly and free.

“Cute little shit.” Psycho hunkered down, played with the min-pin. Ruckus's teeth pricked his hand. “Sucker bit me.”

“The pup minds well.” Kason smirked. “Hope it hurt.”

Psycho grunted, pushed to his feet. “Ready to shoot bird?”

“We can set up behind the trailer.”

“The noise might bother the dogs,” Psycho warned.

“Inside,” Kason ordered, and Cimarron obeyed. Ruckus, on the other hand, yipped his disappointment. He ran around Kason's ankles, then shot between his booted feet. A three-pound terror.

Psycho stood back, amused. “Alligator mouth,” he finally called out.

The Little League term wasn't lost on Kason. It was the way coaches taught young players to catch a ground ball. The glove would be placed on the ground, and the other hand would be open above the glove, with the heels of the hands fairly close together.

Kason didn't have his glove, but his big hands worked just as well. Ruckus ran right into the reptile's mouth. And Kason closed on him.

“Wish I'd had a camera.” Psycho chuckled. “I'd have sent the tape to America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

Kason wasn't feeling the humor. He gently deposited Ruckus in the double-wide, then turned back to Psycho.

The other man nodded toward his truck. “I'll get the shotguns; you grab the trap.”

Kason reached into the flatbed, raised the springloaded machine. Sophisticated and fully automated, the trap held six hundred clay pigeons in the magazine. The acoustic system was activated by the shooter's voice. Target speed and trajectories varied.

Psycho shouldered both shotguns. “Ever shoot bird?” he asked as they trudged through the weeds, trampling the low vegetation.

Kason shook his head.

Psycho turned smug. “Good—I'll win. Care to wager?”

“Let me get off a shot before you pick my pocket.”

The trap sat on three legs. Psycho programmed in both their voices. “Should I set the flywheel to throw singles or doubles?” he baited.

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