Free The Legend of Smuggler's Cave by Paula Graves Page B

range had been too tempting for the chief to resist.
    “Doyle’s here,” he told Briar.
    “I know. I saw him earlier.” She switched out the target to a new one. “Come on. Let’s give it another try.”
    She’d showed him how to load the rifle earlier, and fortunately, he was a quick study. Her nod of approval when he had finished reloading felt like lavish praise.
    “Remember, you’re not pulling the trigger. You’re pressing it. You want as little movement in the rifle as possible. Don’t close your eyes when it fires. You want to keep looking at the target. Guide it in.”
    He slanted a look at her, and she grinned a little sheepishly.
    “I know it sounds like hokum, but the thing is, if you’re focusing on getting that round into the target, your whole body is aligned toward that goal and you’re just going to make a better shot.”
    He settled the rifle barrel on the bench rest and sighted the target through the scope.
    “And breathe,” she added. “Just breathe.”
    He focused on the target and tried to rid his mind of everything but that one center spot he wanted to hit. But clearing his mind seemed to be something he could no longer do at will.
    So he did the next best thing. He focused his thoughts on Briar and Logan. He’d promised to help her protect her son, and if he had to spend hours every day on this range, shooting this bloody rifle and suffering the scrutiny of Doyle Massey, he’d do it. He’d given himself this task, inserted himself into their world for his own purposes.
    Competence was the least he owed them.
    He pressed the trigger. The rifle kicked but he held it as steady as he could, keeping his eye on the target.
    The bullet didn’t hit center, but it was close.
    “Nice,” Briar said softly from her position a few feet away.
    He couldn’t hold back a satisfied grin.
    He took his time and fired the next three rounds into the target. None of the three got as close as the first round, but his aim was considerably improved over his earlier effort.
    “Not bad at all,” Briar told him as they studied the target more closely. “You’re pulling a little to the right with your shots, though. You’ll need to figure out how to compensate for that.”
    Dalton started to answer when he saw Doyle walking toward them behind Briar’s back. He tried not to react, but he couldn’t seem to keep his lips from pressing into a thin line of annoyance.
    “How long are you going to keep hating him for being your mother’s son?” Briar asked softly without turning around.
    “I don’t hate him.”
    Her eyebrow twitched upward a notch, but she didn’t comment.
    “Second try was pretty respectable,” Doyle commented when he got close. “Pulling a little to the right, but not bad at all.”
    Dalton wanted to snap out some brilliant cutting remark, but he didn’t want to do it in front of Briar. He settled for something milder if not entirely friendly. “Town not keeping you busy, chief?”
    “Overseeing the shooting range is part of my job description.” Doyle turned his gaze to Briar. “Logan’s got my entire station wrapped around his little finger. I’m pretty sure we’re about to make him an honorary police officer.”
    She flashed the chief a toothy grin that made Dalton’s breath catch. Damn, but when she smiled, she just lit up everything around her. It made him want to make her smile more often. God knew, she’d had little enough to smile about in her life.
    “I’ll go take him off Nix’s hands,” she said, glancing at Dalton. “Chief, would you sign Mr. Hale out of the range for me?”
    Dalton opened his mouth to protest, but she was already well down the firing range. He clamped his mouth shut and looked at Doyle.
    “How’s she doing?” Doyle asked, ignoring the glare Dalton couldn’t keep in check.
    He sighed. “She’s remarkably resilient.”
    Doyle smiled a little at the description. “She is that.” He gestured with his head for Dalton to follow