Free Missouri Loves Company (Rip Lane Book 1) by W.J. Costello

others. Besides I’ve already heard everything I have to say.
    “More and more people are earning a living on the road,” Nichole said. “The development of mobile communications makes it possible. Some people telecommute from a mobile office. Others run their own businesses. Most of these people work in professions that allow a mobile lifestyle. Consultants, software engineers, graphic artists, computer programmers, desktop publishers, advertising and media buyers, life coaches, telemarketers, customer service representatives, sales representatives, insurance claim adjusters, professional speakers, accountants, bookkeepers, recruiters, social media managers, online professors, crafters, musicians, writers, photographers . . .”
    “And painters.”
    “Yes. And painters too.”
    “Let’s go take a look at some of your paintings.”
    “Let’s.”

CHAPTER 29
     
     
    T HE OUTDOOR SHOOTING range was impressive, with a sheltered shooting stand, and a number of unsheltered stands. It was located an hour from S’mores and Snores Campground, though I had motorcycled there in less than forty minutes.
    The smell of gunpowder was strong as I made my way to the shooting line. I inhaled deeply. The deafening gunfire of the shooters was muted by my earplugs. Muted, but still loud.
    I had brought both of my guns, the Glock Twenty-two, and the Glock Twenty-seven. The former was my primary gun, the latter my backup gun.
    Holding my primary gun in both hands, I pulled the trigger twice.
    The gun roared.
    Bam! Bam!
    Both rounds hit the bull’s-eye, but not in its center. I was out of practice and it showed.
    I shot some more.
    After a few minutes I returned my primary gun to my belt holster. I wanted to practice with my backup gun, which I kept in an ankle holster.
    First I assumed my shooting stance. Body turned slightly sideways, left foot forward, right foot back. Not unlike a boxing stance. Next I threw my right foot back and simultaneously brought my left hand down to the inside of my left pant leg. Near the middle of my calf I took hold of the pant leg and yanked it up. Meanwhile I threw my right hand down to the inside of my left ankle and gripped my gun and pulled it from the holster. I brought it up while adding support with my left hand. Then I extended my arms out in front of me, aimed, and fired three rounds. All three hit the exact center of the bull’s-eye.
    By the time I got back to the campground the sky was dark gray and the rain was falling in sheets. I was toweling my head dry when I heard knuckles rapping on my door.
    “Come in out of the rain, Sally.”
    “Actually I just stopped by to see if you wanted to join me and Harry for some lunch. I made chicken noodle soup.”
    “I’ll be right over.”
    When I had finished lunch I returned to my motor home and took a long nap. The rain drummed hard on the roof.
    Taking naps is not something I do often. But I was still in recovery mode, and I needed extra rest to speed up the process.
    For two weeks it rained every day. The days ran together for me, a constant cycle of exercising and eating and resting. I would go from pull-ups to push-ups, from sit-ups to throw-ups. I would go from running up the stairs to eating at my dinette table to sleeping in my bed. Every day was the same.

CHAPTER 30
     
     
    O NE RAINY EVENING I invited Lance over for dinner.
    “Look at you,” he said. “Back into shape already.”
    “Getting there,” I said.
    Since Lance had mentioned Okinawa as his favorite place in the world, I had driven to a local Asian market and picked up some Okinawan cuisine. Our dinner consisted of goya champuru, soba, and tempura. We ate with chopsticks. We did not sit on the floor.
    “This brings back memories,” Lance said.
    “Good ones I hope,” I said.
    “Great ones. Okinawa is known as Japan’s tropical playground.”
    “I heard karate was developed there.”
    “You’ve been watching the Karate Kid movies.”
    “Guilty as