Текст книги "Stars of Fortune"

Автор книги: Nora Roberts

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Since everyone else seemed to have conveniently vanished, Sasha contemplated what to make for dinner. Sunset—she checked—was in just over an hour. If Riley did indeed fast until sunrise, she ought to eat a good meal first.

Privately, she could admit she was tired of cooking for their small army, but given the circumstances—full moon—she couldn’t suggest they take a break and go into the village for a meal.

She’d just about settled on pasta—a staple in her world—when Doyle walked in. He dropped three large pizza boxes on the table.

“I was in the mood.”

“Oh. That’s great,” she said, with genuine feeling.

“Probably need to heat them up, or have Killian wave his magic wand.”

“Either way it saves me from cooking.”

“You need to make a duty list, so it doesn’t fall so much on you. This is my way of cooking, so check me off.”

“Fair enough.”

He went to the fridge, shoved in the beer he’d bought along with the pizza, and took one out for himself.

“Do you have any other skills you’ve dreamed about?” he asked.

“I’m better at fighting in them. I’m not as good at the flipping and jumping and kicking, even in my dreams, as Annika or Riley, but I’m not embarrassing. But . . .”

She poured herself a glass of the sun tea someone—who hadn’t been her—had made that afternoon. “Unlike the crossbow, it doesn’t just come to me. Annika tried to teach me the basic handspring a little while ago. I got a D-minus.”

“You need to work on your upper body strength as much as your form. Those bands Riley gave you aren’t enough. Start swimming laps, hard. Start doing push-ups, pull-ups. You do any yoga?”

“A little.”

“Do more. Planks, chaturanga, use your own body weight. Don’t do the same thing every day. Switch it up, but do something every day. Increase the time until you’ve got real muscle fatigue.”

“All right.”

“What?” he demanded when she just kept looking at him.

“We’re having an actual conversation you initiated.”

He shrugged, drank some beer. “No point in conversations unless you’ve got something to say. You held your own last night. Part of that’s the knife Bran gave you. But most of it’s because you’ve got guts. I’d’ve said you didn’t the day I met you.”

“You wouldn’t have been wrong.”

Those sharp green eyes took her measure, straight on. “Yeah, I would’ve. I’m coming from the outside. You formed your group—not long before I came into it, but you’d formed it. You’re the glue.”

“I’m the . . .” The idea surprised her into silence.

“That’s right. And what you said this morning, that was right. Truth is truth, even when you don’t want to hear it. Everyone’s not going to just fall in line, because people just don’t, especially people who’ve had their own agenda for a while. But you were right. We went out there last night and we fought off an attack. We were lucky because we weren’t fighting as a unit. That’s got to change, and that’s something I can help with.”

“How?”

“Battle plans, Blondie. Training. Discipline.”

“That sounds . . . military.”

“That’s why soldiers fight the wars.” He started to flip up the lid on one of the pizza boxes.

Sasha laid her hand on it, kept it closed.

“We eat together—that’s training, too, isn’t it?”

“Okay. Better eat inside. Storm’s coming in.”

“Then let’s go tell the others.” She started out, looked back until he shoved away from the counter to come with her. “Can I try out your other crossbow?”

“It’s got a hundred-eighty pull weight. Even beefed up, you couldn’t cock it.”

“I’d still like to try it.”

“Push-ups,” he said.

The first rumble of thunder sounded as she started up the stairs.

By the time they’d all gathered around the kitchen table, the sky hung dark and broody. With the quickening flashes of lightning, the thunder rolled closer on a hard wind.

“Nothing like a good storm,” Riley said. “Unless it’s pizza.”

“Even bad pizza’s good.” Sawyer lifted a slice, bit in. “And this ain’t bad.”

Watching him, Annika picked up a slice, took a careful bite. “It’s wonderful.”

“Best pizza? Where?”

“New York,” Bran said immediately, and Riley shook her head as she chowed down.

“This little mom-and-pop in a little hillside village in Tuscany. Amazing. Sash?”

“I had some really nice pizza once in Paris.”

“French pizza?” Sawyer snorted. “Forget about it. Neck-and-neck between New York and this trattoria in Florence. How about you?” he asked Annika.

“This,” she said, and took another bite.

“Kildare,” Doyle said when everyone looked at him.

“Irish pizza?” Riley grabbed another slice as she laughed. “That’s below French pizza.”

“In a restaurant run by Italians,” he added. “It wins because it was unexpected.”

“Speaking of winning,” Sasha put in. “We should talk about the idea that we won last night because Nerezza was testing us. Doyle brought up the need for battle plans, for training.”

“Training?” Riley’s eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

“Bran does what he does.” Doyle took another slice from the same pie as Riley—the one loaded with sausage and pepperoni. “That’s a specific skill set nobody else here can train for. But Sasha had it right. We went into last night individually. We can’t risk that again. We need to know what Bran has . . . up his sleeve.”

“You’re right on that.” Bran nodded, poured wine. “And you’ll know from here and on. We need strategies and plans. If we only react, more, react individually, we’ll lose.”

“No argument, but what training?” Riley continued. “I’m already working with Sasha and Annika on hand-to-hand, defense. And after today, we know Sasha’s a regular Daryl Dixon with a crossbow.”

“Crossbow?” Sawyer paused with a slice halfway to his plate. “How did I miss that?”

“Who’s Daryl Dixon?” Sasha asked.

“The Walking Dead,” Sawyer supplied. “You can handle a crossbow?”

“Apparently.”

“Handle, my ass. It was thwang!” Riley mimed the shot. “Bull’s-eye. I’d stick with her in any zombie apocalypse.”

“I appreciate that, but I think Doyle means we need to start working, and training, together. We’ve made noises about being a team. We need to train like one. Bran’s teaching me about what he uses to make medicines, so I can help there.”

“I could learn,” Annika said. “I like to learn.”

“You should all know the basics. What potion, what salve, what tincture for what injury. You all know basic first-aid of the ordinary sort,” Bran added. “But we’re not dealing with ordinary.”

“And if you’re injured, we wouldn’t know what to use. Okay,” Riley agreed. “We take time for some magickal medicine lessons.”

“Other skill sets have to play. You and Sawyer?” Doyle shook his head, reluctant admiration. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen better shots, and you both keep a cool head. You start target practice with the others.”

“I don’t like the guns,” Annika said quickly.

“You don’t have to like them, gorgeous, you just have to learn to handle one. And you’ve got some moves.”

“I’d pit her against Black Widow. I’m going to buy a shitload of graphic novels for you guys,” Sawyer said when both Annika and Sasha looked blank.

“You need to teach Sasha, refine Riley—you’ve got moves of your own, but Annika’s faster, smoother.”

“Yeah? And what about you? Bran, Sawyer?”

“We’ll all work on it. And on hand-to-hand. Training,” he repeated. “We need to put a couple hours a day, at least, into it. Sasha can make a schedule.”

“I can?”

“You started it, Blondie. You were right, now you follow it through.”

Riley polished off her second slice. “You’ve got a lot to say tonight, McCleary.”

“Because I’ve got something to say.” Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed hard behind it, causing Apollo to belly under the table until his head lay on Riley’s feet. “I’ve fought with you twice, and what I’ve seen is a lot of skill, and no unity.”

“So we hone the skills, and unite,” Sawyer finished. “I’m behind that. On the united front, I think—”

“Sorry.” Riley pushed up. “I’m going to have to eat and run.”

“Run?” Sawyer looked toward the window as the rain started in a gush. “Where?”

“To my room to start. It’s nearly sundown, and since I’d as soon not strip down here in the kitchen, I’m going up.”

“You can come back,” Sasha told her. “You don’t have to stay closed in your room.”

“Yeah, I get it, appreciate it. I’m going to need to run. Storm or no storm, I’ll need to run off the initial energy. I’ll be back. If there’s any pizza left over, I’ve got dibs on it at sunrise.”

She grabbed a third slice and headed out with Apollo close to her side.

Bran looked after her, then back at Sawyer. “You were saying?”

“Ah . . . I lost track. I guess . . . unity. I’m all in on weapons training. Where’d you get the crossbow?”

“Doyle,” Sasha told him. “He has two.”

“Ever used one?”

Sawyer shook his head at Doyle. “But I’m all about it. After last night, I’m going to need more ammo. I expect Riley could use more. Looks like we need a supply list, and what we could call a supply officer. I’d nominate Riley there. She has the most contacts.”

“Supplies are more than weapons. It’s food,” Sasha pointed out. “Household supplies.”

“I could nominate myself. Or you. What about your kind of supplies?” Sawyer asked Bran.

“I’m taking care of it. There would be some things we can acquire as easily as household supplies, but some I’m sending for. We’ve picked up most of the duties around the house and grounds, but I suppose we could be more organized about it.”

“I don’t mind switching off dinner prep with Sawyer, but it’s nice to have a night off.”

“Pizza night.” Sawyer grinned. “Once a week.”

“Done.” Bran toasted the idea. “And as Sasha and Sawyer handle dinners otherwise, I propose they’re exempt from getting pizza. The rest of us can alternate that as well.”

“I like pizza.” Annika, after savoring the first, chose a second slice.

“I pity those who don’t. As for strategies . . .” Bran cocked an eye at Doyle.

“I figure the three of us can hammer some out.”

“Meaning the three of you. Men.”

Doyle shrugged at Sasha’s statement. “Ever fought a war, Blondie?”

“Not until now.”

“Ever play war?” Sawyer asked. “As a kid?”

“Well, no.” Since Annika didn’t appear to mind being dismissed, Sasha felt the burden of female pride rested fully on her shoulders. “I bet Riley did.”

“And I’d wager she’s been in more than a few skirmishes. We’ll see what she has to say about it.”

Now Doyle shrugged at Bran. “Fine.”

“But we have to search.” Annika looked from one to the next. “We can’t stop.”

“We won’t be stopping,” Bran assured her. “But it looks as if we’ll have more regimented days, at least for now.”

“I’ll make out my end of the supply list.” Sawyer rose. “But first I’m going to start a fire in the other room. The storm’s probably dropped the temps, and we’re going to have a couple of wet . . . canines.”

“I’ll help you.” Annika rose with him. “And I’ll do the dishes. It should be my turn.”

Happy to pass that duty off, Sasha sat back with her wine. “And what’s my assignment?”

“You’d be the best to keep track of needed household supplies. And I think Doyle will agree you can be trusted to write out tasks and schedules in a fair way. We never followed through there. And I’d say the training schedule should be yours, Doyle.”

“We’ll want an early start, as one of us has one more day that ends at sundown.”

“What sort of early start?” Sasha wondered.

“Sunup. Calisthenics. You want to beef up, that’s how you start. Then breakfast—plenty of carbs for you. I’d say we need a day here, forming those strategies, starting weapons training—before we go back out to dive. When Sawyer finishes building his fire, we could start outlining some basic plans. Attack as well as defense.”

Doyle got up. “I’m going to take a walk first.”

“It’s storming,” Sasha reminded him.

“I don’t mind getting wet.”

“He’ll go up,” Bran said after Doyle walked out, “and get his sword as well as his coat. And he’ll walk the perimeter, we’ll call it. And do the same again around midnight.”

“There’s a soldier in him.”

“Oh, without question.”

“But he’s not ready to tell us about it. Sawyer’s ready. He had something to tell us before Riley interrupted and had to go.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it. I don’t know what, but he’s ready to tell us the something more. Bran.”

He smiled. “Sasha.”

“There’s another kind of training I need, and I think you can help me. Not that,” she said with a laugh when he grinned at her. “Well, that, too. We can call that training. But I need to learn how to open more to what I have.”

“You already are. I knew about the crossbow because I watched you. Not a moment’s hesitation in you. You took it, and used it. Because you knew.”

“Not deliberately. I didn’t know deliberately, and that’s what I want. I don’t think I’ll ever control this, not completely. I don’t think I’m meant to. But if I’m to really do my part in all this, I need to have some control. I’ve spent so many years trying to suppress it, and now I want to use it. Can you help?”

“I think I can.”

“Good. I’m going to go up, work out the supplies, the assignments. And leave you men to your war council.”

He grabbed her hand before she walked by, kissed it. “There’ll be six sitting on that council before this is done. This is only the start.”

“So we’ll start with the soldier, the sharpshooter, and the magician. It would be stupid to object.”

“Add the lycan, because I think you’ve the right of that.”

And it mollified. “Should I wait in my room or yours?”

“Make your choice. I’ll find you.”

When she left, he thought he’d already found her. And that, like Doyle’s exceptional pizza in Kildare, was unexpected.

She went to her room, changed into loose cotton pants. She decided she’d do an actual chart for the task schedule, with names, days of the week, and appropriate chores and errands.

Before she got started she walked to the terrace doors, opened them to the sound of the storm.

And saw the shadow of the wolf.

She caught the scream, swallowed it back. “God. You scared me, Riley.” She took a deep breath because her voice had trembled. “I don’t know if you understand me. That’s a question we should’ve asked.”

And when the wolf strolled into her room, she swallowed again.

“I guess that answers that. I’d offer to towel you off, but that just seems really strange. Stranger. Ah, Sawyer started a fire for you downstairs. He’s sweet that way, and thought of it.”

The wolf simply stood, watching her. Unnerving, Sasha thought, to look at the wolf—sleek and wet and fierce—and see Riley’s eyes. “You should try to get some sleep tonight—I don’t know if that’s how it works, but if you can, you should get some sleep. Doyle called for calisthenics at dawn.”

At this, the wolf growled low.

“Okay, you definitely understand me. It actually makes sense, as a whole. I’m going to do a household supply list, and task assignments. And we’re going to start the training—by skill set—tomorrow. The men are going to get together down in the kitchen, talk battle strategies.”

The growl came again, and now the wolf paced.

“Yeah, I had the same reaction, except you’re invited onto the war council.” When the wolf stopped pacing, Sasha nodded. “Right. We figured you had some experience where Annika and I don’t. But we will. We’re going to take tomorrow, seeing as you have to make it a short day, to start putting the training together. See, it makes sense.”

She wasn’t sure if the sound the wolf made was agreement or resignation, but it wasn’t quite a growl.

“You should go down, get warm and dry. You might not be able to add anything to the strategy session, but you can listen.”

The wolf walked to the door. Sasha followed, opened it.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

She closed the door quietly on what she decided was the strangest conversation she’d ever had.

Suddenly, it struck her. Could she sense Riley’s feelings—in wolf form? Feelings echoed thoughts. So if she could, there could be more of a conversation.

She’d ask Riley if she was open to trying it.

But for now, with the storm blowing out to sea, she got her supplies, and began creating a chart.

She did a draft, edited it, re-edited it. It took longer than she’d imagined. She finished it, perfected it, then wrote out a supply list with a lot less fuss.

Done, she forced herself to put in fifteen minutes with Riley’s bands, and tried some push-ups. She would get stronger.

Still alone, she slid into bed with her sketch pad.

And fell asleep with a half dozen sketches of the wolf on her page.

When Bran slipped in beside her, she sensed his warmth, turned to him.

“It’s late.” He brushed his lips over her brow. “Sleep.”

So she slept on, and dreamed of a room lined in gold and silver, studded with jewels, mirror-bright.

She dreamed of the god who sat on her golden throne, staring into those jewels, her beauty dark and unearthly.

The reflections, dozens and dozens, covered those walls, and were wizened, hideous, twisted.

On the god’s scream of rage, the jewels shattered.

And the walls ran with blood.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rising at dawn was one thing. Rising at dawn for some yoga stretching was actually rather pleasant. But following that rather pleasant stretching by being whipped into squats and lunges changed the entire complexion.

She kept up, well enough, but squats, lunges, jumping jacks with Annika smiling, even letting out an occasional laugh, as she herself struggled through them—without even a single hit of coffee—made Sasha want to try out her right jab on her friend’s beautiful face.

Then came the dreaded push-ups.

She was the only one of the six who couldn’t manage more than two. One and a half if she was honest. Even with her knees down in what Riley called (with a definite sneer) girl push-ups, she struggled.

She would get stronger.

Pull-ups—not even one. Crunches until her abs screamed. More stretching—thank God—then a jog down the cliff steps, along the beach, then back.

Where she just collapsed on the grass in a gasping heap.

“I hate you.” She could barely pant it out. “Especially Doyle, but all of you.”

“That’s a start. Who’s on breakfast detail?” Doyle asked.

“The chart’s in my room. Someone who can still walk should go get it.”

“I’ll get it.” Annika, barely winded, dashed off.

From her prone position, Sasha bared her teeth. “Maybe I hate her even more than Doyle.”

Moaning, she rolled over, made herself stand on wobbly, vibrating legs. Actively scowled when Annika bounced back with the chart.

“I cook with Sawyer today. I can make the coffee. I know how. It’s so pretty!” She turned the chart around for all to see.

Sasha had color-coded it, and since she’d been in a fine mood before this morning’s torture, had illustrated the chart.

Pretty little drawings of pots and pans, a lawn mower, a garden, pecking chickens, the pool, and so on—along with sketches of everyone beside their names.

“I want that,” Sawyer said immediately. “I want that when we’re done. It goes in the kitchen for now, but I’m calling dibs. Let’s go cook, Annika.”

“Can I break the eggs?” she asked as they headed toward the villa. “It looks like fun.”

“There’s a woman who makes her own fun. Let’s find out if she can make coffee.”

“Hold on a minute,” Doyle said to Riley. “You got any Tai Chi?”

Riley tapped her right fist to her open left palm. “Sure.”

“Take Sasha through a beginner’s session.”

“What! Why? No.” Though it shamed her, Sasha was weak enough to look at Bran for help. But he only smiled, gave her arm an encouraging pat.

“It’ll help with your balance and centering,” Doyle said. “You want to catch up with everyone else, you need a little extra. Twenty minutes should do it. How about you show me some of what you’ve put together,” he said to Bran, “while they’re cooking.”

“All right.” Bran took Sasha’s face, kissed her lightly. “Twenty minutes,” he repeated, and left her.

“I want coffee,” Sasha insisted. “I want to sit down. I think I want my mommy.”

“There’s no whining in Tai Chi. Feet slightly apart, knees loose. Breathe from here.” She slapped a hand on Sasha’s aching abs.

“Oh, God.”

“You wanted a unit, Sash. Looks like you’ve got one.”

“It hurts.”

“No pain, no gain,” Riley shot back with merciless cheer. “I’ll go over philosophy later, because I damn well want coffee, too, but for now, breathe in from your center, and do what I do.”

At least the movements were slow, and she had to admire Riley’s fluidity as she tried to mimic them. But that didn’t stop her quads from aching like rotted teeth.

By the time she sat down she could have wept and whimpered for coffee, but she damn well knew where her center was as it quivered from exhaustion and begged for food. Sawyer produced a platter with a golden mountain of pancakes. Where she’d usually have eaten one, she ate three, actually contemplated a fourth before she decided it might make her sick.

Doyle looked across the table at her. “You’re up.”

“I don’t want to be up. Maybe not ever again.”

“I believe he means your clever and creative chart.” Bran gestured to where Annika had propped it on a chair, like another team member.

“Oh. Well. I’ve got me and Bran on cleanup, Riley on Apollo and chickens.”

“Wolf in the henhouse.”

Riley sent Sawyer a sharp, sweet smile. “You’re a barrel of monkeys.”

“Annika and I hit the garden to weed and harvest,” Sasha continued.

“I’m on the pool, Bran’s on the lawn mower. Annika’s on laundry.” Sawyer grinned at the chart. “Leaves Riley and Doyle on the supply run. I think I like the pictures of the bag of groceries and boxes of ammo best.”

“Give me ten for the cluckers, another ten to grab a shower.” Riley downed the rest of her coffee. “Another five to make a call, see where we’ll find the best place for the ammo.”

“The household supply list is on the dresser in my room.”

Nodding at Sasha, Riley pushed away from the table. “Got it. Fifteen tops,” she said and jogged off. How could she jog, Sasha wondered bitterly, to deal with the chickens?

“Might as well grab a swim before I play pool boy.”

Doyle rose as Sawyer did. “Fifteen minutes to add anything to the supply list, otherwise, you get what you get.”

Annika sat a moment after the others left, then looked apologetically at Sasha. “I don’t know how to laundry. Can you teach me?”

“Go ahead.” Bran waved them away. “I’ve got this.”

*   *   *

By the time she’d finished giving Annika a lesson on separating clothes, water temperatures, cycles, he’d nearly finished the dishes.

So she and her partner for the morning went out to the garden with hoes, rakes, shears, and a plastic tub from the shed.

They worked with Annika happily humming. She could hear the rumble of the lawn mower, the drone of bees, and the swish of the sea at the base of the cliff.

All so normal, Sasha thought, so everyday. Anyone looking at the picture would see a group of people tending to household chores. But they were far more.

She bided her time, noting that Annika caught on quickly to hoeing out the weeds, just as she’d caught on quickly to the basics of doing laundry.

But she’d clearly done neither before.

“So you have six sisters,” Sasha began.

“Yes.”

“You must miss them.”

“I do, but I’m happy here. Even though we have to fight, and some of the work is hard.”

“Six sisters,” Sasha repeated. “And you’ve never done laundry before.”

“Today I’m doing laundry.”

“So you had staff?”

Obviously puzzled, Annika straightened, mimed holding a tall stick. “Staff?”

“Not that kind. People. People who do things like laundry and cooking and cleaning.”

“Oh. We’re staff now.”

Annika bent back to her weeding, avoiding Sasha’s eye.

“You’ve never really said where you live.”

Annika weeded another moment, then stopped, turned to face Sasha again. “Will you be my friend?”

“I am your friend.”

“Will you be my friend and not ask what I can’t tell you? I can promise, I have nothing bad. It’s . . .”

“Like an oath.”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

Annika reached out to take Sasha into a hug. “Thank you. You taught me laundry.” She eased back, smiling. “I’ll teach you how to . . .” Bending over, she lifted her legs into a ridiculously fluid handstand.

“I think that’s going to take a lot longer than teaching you how to do laundry.”

“I’ll teach you.” Annika dropped down again. “And we’ll find the stars. When we do, and they’re where they belong, I can tell you everything.”

“All right. And whatever it is, we’re still going to be friends.”

After gardening and laundry, after supplies were put away and they ate the gyros Riley brought back from the village, Sasha had her first lesson in gun safety.

A very patient Sawyer spent considerable time with her and Annika—the only ones who’d never fired a gun—showing them how to load, unload, reload, how to sight, how to use the safety, how to take it off.

As instructed, Annika slapped the magazine into one of Sawyer’s 9 mms.

“I don’t like it. It feels cold and mean.”

“You don’t have to like it. You have to respect it. A lot of GSWs are accidents, from carelessness. Gunshot wounds,” he explained. “People who don’t learn how to properly handle a gun, who don’t properly secure it when not in use. Some insist guns don’t kill. People do. But guns do kill, and knowing that, respecting that, is really important.”

“Did this gun kill someone?”

“No. But I know it can. I know I can. If there’s no choice.”

He looked down to where the others had set up a temporary target range, with paper targets over a thick sheet of wood.

“Time to try them out. Safeties on.”

Sasha didn’t like the feel of the gun any more than Annika, but she carried it down to the range, where Riley took over the lesson.

“We’re going to start with stance and grip. Basic Weaver stance,” she told Sawyer, “Two-handed grip.”

When she demonstrated, Annika shook her head.

“Sawyer shoots the gun with one hand.”

“And when you can shoot like Dead-Eye here, be my guest. For now, two hands. Your dominant hand presses the weapon forward slightly, and the other draws it back. Balancing. This’ll help you with the recoil. Dominant foot back and to the side, the other forward, knee bent. Most of the weight’s on your front foot.”

She had them practice, again and again, getting into position, lifting an unloaded weapon to eye level.

“Okay. Who wants to shoot first?”

“Sasha does,” Annika said immediately.

“Okay.”

“Load it like I showed you,” Sawyer told her.

When she had, Riley stepped behind her. “Take your time, take your stance, raise your weapon.” She laid a hand on Sasha’s back. “Don’t hold your breath when you squeeze the trigger. Squeeze it, slow and smooth and let your breath out.”

She did, felt the kick all the way to her shoulder, and the force of it, the sound of it like a punch in the heart.

She didn’t miss the target entirely, but put a bullet in the second ring in, to the right.

“Not bad. Adjust your stance, relax your shoulders. Try it again.”

The next shot hit higher, and still well to the right of center.

“You’re pulling it to the right. Think about that, fire again.”

Lower this time, Sasha noted, and another ring closer.

She fired several more, never hit center, but shot what Riley called a decent grouping.

She stepped aside, more than happy to unload and set the gun down, so Annika could step to the line.

Riley adjusted her stance, her grip, then stepped back.

Annika fired when told, missed the paper target, plowed a bullet into the wood.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t hold your breath. Don’t close your eyes. Eyes on the target this time, and squeeze the trigger.”

She did, hit the white of the paper, then lowered the gun.

“I won’t learn this. I’m sorry.” Deliberately she unloaded, handed the gun carefully to Sawyer. “I’m sorry, I can’t learn this. I’ll work harder, and I’ll fight, but I can’t do this. It feels evil in my hand. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Hey, don’t,” he said quickly when her eyes welled with tears. “We’ll find something else for you. No guns.” He looked meaningfully at Doyle. “She doesn’t have to use a gun.”

“Her call.”

“Yeah, it is. See that.” Sawyer holstered the weapon, put an arm around her shoulders. “Your call.”

“I’m going to fold the laundry. Sasha showed me how. I’m going to go fold the laundry.”

“We’ll think of something else,” Sawyer said to the group when she dashed off.

“I might be able to come up with something.” Bran looked after her. “Something that would give her a weapon, a defense, and not upset her. Let me work on it.”

*   *   *

By the time they’d concluded what Sasha thought of as Weaponry 101, she found all the laundry finished, folded—and her own share neatly stacked on her bed.

And the house sparkled.

She found Annika in the kitchen, diligently unloading the dishwasher.

“I cleaned the house.”

“I’ll say.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You need to stop being sorry. No one’s mad at you.”

“I didn’t do my task.”

“Because it’s wrong, for you. Everyone understands.” Sasha thought of her sore and aching muscles, weighed them against friendship. “You said you’d teach me the handstand. You could give me a couple private lessons before you work with everyone. Give me a—ha-ha—leg up.”

“Yes, I can. I will.”

“How about now?”

She failed, and even when Annika held her legs, Sasha’s arms and shoulder muscles quivered and pinged like plucked harp strings. During the group lesson, after multiple face and/or ass plants, she was relegated to practicing simple forward and backward rolls.

She would get stronger. She would get better.

Deeming herself finished, she took her aches and pings off for a soak in the hot tub. She considered doing laps, as Doyle had suggested, but the way her arms and legs felt, she’d probably sink straight to the bottom of the pool and drown.

Besides, she’d damn well earned a break.

She hit the jets—ahh—adjusted her sunglasses. She’d just sunk down to her chin when she saw Annika and Riley coming her way.

She liked their company, but at the moment she’d have preferred the moans she knew would come to be a private thing.

Riley set a pitcher of margaritas on the table, poured three glasses. And Annika held up a small bottle.

“Bran said to add this to the water.”

“What is it?”

“Lavender and rosemary and . . .” She looked to Riley.

“Magic. He said it would take care of any muscle soreness. Dump it in, Anni. We’re going to test it out.” Riley handed Sasha a glass.

“I’m not sore.” But Annika poured in the pale green liquid.

“She tempts me to say fuck you.” Riley boosted herself into the tub.