MacKenzie Fire

  He stands there and sputters for a few seconds before he finds his voice. “You are something else, you know that?”

  I lift my chin. “So I’ve been told.”

  Henry walks up with a large box in his hands, saving me from having to listen to Ian anymore.

  “Here you go, ma’am. Size eight, just like you asked for. They’re water resistant, too.”

  “Thank you so much, Henry,” I say, oozing charm. Opening the box I find the boots I liked inside. The first one fits like a glove and I can’t help but smile at how cute it is on me. “Absolutely perfect.” I put on the second Sorel. It’s gorgeous.

  Twisting around and jumping up and down a few times tells me they’re just as comfy as they are cute. Double score. Usually I have to sacrifice one for the other, but not today. Baker City doesn’t suck quite so much right now, even though there are murderers living here.

  “Come on up to the register and I’ll show you the guns. You can try out any that you like.”

  I gather up the fuglies and put them in the box, wearing my new lovelies right past Ian. He’s become some sort of statue, just standing there scowling at me and Henry. I’m ignoring him completely.

  “What do you mean I can try them out?” I put the boot box down on the floor by the cash register so I can see the handguns under the glass. “Like, just pull the trigger here in the store?” I look around but don’t see any bullet holes in the walls or anything. Maybe he has blanks I can use.

  “We have an indoor range,” he says, smiling proudly. “It ain’t big, but it does the trick.”

  “Cool! I’ve never shot a gun before.”

  His smile slips just a little. “Oh, isn’t that … nice. And why are you buying the gun, may I ask?”

  “Not to shoot anything,” I say. I try unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder that moves through me.

  “Okaaaay…”

  He’s apparently still waiting for an explanation, so I continue. “There are some lions out where I’m staying, so I just wanted some protection. You know … in case a lion tries to eat me or my friend. I’ll use the gun to scare it away.”

  “Lions?”

  Ian is behind me now, snickering.

  I roll my eyes. “Never mind. Just show me the guns. Which one is good for protection?”

  Henry looks down into the case. “From lions? Well … I suppose any of these could work if you hit the lion between the eyes. Do you think you’re a good shot?” He looks up at me, hopeful, possibly a little stressed too.

  I nod enthusiastically. “I’m sure I will be. I’m a hair dresser.”

  Henry stares at me. Now he has the statue problem that Ian had. Unfortunately, Ian doesn’t have it anymore himself. He’s standing at my side and pointing to something in the case.

  “Show her that one.”

  “The nine millimeter? Don’t you think that’s a little much for her?” Henry asks. His happiness is all gone. Now he just looks worried.

  I frown at him. “Of course it’s not too much for me. I hold blowdryers and flatirons all day long. Have you ever done a two-hour blow-out? Because I have. Without breaks.” I snort. “Trust me, I can handle it.”

  “Okay,” Henry says under his breath, “if you say so.”

  A couple minutes later I’m standing at the end of a long hall, holding up the heaviest piece of metal I’ve ever had in my hand, and staring at a target. FYI, blowdryers are way lighter than handguns.

  Ian is standing next to me, pointing at the paper that has black rings on it, and generally being annoying. “Just point and shoot. Pull the trigger. And be careful of the kick.” His voice comes to me muffled due to the fact that I’m wearing ear protection.

  I totally feel like an FBI agent right now, with my legs spread and my arms out straight, gripping the gun. I’ll bet my butt looks awesome. “The kick?” I look over my shoulder at him. My arms are already getting tired from holding the gun up.

  “It’s going to kick back with the force of the shot. Just be prepared for it.”

  “Okay.” I squint at the target, holding the gun like I’ve seen FBI guys do it in the movies. I am so badass.

  “That’s too high.” Ian says.

  God, he’s so irritating! “How do you know?” I have one eye closed and the other squinting so I can see down the barrel of the gun to the far wall.

  “I’ve been shooting since I was six, and unless your plan is to hit the light fixture over there, I’d lower it a little.”

  I snort, but follow his advice. Before he gives me any more of it, though, I pull back on the trigger. I’ll show him who knows how to shoot a gun.

  Even with ear protection, the BOOM is amazingly loud. And I know I was supposed to be prepared for the kick, but mentally preparing for something you’ve never experienced is way more difficult than you’d expect. The sound effects do not help.

  The gun goes flying out of my hand and lands on the ground with a giant bang. It sounds like another shot, it’s so loud. Good thing I had my ear protection on.

  Ian shouts behind me and then starts jumping all over the place.

  “What is your problem?” I ask, sliding the ear muffs off. “I just dropped it, it’s not a big deal. It’s not broken.” At least I don’t think it is.

  “You shot me! You fucking shot me!” He’s screaming so loud, Henry comes in from the store.

  My heart stops beating as I try to figure out if he’s just messing with me. Shouldn’t there be blood if I shot him?

  “What happened?!” Henry yells, looking at the gun on the floor and then Ian.

  “Oh, he’s being ridiculous,” I say, praying I’m right. Did I really shoot him? I don’t see any blood. There’s nothing but him acting like a human pogo stick. Boing! Boing! Boing! He’s pretty cranky too. I don’t think he’s faking that part.

  “She shot me!” Ian says, pointing at me. He stops jumping around and stands on two feet, now gesturing to his lower leg. “See?!”

  There’s a hole in the material near his ankle. When he lifts his pant leg, there’s a dark red mark on his skin, but no blood.

  “Looks like you got grazed,” says Henry. He looks up at me. “How’d you manage that?” Then he looks out at the target. “Nice shot by the way.”

  I look over my shoulder and see that I’ve nailed the target almost exactly in the center. I can’t help but grin like a fool. “Check me out.”

  Ian’s voice goes up an octave. “You’re standing there all proud of yourself after you shot me?”

  I look back at him, feeling loads better that there’s no blood and that I haven’t just killed my best friend’s brother-in-law. I’m a little dizzy with the relief, actually. But I don’t want him to know that.

  “Hey, it was an accident, okay? I’m sorry I grazed you with a bullet. Geez.” I roll my eyes. “What a baby.”

  He stands there staring at me with his jaw open. Then he laughs, but he doesn’t sound very happy. “You’re nuts, you know that? You’re dangerous. You need to just stay the hell away from me.”

  “Oh, believe me, I plan to.” I ignore the sting of rejection. He’s a Bambi killer anyway. What do I care if he wants me to stay away?

  “No, I’m serious. Stay far away. I’m too young to die.”

  “Oh, please, stop being so dramatic. Besides, I already told you that you’re not my type and I have no interest, so just stay out of my way.”

  “Hoo-hoo-hooo,” Henry chuckles, “y’all got some issues. When’s the wedding?”

  “Shut up, Henry,” Ian growls. “You’re not funny. And you know what? You can keep your bow, too. I gotta go home and ice my leg.” Ian storms out of the practice room with an exaggerated limp, and I assume he leaves the store since I can’t hear him whining anymore.

  “So, you like the gun?” Henry asks, a hint of a smile still on his face.

  “Heck yeah, I like the gun. I hit a target and Ian MacKenzie with it already. I’d say it’s a keeper.”

  Henry laughs until he’s
beet red in the face. His belly jiggles around like a bowl of Jell-O. It’s both gross and fascinating at the same time. I can’t stop staring.

  “I’ll just go start the paperwork. Feel free to shoot some more rounds if you like. Just watch the kickback next time.”

  “Yeah, good advice.” I pick the gun up off the ground. This time when I point it at the target it doesn’t feel as heavy or as foreign.

  “That’s right, lions,” I say mostly to myself as I raise it up and stare down the barrel. “Come at me now.”

  I empty the clip, scoring more hits in the center ring, and then go back into the store to do the background check stuff. I am so going to be a badass with this baby on my hip and my new purple boots. Ian MacKenzie better just stay out of my way.

  Chapter Six

  I’M JUST LEAVING THE STORE when I find Andie walking down the sidewalk headed right for me. Busted.

  Dammit. I have to think up a good lie, quick. The heavy gun and a box of bullets are in my purse, and if she even touches my bag she’ll know they’re in there.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” she asks.

  I’m all innocence. I could totally work for the CIA as a super spy the way I can hide my emotions. “Who me? Nothing.” I hold out a leg for her to admire. “Just scored me some gorgeous Sorel boots. Check me out.” The big box that holds her fugly boots bangs against my hip and the cheap plastic bag crinkles. I’m surprised it hasn’t broken through already leaving my packaging to get soggy in the slush that covers the sidewalk.

  “I got a text from Mack. He said you shot his brother.” She looks up at the storefront we’re standing in front of. “You didn’t really shoot him, did you?”

  I frown, acting like she’s crazy. “Don’t look so worried. Of course I didn’t shoot him. I merely grazed him. Big difference.” Hooking my arm through hers, I lead her down the sidewalk. The smell of greasy fried something is calling to me and I need to distract her from this line of questioning. I feel guilty enough as it is; I don’t need to add causing pregnant lady stress on top of it. “Come on. Someone is spelling my name out in strips of bacon right now.”

  Andie puts on the brakes, and when she does it with all that weight behind her, it’s very effective. I almost go down, even with the awesome tread on my new boots. I struggle to right myself. I really hate ice. It’s impossible to look graceful or cool on the stuff.

  “No, I’m not going into that diner.”

  I disengage myself from her to keep from falling again, glad that I’ve distracted her from the shooting incident, but now curious about her diner-o-phobia. I fully intend to stay upright as I get to the bottom of it, so I keep my legs spread kind of far apart just in case the ice has other ideas. It’s probably a good thing I don’t have my gun on my hip yet; I’d look like I was ready for a shootout at the O.K. Corral.

  “Why?” I look over my shoulder at the greasy spoon. “It seems harmless enough.”

  “That’s where Hannah works. She and I are not on good terms.” Andie takes a few steps backwards. I admire her ability to reverse on ice without even batting an eye. Puffy Girl’s got skills.

  I don’t follow her, feeling safer with just keeping my feet planted on somewhat solid ground. Trying to negotiate the icy sidewalk, avoiding the subject of Ian, and also talking about town gossip all at the same time could be a problem for me right now.

  “Hannah?” I ask. “As in, Hannah Banana?”

  Andie smiles but without much humor. “You remember her, I guess.”

  “Who could forget? Daisy Duke from the wrong side of the tracks and a bad dye job. I thought you guys had moved on.” Hannah had a thing for Mack if I remember correctly. But since Mack never liked her back, I thought it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Yeah. We moved on by avoiding each other.”

  My eyes roam the street, and the image of the town map that’s burned into my brain pops up. I’m a human Google Earth like that. Once I see a map, it’s permanently in there. “That can’t be easy in such a small place.” I feel bad for my friend. Maybe she feels trapped out there on that ranch. Maybe that’s why she works from home most of the time. It can’t possibly be because she likes the smell of cow poo.

  She takes me by the hand and tries to pull me in the opposite direction, but I resist. The traction on my boots is amazing when there’s salt on the ground. I’m totally in the mood to do a high-kick right now just because my new footwear makes me so happy, but I don’t. I could accidentally hit my pregnant friend and with the gun incident earlier, it makes me wonder whose side Luck is on today. I’ll do one later when I’m back at the MacKenzie house. There’s plenty of space in my bedroom for a little Rockettes action. I try to do some high kicks every day just to keep my legs looking good.

  “Come on, don’t be stubborn,” she says.

  “Stubborn? Me?” I really don’t know what she’s talking about. I’m all about compromising and giving in to other people’s desires. A stylist has to know when to keep her mouth shut and just let the frosted tips and mullets happen. Sometimes a bad experience is a much better teacher than pure advice.

  She laughs. “As if that’s news to you. Come on.” She waves her hand over and over like she’s trying to tempt a child.

  I stick out my lower lip. She cannot resist me now. “No. I’m hungry.” Truth is, I’m really not that hungry. I just want to see that Hannah Banana chick and let her know without Andie catching me that she can’t keep making Andie feel uncomfortable. This is my BFF’s home now. She should feel free to go anywhere she wants. She’s going to have a baby soon, and that baby is eventually going to want to eat a pancake.

  She tries to use reason on me. “We just ate.”

  “That was hours ago,” I argue. “It’s almost lunch time.”

  Andie looks at her watch. “It’s ten in the morning, Candice.”

  “See? It’s past noon on the east coast and I’m jet lagging like a bitch. Come on.” I take her hand and pull her along. “I heard all about the pancakes they have there. And you know I love bacon.”

  “Their pancakes suck. It’s their waffles that are good. Or so I hear.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant. Waffles. I heard that too.”

  I manage to get her almost to the door before she balks again. “Seriously, this is a bad idea. If you’re hungry we can go to the grocery store and buy a whole package of bacon. You can eat the entire thing yourself.”

  I grab the door that’s covered in credit card stickers and an old rodeo flier, pulling it open and letting out a blast of deliciously warm and baconey air. “Nothing beats the food from a greasy spoon. You know that.” I gesture with my bag. “In you go, tubby tubblenstein.”

  Her mouth drops open. “Oh my god, you did not just call me that.”

  Oops. Did I say that out loud? Quick! Think of something!

  “No, it was Ian who did. I’m just repeating his words.” That’s a total lie, but I can just imagine how much crap she’s going to give him for it and then how outraged he’ll be when he finds himself falsely accused. I start giggling just seeing it in my head. It’s really not a bad nickname, come to think of it. She is pretty tubby. I love it when my brain just spontaneously takes over like that. It always surprises me.

  “He’s going to pay for that,” she says, her expression going dark.

  “Yeah. He should.” I follow her inside, feeling like I just smoked a drug or something with how much joy I’m experiencing. Ian’s going to get yelled at, I have purple boots on, and there’s a delicious waffle about to get in my belly. So this is what happiness feels like.

  The air is thick with grease, steam, and the smell of people who should have probably used a little extra soap before stepping outside the house. I flap my arms a few times, trying to get my perfume to fog up around my face. My bag flops around, banging into me and the door.

  “What are you doing?” Andie whispers loudly. “Trying to call attention to yourself on purpose or what? I told you, Hannah and I …”


  My perfume kicks in and all that’s left of the strangers around me is the slight scent of cumin. Do they serve tacos here?

  “Well, well, well, look who decided to drop by and grace us with her presence,” says an exaggerated southern fried voice from behind the counter.

  How is it that a girl who’s spent her entire life in the top left corner of the country is talking like a girl from the bottom right or the bottom-middle part, like Texas or whatever? I don’t know. I might be able to figure it out with more time, since linguistics is a special interest of mine, but right now I’m too distracted to try.

  I can’t focus on anything but the horrible bleach job that’s been done to the poor girl’s hair. Her cuticles are totally fried, making her hair look like a stack of straw on her head, and the color is what those of us in the industry call chicken-fat yellow. Sooo not attractive.

  “Hello, Hannah,” Andie says, all demure, like she isn’t pissed that this girl just said something that sounded rude to me. “How have you been?”

  We move farther into the room. Andie’s headed to a booth in the corner.

  Hannah comes from behind the counter to follow me. I’m tempted to walk backwards so she can’t get a butter knife between my shoulder blades, but I don’t. Why? Because Hannah Banana doesn’t scare me. She’s named after a fruit, for chrissakes. How can she possibly be dangerous? If her nickname was Hannah the Horrible or Hannahbelle Lecter, maybe. But banana? Nah. No way. Besides. I’ve got a gun and a buttload of bullets. Oh yeah. They call me The Duke. No … The Duchess.

  I turn around as I stop at a booth and catch Hannah all smiles. She does have nice teeth, I’ll give her that. It doesn’t hide the bad hair but it does distract my attention from it a little.

  “Oh, I been good,” she says. “Real good. Been spending some time with Ian, you know.”

  My mouth pinches up without me even realizing it. I quickly smooth it out when I catch Andie staring at me. She’s next to the booth, ready to sit.