Cut and Run 6 - Stars and Stripes

though they snapped when nicked with the heavier weights, the lighter weights weren’t enough to pull a missed shot.
    Annie appeared at Zane’s elbow. “What do you think?”
    “I think your husband is in for some stiff competition.”
    “I think you’re blinded by love.”
    Zane nodded, acknowledging the truth in that. He looked over the other competitors standing with Ty. They were all capable ranch hands, and Mark had been a Marine. But like Ty had said, this sort of competition was as much a puzzle as it was a test of skill. What he was really concerned about was Stuart, and the idea that Mark was the mastermind behind their trouble.
    “Mark keep up with the rifle range?” Zane asked.
    “Like clockwork,” Annie replied.
    As new ropes were hung up and the rifle reloaded, Ty stepped away from the others and began fiddling with his shirtsleeve again. Apparently it was his turn. Zane watched him, recognizing some of the quirky mannerisms, but not others. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what was going on, or he was drunk, and he seemed supremely distracted by the cuff of his shirt. It wouldn’t roll up like he wanted it to.
    “Is he okay to shoot?” Annie asked.
    Zane covered a laugh by clearing his throat. “Yeah, he’s fine. Superstitious, you know? Never steps on home base before a game, that kind of thing.”
    Annie hummed but she didn’t say anything else, and Zane gave her a regretful glance. He prayed they were wrong about Mark.
    Finally, Ty stepped closer to Mark and said something, to which Mark gave him a tolerant look and reached out to fix his shirt cuff for him. Ty thanked him with a smack on his shoulder that sent Mark stumbling sideways, and Ty sauntered up to the judge holding the rifle and took it with an easy grin.
    He looked the rifle over and hefted it. “That’s nice,” he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “What is it, Marlin .44 Special?”
    The judge nodded, frowning.
    “That’s real nice,” Ty said. He cradled the rifle in the crook of his arm, the muzzle aimed carelessly toward where Stuart stood. Stuart flinched as the barrel swung his way.
    “Watch where you aim that damn thing!” Stuart shouted. A round of laughter followed.
    “I’m watching,” Ty said, his tone lazy but his words heavy. He rested the rifle in the crook of his arm, using his other hand to discreetly keep the barrel aimed at Stuart as he moved forward to stand on the X marked in the sand.
    Stuart sidestepped but couldn’t get out from under Ty’s aim. He flushed in the hot sun. Zane read his lips as he called Ty all kinds of unsavory names.
    Annie turned a look of disbelief on Zane, who had to cover his mouth to muffle the laugh. He knew Ty; there was no way he’d pick up that rifle while drunk unless he or someone he loved was threatened. Ty was playing it up. He was also sending Stuart a clear message: they had him in their sights.
    “Shooter ready?” the judge called, and Ty brought the six-pound rifle up to snug it against his shoulder. His stance was wide and even, and something about the way his shoulders rounded was incredibly fun to watch. But he was having a hard time gripping the rifle. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd; they expected him to make a fool of himself.
    “Zane, I told you we should have cut off this cast,” Ty called out.
    He had a point. He couldn’t just switch up and shoot lefty with a rifle. The cartridges were made to eject to the right of the shooter, and if he fired with his left hand, the hot cartridge would eject right into his face after every round.
    “Hope he shoots better than he fights,” Stuart said loudly, and another round of laughter followed.
    The first shot of the .44 kicked Ty back, but his aim was true and the bullet snapped through the rope just an inch above the weight. A murmur of surprise went through the crowd. He rattled off six more shots in rapid succession, his long fingers cocking the rifle with practiced speed and ease despite the cumbersome cast. Each shot drew more sounds from the crowd, until many were hooting and whistling every time he dropped a target. It was an impressive show.
    And then he missed. The eighth rope twisted as the bullet grazed it. A groan ran through the crowd. Ty shrugged his shoulders and looked up from the sights of the rifle. He grumbled something. He tried the next rope and missed again, fraying the rope but not enough to make the lighter weight drop. He graced the crowd