Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Outside, their voices got quieter as Eddie shifted into full survival mode, listing traps as if he were preparing for war. I caught snippets through the screen door.
“I’ve got bear traps set east of your perimeter,” he was saying, calm and focused now. “There are also rope nets and wire snares. But the real prize is the tripwires. High tension and steel coil, not that fishing line garbage.”
I peeked out the window and saw Webb nodding as if he were mentally mapping everything out. Then Eddie pulled something from his duffel—a black canister with a weird little trigger on it.
“What is that?” I heard Webb ask.
“Homemade bear spray grenades,” Eddie replied. “Pull and roll. They’ll mess up anyone dumb enough to come through the trees.”
There was a pause, then Webb’s cautious voice asked, “Is that even legal?”
“Nope, but it's effective.”
By the time I emerged back onto the porch, they were deep in conversation about a group of men spotted in town. Their shiny trucks and too many questions painted bad news in clear letters.
I figured that was my cue. It was wicked, but it was also pertinent to what we'd been discussing earlier, so it was a win-win.
“I picked the lightest one!” I announced proudly, waving the gun like a prize from a fairground. “Didn’t want something heavy pulling down my yoga pants!”
Their reaction was immediate and dramatic—Webb ducked behind a tree as if I’d just pulled the pin on a grenade, and Eddie practically leaped behind a branch like it was a bomb shelter.
“Gabby!” Webb barked. “Watch the muzzle!”
“What? I’m just holding it!”
“You’re swinging it!”
“I am not!”
Eddie crouched lower, muttering like his soul had briefly left his body. “I swear I just saw my life flash before my eyes. I thought you were meant to be okay with guns, woman!”
Fine, maybe I’d been a little too enthusiastic with the demo I'd put on for them. I froze dramatically, then raised the pistol vertically like a baton in a parade. “Okay, better?”
Both of them cautiously peeked out like I was a rabid squirrel with a bazooka.
“Better,” Webb agreed slowly. “Just don’t wave it around like it’s a damn hairbrush.”
“Is the safety on?” Eddie called, staring at the gun as if it were sentient.
I frowned and held it closer to my face. “The what?”
“The safety!” he practically screeched. “Little switch that stops it from firing!”
I squinted. “How will I know if it’s on?”
Both of them groaned like synchronized dads.
“If it’s showing red,” Webb called out, “it’s off. Covered means it’s safe.”
I flicked the switch and nodded. “Okay, I think it’s safe now.”
“You think?” Eddie shouted, his voice rising a full octave.
I glanced up in time to see the look that passed between them—Webb with that sinking expression that meant he was regretting his entire life, whilst Eddie shook his head like I was a one-woman chaos engine.
“You’ve got your hands full, man,” Eddie muttered.
Webb let out a breath that was half sigh, half prayer. “Tell me about it.”
I ignored them both and looked down at the weapon in my hand. I lowered it carefully, tucking it close to my side. I wasn’t great with it yet—but I was focused. Ready. Proud, even. And hey, at least I hadn’t named it yet.
But I was definitely thinking about it.
I lowered the pistol slowly, keeping my grip steady and my expression serious—because, for once, I wanted them to see I could be serious and focused. Maybe even a little proud of myself, if I was being honest.
For the briefest moment, I felt it in the air—Webb’s hope. As if he actually believed I might treat this thing like a real weapon and not, say, bedazzle it or try to recruit it into my imaginary raccoon militia.
I could practically hear the internal monologue: She’s maturing. She’s getting it. Maybe she won’t name it.
Poor, sweet, deluded man.
I smiled and held the gun up just a touch. “I’m gonna call her Tinkerbell.”
Webb winced, Eddie's mouth dropped open, and I beamed happily at them.
“She’s small, but she packs attitude,” I noted brightly, giving the gun a gentle pat like it was a beloved kitten. “And if someone tries anything, boom. They get a whole lotta fairy dust.”
Webb closed his eyes and exhaled hard enough to make his soul rattle. “I knew I'd spoken too soon.”
Eddie didn’t even pretend to keep a straight face. “You’re honestly doomed, man.”
I just smirked and tucked Tinkerbell into my waistband like she was the answer to a question only I knew. And somehow, despite all of that, Webb still looked at me like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Chapter Fifteen
Webb
We’d stopped using the campfire a few nights ago, it'd just made sense. The glow carried too far in the dark, and I didn’t want us looking like a beacon in the trees if someone with bad intentions happened to be watching from the ridge line.