Page 102 of Just Imagine
“Since my husband is a gentleman, I’m certain he’ll give me a second chance. Would someone fetch a deck of cards and pull out the ace of spades?”
“Kit . . .” Cain’s voice held a brusque warning note.
She turned to confront him and wipe away her moment of defenselessness. “Will you shoot against me? Yes or no?”
They might have been standing alone instead of in the midst of dozens of people. The onlookers didn’t realize it, but Cain and Kit knew the purpose of the contest had shifted. The war that had raged for so long between them had found a new battleground.
“I’ll shoot against you.”
There was a deadly quiet as the ace of spades was fastened to the wall. “Three shots each?” Kit asked as she reloaded her gun.
He nodded grimly.
She lifted her arm and sighted the small black spade at the exact center of the playing card. She could feel her hand trembling, and she lowered the revolver until she felt steadier. Then she lifted it again, sighted the small target, and fired.
She hit the top right corner of the card. It was an excellent shot, and there were murmurs from the men as well as from the women who’d gathered to watch. Some of them even felt a secret burst of pride at seeing one of their own sex excel at such a masculine sport.
Kit cocked the hammer and adjusted her aim. This time she was too low, and she hit the brick wall just below the bottom of the card. But it was still a respectable shot, and the crowd acknowledged it.
Her head was spinning, but she forced herself to concentrate on the small black shape at the center of the card. She’d made this shot dozens of times. All she needed was concentration. Slowly she squeezed the trigger.
It was nearly a perfect shot, and it took the point off the spade. There was a trace of disquiet in the subdued congratulations of the Southern men. None of them had ever seen a woman shoot like that. Somehow it didn’t seem right. Women were to be protected. But this woman could do that for herself.
Cain lifted his own weapon. Once again the crowd fell silent, so that only the sea breeze in the sweet olives disturbed the quiet of the night garden.
The gun fired. It hit the brick wall just to the left of the card.
Cain corrected his aim and fired again. This time he hit the top edge of the card.
Kit held her breath, praying that his third shot would miss, praying that it wouldn’t, wishing too late that she hadn’t forced this contest upon them.
Cain fired. There was a puff of smoke, and the single spade in the center of the playing card disappeared. His final shot had drilled it out.
The onlookers went wild. Even the Southerners temporarily forgot their animosity, relieved that the natural law of male superiority had held firm. They surrounded Cain to congratulate him.
“Fine shootin’, Mr. Cain.”
“A privilege to watch you.”
“Of course, you were only firin’ against a woman.”
The men’s congratulations grated on his ears. As they pounded him on the back, he looked over their heads at Kit, standing off by herself, the revolver nestled in the soft folds of her skirt.
One of the Northerners shoved a cigar into his hand. “That woman of yours is pretty good, but when all’s said and done, I guess shootin’ is still pretty much a man’s game.”
“You’re right there,” another said. “Never much doubt about a man beating a woman.”
Cain felt only contempt for their casual dismissal of Kit’s skill. He thrust the cigar back and glared at them.
“You fools. If she hadn’t been drinking champagne, I wouldn’t have had a chance against her. And neither, by God, would any of you.”
Turning on his heel, he stalked out of the garden, leaving the men gaping after him in astonishment.
Kit was stunned by his defense. She thrust the revolver at Veronica, picked up her skirts, and ran after him.
He was already in their bedroom when she reached it. Her brief happiness faded as she saw him throw his clothing into a satchel that lay open on the bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.
