What the?!
I didn’t dwell on it. Instead, I used the opportunity to crack him over the head with the flask. Pete must’ve felt the violent intent of my movement, because at the very last second, his forearm instinctively deflected some of the blow so that only a portion of metal hit. But it was enough to send him reeling.
He roared, falling onto one knee, a shocked hand feeling for the wound. “What the hell are you doing?!”
I wasn’t gonna tell him; I was gonna show him—my foot swung back to finish him off. But I was too slow, or untrained, because Pete dropped the knife to catch my obvious foot, then threw me back in the dirt. I went down hard, my tailbone splintering pain, air exploding from my lungs. I barely felt it before scrambling back up with a handful of icy dirt.
“Kate! Goshdammit! What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m—”
I hurled it in his face. He quickly spun, so that the majority of it rained on his back.
“Alright, you little hellcat! You asked for . . .”
I whipped around, running for the house like my back was on fire. But instead of a cold shower, I was running for the shotgun. I fervently prayed it was loaded. And that I could beat him to the house. I had a pretty good head start on him, and his head had to be ringing pretty good. And, inexplicably, I’d completely caught him off guard.
Did he not know me at all?
Crushing steps and heaving breaths were coming after me now, a freight train of anger-fueled adrenaline and superior strength propelling him faster than my legs could go. Pete didn’t bother calling my name—he knew I wouldn’t stop. Smart. He shifted into high gear now, right on my tail. Then stumbled. Over something—a clump of grass, a frozen chicken, it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was . . . I was home free now.
38
RECKONING
I don’t remember going up the steps, opening the door, reaching for the gun. Next thing I knew, I was pointing the barrel of Daddy’s prized Winchester. At the one I was in love with. How could I have been so wrong? I’d never been more wrong about anything in my life. I could never love someone who was willing to commit murder for a sinister cause. And just like that—BAM!—my heart crusted over like frozen tundra. I knew I could do the unthinkable. To save my family.
Pete must’ve seen the stone-cold look on my face, because he froze immediately. Not another step forward. Hands up, face pleading. “Kate!” he cried, “Youdon’twannadothis! I can explain—you’re making a big mistake!”
I saw his head oozing red, his sun-kissed hair gingered by the blood. He staggered slightly, whether from blood loss, or loss of coordination caused by alcohol consumption (or acting), I couldn’t be sure. Nor did I care I told myself, even as a stab of remorse pierced my gut. My gut!—that betrayer. It had led me wrong this whole time.
Mama was wrong—I didn’t have special intuition. My gut flip-flopped on me all the time. Even now, as I stood pointing a gun at my hot hitman, even after the obvious botched attempt at my murder, it was telling me: he wouldn’t hurt me. I’d blamed everything on his academy, wanting so badly to believe in him because I was falling in love. My heart must’ve been sending stronger signals than my gut this whole time. It had led me down this wayward path. I’d been a colossal fool—a fool for love. But no more. I wouldn’t listen to his mouth, dripping honeyed lies.
I firmed up my resolve, and my hands on the shotgun. . . . Trying to help me, my rear. One eye closed, I cocked the hammer and aimed right over his heart.
Pete bent over. “God almighty! How many friggin’ times am I gonna be hit on the head because of you?” The porch’s naked light bulb spotlighted his face. Now he looked murderous. I’d never seen this level of fury coming at me before, not even right before he was going to stab me. It was disconcerting to the core.
He rounded on me with an incredulous look upon his face, like your favorite pet had suddenly turned rabid on you. “You aiming to give me the next concussion?”
“I was thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ a little more permanent than a knot on your head,” I replied.
Pete’s face was a Greek tragedy mask, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He settled on laughing. Hysterically. “You’re the only girl I know who could go from professing her love one minute to pointing the barrel of a shotgun at you the next.”
“You provoked me.”
“Put the damn gun down, Kate. You know you’re not going to shoot me.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Cadet Davenport.”
After focusing on my determined face for a moment, his mouth relaxed into something dangerously resembling a smile. “I know you wouldn’t shoot me in the back.” That said, he turned his back on me and marched down the steps.
Well okay then, I’d take the bait. I didn’t want the boys waking up from a sound sleep by a gun going off. And then walk out to find their favorite cadet lying in a pool of his own blood. With me holding the smoking gun.
I marched after him, my feet stumbling only after he whirled around with the paring knife in his hand. What? Is he gonna fling it at me tomahawk style? I flashed back to when he’d used it to slice lemons for our lemonade and how much fun we’d had that afternoon, doing chores of all things. My hands started shaking now, my trigger finger turning numb. This was serious. In the leg. I could get him in the leg.
“I’m sure it goes without sayin’, but a gun trumps a knife in a duel.” I trembled my way through the bizarre live enactment of this old maxim.
“Kate, Kate . . .” He said it so wearily, like a particularly disappointed parent does when a wayward child has finally gone too far. “When are you ever going to learn to trust me?”
“Says the elite cadet wielding a knife.”
Pete took in a monster breath and blew out a hiss of steam. “I guess I should’ve explained myself first, but to tell you the truth . . . I’m a little out of sorts tonight. And couldn’t say anything in the house anyway.”
“The boys are sound asleep and Daddy’s not home. But you already knew that—which is why you chose now to come do your dirty deed.”
Another sigh fogged the air. Then he said, “There are bugs in the house.”
Huh? At first I was insulted, my mind conjuring up images of black-winged creatures and spindly green things with antennae. All sorts of creepy crawlies I loathed and successfully kept at bay with rigorous housekeeping. What’s he talking about? Why can’t we go in the house because—oh.
I lowered my gun an inch. “Bugs?”
He nodded his head. “I was taking you out of the house so I could finally tell you everything. You see, you might not trust me, but I do trust you. You may be the only person in the world I do trust . . . and you whack me upside the head the first chance you get! . . . When I came back to warn you.” He shook his head then winced, holding it in his hand. “I’m beginning to regret my decision to come here tonight—first you almost knock me out then you point a gun at my heart. Think part one of our reunion went a whole lot better,” he finished wryly.
In no mood for his flirtatious humor, I narrowed my eyes. “Then explain to me why it is you felt the need for a knife before our little chat?”