“So what do I do?” Catherine DiVita raised the compound bow, the weapon felt strange in her hands, after the last two centuries of mastering bladed weapons. “It feels lighter than I was expecting,” she glanced over her shoulder as she spoke, to the man sitting on the plush red sofa. “It’s been a long time since I used one of these,”
Heath Shaw set down his glass of Scotch, crossing the room to stand behind her, reaching out to correct her grip on the bow, shifting her fingers from the upper limb to the bow grip, his fingers closing over hers “Pull the string taut, until you can feel the feather of the arrow against your cheek,” he told her, the feel of her tiny fingers beneath his own, sent shivers throughout Heath’s system. “You need to know when it’s right for you to let go,”
“How do I know that?” she turned her head so that she met his gaze. They were so close together that he could see the jagged scar running from her hairline to her eyebrow. Part of him wondered once again, the events of her past which had caused that, and many other scars to appear on her skin.
“You use your famous gut,” Heath smiled at her, before stepping back a little so that she had room to aim at the hanging target on the far wall. He was unable to resist the impulse to glance down at the generous curves of her rear, and her strong legs visible through the thin fabric of her dress. The incongruousness of her clad in evening dress, but handling a compound bow, made him laugh wryly.
She didn’t appear to have noticed, as she drew back the string, her eyes focused solely on the target. The arrow flew straight, thudding into the bull eye and the fletching quivering with the power behind it. “Nice to know that I’ve still the knack, I’ve not shot one of these since Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?”
“I lived on a plantation for a bit in my early twenties, and there was an altercation between me and my neighbour.” She set the bow down, pouring herself a glass of Scotch, but must have sensed that his eyes were still on her. “I didn’t like the way that he treated his slaves, and let him know.”
“How?”
“She shot an arrow straight through the hand of his overseer, pinning the bloke to the wooden seat.” Sebastien Brown’s deep rumble was an unpleasant surprise for Heath, he had been so focused on Catherine, and rapidly tore his eyes away from her, to see that her heavily muscled protector was leaning against the doorjamb. The look on Sebastien’s face let Heath know that he had better back off, remembering all too clearly how Sebastien had reacted the last time a bloke got closer to Catherine than he was comfortable with.
Copyright Emily Morris 2018
If you enjoyed this snippet, then please check out Guardians of Time: Kids in America on Amazon.
Musings of a thirtysomething woman 