Ghost River by Jon Coon (romantic books to read .TXT) 📗

“All but one, officer.”

“And who might that be?” he asked.

“You’re the only one who hasn’t fired, sir.” She was grinning.

“Come on, Gabe, show us what you’ve got,” Paul taunted.

Gabe smiled and said, “The range is hot.” He started twenty feet in back of the firing line Carol and the kids had used. He drew his Sig, and as he walked forward put thirteen rounds through the head of the target in a group smaller than the bottom of a Coke can. When he stopped he was still ten feet behind the line. The rate of fire had been so fast it sounded automatic. He dropped the clip and slammed in another, his hands were so fast they were a blur. He paused, smiled, then flipped on the safety and holstered the weapon.

“Holy buffalo chips,” Carol gasped. The kids stood staring in amazement.

“Mom!” Emily scolded. “Language.”

“Sorry, honey, you’re right. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Police your brass and let’s eat,” Gabe ordered. “Job well done.”

“Way to go, Gabe,” Paul said as they pitched shell casings into a plastic bag.

“I hope you don’t mind my burning your ammo,” Carol said as they walked back to the house. “Dad taught me to shoot when I was younger than they are. Then Charlie taught me combat tactics. I can at least teach them enough to protect themselves.”

“Your dad and Charlie obviously taught you well.”

“I won a match or two. But I never saw anything that fast. That was amazing.”

Gabe laughed. “There’s not a lot I’m good at, but I can hold my own in the water and on a range.”

“I guess. Oh, when you have some private time, Emily wants to talk to you.”

After dinner the boys were doing dishes, and Carol was sorting laundry in the bedroom.

“Emily, want to go for a walk?” Gabe asked. He called the dogs, and they headed along the riverbank to a clearing beneath live oaks. Cool enough for jackets and moonlit enough to see the trail. The dogs ran ahead like prisoners released from life sentences.

Gabe led her to a park bench he had rescued just for this spot. Wavelets caught nibbles of moonlight, savoring each, before swallowing them in tiny bites. The woods were haunted by shadows and night bird calls. Smith and Wesson barked occasionally.

“They’re just letting us know where they are and that they’re having fun. Appropriate.”

“Appropriate. That’s something dad would say,” Emily said. “We need to be appropriate.”

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Is my brother going to hell?” She asked with a frown. “He says he doesn’t believe in God, and anyone who does is dumb.”

“And you’re worried about him?” Gabe rubbed his chin.

“Yes.”

“In John’s Gospel he says we are spiritually dead in our sin, and there’s nothing a dead person can do to save himself. So really, it’s all up to God. He chooses us. That’s it. The changes come after we are chosen. So it’s really kind of useless to try to force anyone to change, isn’t it?”

“But he’s such a pain. Maybe he deserves—”

“Don’t we all? The amazing thing is that God would choose any of us. Think about Saul in the Bible and how he was chosen. Now there was a real pain. Look how he was changed.”

“From Saul to Paul, right. So do you think God has chosen Paul?” she asked, surprised.

“That’s impossible for us to know, but there’s always hope. Right?”

“I guess so. But he’s still a jerk.” She stomped her foot as an exclamation point. Gabe laughed and tussled her hair.

“He’s a big brother. It’s in the job description.”

“I miss my dad.”

“I know you do. He was my best friend, and I miss him too.”

“Do you think he’s okay?”

“Yeah, Emily. He’s safe at home, and he’s loved. That’s all any of us can hope for.”

Smith and Wesson came crashing down the trail. As they approached it was painfully apparent they had tried to make friends with a skunk.

“Oh man, they smell terrible.” Emily held her nose and moved away from them.

“Need a gas mask?” Gabe laughed.

“Ouch, my eyes are burning. Smith, get away! You’re awful!”

Gabe picked up a stick and walked briskly to the river. He called the dogs and threw the stick as far as he could upstream. The dogs plunged eagerly after it. After a half-dozen retrievals and a couple good shakes, the sharp edge of the stench was dulled.

“Okay, let’s go home,” Gabe told the dogs, and they raced back to the house.

“Mom’s not going to like this. Yuck! They stink big time.” Emily paused and took Gabe’s hand. “Thanks for being our friend, Gabe.” They walked back to the cabin hand in hand, and when they got to the porch, Carol was there scolding two penitent and remorseful, reeking, dripping mutts. Gabe filled a large tub and added baking soda, detergent, and hydrogen peroxide. He set it well away from the house and called the dogs. Smith was first.

Gabe cringed as he began scrubbing Smith. Wesson lay close with his head on the ground. Carol went inside to change clothes and came off the porch in a well-worn, long T-shirt.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound. It’s not so bad. You should see some of the stuff that comes into the emergency room.”

She called Wesson who came willingly. Carol knelt beside him and began scrubbing. Wesson looked thankfully over his shoulder and offered to lick her hand.

When they finished with the dogs Gabe waited on the front porch while Carol was in the shower.

The hot water was nearly gone by the time it was Gabe’s turn to shower. There must be some kind of poetic justice having to take a cold shower after getting skunked, perhaps even a good country song, he thought and smiled. How many women would have volunteered for that job? Charlie, you were one lucky guy.

When Gabe joined Carol by the fireplace she was sitting in the rocker next to the couch wearing her dark Texas sweats. “Where’s your truck?”

“I had an encounter on the way