“You know I don’t want to do that. You’re taking advantage of the situation,” Zane grumbled, though there wasn’t any heat behind it. Would it be horrible of him to consider re-injuring Ty’s hand if it meant beating Mark and that ass**le Stuart in this stupid competition?
Ty looked over his sunglasses at Zane. “Okay. But I can’t promise a win with only one hand. And what if all hell breaks loose? I’ll need both hands then.”
“Tell me now, no shit, that your hand’s okay.”
Ty laughed incredulously. “It’s broken. Of course it’s not okay.”
Zane glanced toward Mark and back. “No,” he said, setting his fingers on Ty’s cast. It was the most pitiful excuse for a cast he’d ever seen, covered with signatures, phone numbers, a knife wound, several places where Ty had tried to saw at it, and tiger bites. Dirty beyond all reason, and it didn’t smell like the most wonderful thing in the world. It was probably uncomfortable, too.
“It’s not worth it,” he said, trying to tell himself that as much as Ty. “Besides, if we win anyway, it’s that much worse for him to know he got beaten by a man with a broken hand.”
“If you say so, Quickdraw.”
Zane turned to look at him, watching him raptly as Ty took a step forward and waved a hand when they were announced as the winning team for that challenge.
As a group they moved on to the next round, Ty hummed under his breath, his elbow brushing Zane’s. Zane soon made out the Battle Hymn in the hum, and he groaned.
At the next station, a bowl of fruit sat on the table, and the same Marlin .44 Special was being reloaded. The judge began telling the shooters what they were supposed to be doing, and the instructions made it clear that Zane would be the one trying his hand at this one. The shooter would take three oranges from the bowl, toss them in the air, and shoot as many as he could before they hit the ground.
Ty leaned over to whisper in Zane’s ear. “That rifle weighs six pounds. No way I can swing it with my hand. This one’s all you, big boy.” He smacked Zane’s ass and turned to head for the crowd.
“Ty,” Zane hissed. Ty turned to look at him. “Make yourself scarce, huh? This is the perfect shot to claim a misfire into the crowd, know what I mean?”
Ty nodded, but then he sauntered over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Stuart’s teammate in the front row.
“Great,” Zane said under his breath. He headed up to the table with the other competitors. He was a good shot with a rifle, that wasn’t his concern. But he’d have preferred a practice run with this shot. He just hoped he didn’t drop the rifle.
He stopped at the table with the others, and someone bumped his shoulder. He looked up to see Mark grinning at him.
“I didn’t figure he’d be able to do this one with that cast,” Mark said. “When was the last time you fired a rifle?”
“It’s been a while.”
Mark clapped Zane’s shoulder, hard enough that Zane had to take a step to keep his balance. “Buck up, brother. Time for a lesson from the master.”
Zane glanced at Ty. This was a bad idea. He knew the game Ty was playing with their quarry, and he shouldn’t have encouraged it. Ty raised his chin and gave Zane a languid smile. He didn’t look worried.
Mark volunteered to go first. Zane couldn’t shake the tension as he waited, praying he was wrong about his brother-in-law. He knew what kind of shot Mark was. If he missed one of those oranges and it went anywhere near the crowd, it was a warning shot, loud and clear.
Mark chose three oranges from the bowl, picked up the firearm, and moved into place. When the judge blew the whistle, Mark tossed, flipped the rifle up from the crook of his arm, and took the shots, quickly pulling the lever between each one. Juice flew through the air as all three rotten oranges exploded.
Zane released a pent-up breath, but he couldn’t relax. Just because Mark had yet to make a move didn’t mean he wasn’t going to. The next two shooters hit two each, one man missed all three, and Stuart caught all three even though he tossed them a little too close to the edge of the crowd for Zane’s comfort. Then it was Zane’s turn. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at Ty, but he imagined he could feel Ty’s eyes on him.
“Nothing like taking shots at a couple fruits, huh Garrett?” Stuart hissed as he passed by him.
Zane narrowed his eyes, refusing to rise to the bait.
He settled the rifle in the crook of his arm, nodded to the judge, and chose his oranges. They gave under his fingers, enough that he almost laughed, and it helped dispel the nerves. Determined not to dwell on what he was doing as he headed toward the mark in the sand, Zane took a deep breath, exhaled, and tossed the fruit, pulling up the rifle and shooting.
Two oranges disintegrated in the air, and the third exploded just before it was about to hit the ground.
Zane blinked in shock as the crowd applauded. He handed the rifle back to the judge before walking over to Ty with a shrug.
“You sure as hell showed those oranges who was boss,” Ty said, though the pride in his voice was easy for Zane to hear.
Zane chuckled, relaxing even more. “Never mind that it’s been a few months since I even touched a rifle.”
“You’re so getting laid tonight.”
“Lucky me.”
The contests continued, each event getting more outlandish and difficult, each rife with an undercurrent of antagonism and threats. Ty had to fire a Colt revolver over his shoulder using a mirror, holding it with his left hand, to shoot the ace of spades out of a playing card. He was the only shooter to even nick the card, much less the spade, and he came in first. Zane did both knife-tossing contests, the first to hit a stationary target, the second to hit a target painted on a watermelon as it swung like a pendulum. He won both and caused quite a stir when he twirled the knife around his hand before giving it back to the judge.
With each show of their skill, Stuart looked more and more mutinous. Zane could feel in every fiber of his being that something was going to happen tonight. The only question was who would instigate it—Ty or Stuart?
As sunset encroached, Ty was left to handle the last event: the lasso.
“Goddammit, Zane, you should have let me throw the first knife!” Ty hissed when the event was revealed.
Zane couldn’t help but laugh. Ty could handle any weapon someone put in his hands and do it with competence, if not skill. A lasso was the last thing Zane had expected, but even if they came in second place in this event, they would still win the whole thing.