Breaking Steele (Sarah Steele Legal Thriller)

Chapter 33

SAND HOLLOW WAS A sandpit where people could target practice and sight-in their rifles before hunting season. It took about thirty minutes to get out there and my little Honda didn’t like the last part, which was a dirt road.

I parked behind a nice Chevy truck, got out, and saw him. He was standing backlit by the sun, wore dark aviators, and held a handgun loosely at his side, as if it was an old friend. He was tall, and his shirt pulled tight against his ripped muscles. He looked like a gunslinger, like in the Old West, someone who would strike fear in the heart of anyone who dared to stand against him. I shut my mouth. Geez, was I losing it or what? I needed to get out more. At the first sight of an attractive man, I was getting warm all over.

I walked up to him, my boots crunching the gravel. He looked up and watched me approach.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m Sarah Steele.”

We shook hands. I tried not to look so impressed with his muscular physique, but I couldn’t help but check him out.

“Sarah, so good to see you again.” He smiled in this easy way. He had thick black hair and a trimmed beard. I didn’t like beards, but somehow, on him, it worked.

At his words, my heart fluttered nervously. I looked down. “Again?” I asked.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve watched your case against Williams. It’s a devastating crime.”

I shifted my feet uncomfortably.

“It had a disturbing end as well,” he said.

I put on my sunglasses. The last thing I wanted to do here was discuss the Williams case.

“Any new leads?” he asked, leaning down, looking at me.

I took a little step back, wanting to leave. “I don’t know. I’m not on the case anymore.” Before he could say anything else, I pulled out my gun. “Can we start the lesson?”

Solomon just looked at me a moment, reading my face. I tried to stay impassive, but the more I looked at him, the more my features melted. He was just so darn hot.

“Let me see this,” he said as he took the gun from me. He withdrew the clip and examined it like a pro. At least, he looked like a pro to me.

“This is a good gun—you’ll do well with it,” he said. “Do you have ammunition?”

I nodded. “I have a box.”

“Well, we’ll need to go over some safety rules first. The biggest thing about gun safety is knowledge. The more you know …” He laughed and took off his sunglasses. “The more you know.” He laughed harder and held his side.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “The more you know?”

This made him laugh even harder and he gripped the truck mirror for support. He sucked in some air and straightened, still grinning like a little boy. “The more you know, like Sesame Street, you know, but this would not be a good topic for kids.”

I smiled at the idea of Big Bird giving gun safety tips. “Everyone needs to use caution around a gun, especially the Grouch.”

Despite my reticence over his questions, I couldn’t help but like him. As the hour went on, I was impressed with his knowledge and his ability to teach that knowledge in an easy-to-understand way. And after those first few personal questions, he became a professional.

But I had to be careful—this was, after all, a man. A handsome man. And handsome men were usually dangerous, especially to me.

After I’d shown him what I knew about cleaning and caring for the gun and he corrected a few of my mistakes, he went through a list of safety regulations I needed to know. He said that by the time we finished five lessons, I would be able to apply for my concealed weapon permit. That thought thrilled me.

Solomon did a quick overview to make sure I knew my gun safety manual. He showed me the difference between a revolver and a closed-action pistol. He handed me my Glock and explained how to load the clip and chamber a round.

“Now you’re good to go. It’s better to have a revolver when you’re first starting out because it’s easier to see if it is loaded. But this—” he motioned to the Glock, “—will hold more rounds.”

I liked learning new things. And knowing more about guns made me feel more comfortable around them. I was starting to see why education was key. The more you know.

I chuckled and Solomon looked over at me with a lopsided grin. “Something funny?”

“Nope, just having fun.”

“Good—this is fun. You’re a fast learner. Now, see if you can knock some of those cans down.”

Solomon had set up ten or so pop cans against a sandbar. I put in my earplugs, looked down the sights, and concentrated on my breathing. Solomon said the best time to squeeze—not pull—the trigger was at the bottom of a breath. I blew out and fired a second before I breathed in again.

Three popping sounds pierced the air,and two of the cans flew backwards. I whooped.

“Good job, not bad—two out of three.”

But just as we were about to go again, he got a call. His eyes darkened and he turned away. “Yep … Yep … No. I’ll be right there.” He snapped his phone shut and turned to me.

“I have to go.”

I was aghast. “In the middle of my lesson? What kind of teacher are you?”

“Teaching isn’t my only job,” he said. “Sorry.” His mind was already miles away, I could tell. “But, hey, we’ll set up another lesson.” He handed me a card, shook my hand hurriedly, and ran off to his truck like he was running from a fire. Or … to a fire.