CHAPTER 2
Tracy’s fingers twitched with anticipation. The light breeze that had periodically kicked up throughout the day gusted, blowing open the back flap of her weathered duster. She waited for the wind to calm. After two days of competition, one shooting stage remained to determine the 1993 Washington State Single Action Shooting Champion. At twenty-two, Tracy was already a three-time winner, but she’d lost that title last year to Sarah, four years her junior. This year, the two sisters entered the final stage virtually tied.
The range master held the timer close to Tracy’s ear. “Your call, Crossdraw,” he whispered. Her cowboy name was a play on their last name, as well as the type of holster she and Sarah favored.
Tracy dipped the brim of her Stetson, took a deep breath, and gave deference to the best Western movie ever made. “Fill your hands, you son of a bitch!”
The timer beeped.
Her right hand drew the Colt from her left holster, cocked the hammer, and fired. Gun already drawn and cocked in her left hand, she took down the second target. Finding her rhythm and gaining speed, she shot so fast that she could barely hear the ting of lead over the discharge of the guns.
Right hand. Cock. Fire.
Left hand. Cock. Fire.
Right hand. Cock. Fire.
She took aim at the bottom row of targets.
Right, fire.
Left, fire.
Three final shots rang out in rapid succession. Bam. Bam. Bam. Tracy twirled her guns and slapped them down on the wood table.
“Time!”
A few spectators applauded, but their clapping quieted as more began to realize what Tracy already knew.
Ten shots. But only nine tings.
The fifth target in the bottom row remained upright.
Tracy had missed.
The three spotters standing nearby each holding up one finger to confirm it. The miss would be costly, a five-second penalty added to her time. Tracy eyed the target, disbelieving, but staring at it wasn’t going to make it fall. Reluctantly, she collected her revolvers, slapped them in their holsters, and stepped aside.
All eyes turned to Sarah, “The Kid.”
Their rugged carts, handmade by their father to hold their guns and ammunition, rattled and shook as Tracy and Sarah pulled them across the dirt-and-gravel parking lot. Overhead, the sky had rapidly blackened. The thunderstorm would arrive sooner than the weatherman had predicted.
Tracy unlocked her blue Ford truck’s camper shell, lowered the tailgate, and wheeled on Sarah. “What the hell was that?” She did a poor job keeping her voice low.
Sarah tossed her hat into the truck bed, blonde hair falling past her shoulders. “What?”
Tracy held up the Championship silver belt buckle. “You haven’t missed two plates in years. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“The wind kicked up.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
“You’re a terrible winner.”
“Because I didn’t win; you let me win.” Tracy waited for two spectators to hurry past, the first drops of rain starting to fall. “You’re lucky Dad wasn’t here,” she said. August 21 was their parents’ twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and James “Doc” Crosswhite hadn’t been about to tell his wife she’d have to forsake Hawaii to celebrate at a dusty shooting range in the state’s capital. Tracy softened, though she remained agitated. “We’ve talked about this. I’ve told you, we both have to try our best or people are going to think the whole thing is rigged.”
Before Sarah could further respond, tires crunched gravel. Tracy diverted her attention as Ben swung his white pickup around her Ford, smiling down at them from inside the cab. Though he and Tracy had been dating for more than a year, Ben still smiled every time he saw her.
“We’ll talk about this more when I get home tomorrow,” Tracy said to Sarah and stepped away to greet Ben as he dropped from the cab and slipped on the leather car coat Tracy had bought him last Christmas. They kissed. “Sorry I’m late. Whoever outlawed drinking and driving never drove through Tacoma traffic. I could use a beer.” When Tracy straightened the collar of his jacket, Ben glanced at the belt buckle in her hand. “Hey, you won.”
“Yeah, I won.” Her gaze shifted to Sarah.
“Hey, Sarah,” Ben said, looking and sounding confused.
“Hey, Ben.”
“You ready?” he asked Tracy.
“Give me a minute.”
Tracy shed her duster and red bandanna, tossing both into the truck bed. Then she sat on the edge of the tailgate and held up a leg for Sarah to pull off her boot. The sky had turned completely black. “I don’t like the idea of you driving alone in weather like this.”
Sarah tossed the boot into the bed and Tracy raised her other leg. Sarah grabbed the heel. “I’m eighteen. I think I can drive myself home; it’s not like it never rains here.”
Tracy looked to Ben. “Maybe she should just come with us.”
“She doesn’t want to do that. Sarah, you don’t want to do that.”
“No, I definitely don’t want to do that,” Sarah said.
Tracy slipped on flats. “There’s supposed to be thunderstorms.”
“Tracy, come on. You act like I’m ten years old.”
“Because you act like you’re ten years old.”
“Because you treat me like I’m still ten years old.”
Ben checked his watch. “I hate to break up this intelligent discourse, ladies, but Tracy, we really have to go if we’re going to keep that reservation.”
Tracy handed her overnight bag to Ben and he took it to the cab as Tracy addressed Sarah. “Stay on the highway,” she said. “Don’t take the county road. It’ll be dark and the rain will make it harder to see.”
“The county road is faster.”
“Don’t argue with me. Stay on the highway and double back off the exit.”
Sarah held out her hand for the truck keys.
“Promise me,” Tracy said, not relinquishing them without Sarah’s commitment.
“Fine, I promise.” Sarah crossed her heart.
Tracy pressed the keys into Sarah’s hand and curled her fingers over them. “Next time, just knock down the damn targets.” She turned to leave.
“Your hat,” Sarah said.
Tracy removed her black Stetson and popped it on Sarah’s head. When she did Sarah stuck out her tongue. Tracy wanted to be angry, but Sarah was impossible to stay mad at. Tracy felt a grin inch across her own face. “You’re such a brat.”
Sarah gave her an exaggerated smile. “Yes, but that’s why you love me.”
“Yeah, that’s why I love you all right.”
“And I love you too,” Ben said. He’d pushed open the passenger door and was leaning across the cab. “But I’ll love you more if we make that reservation.”
“I’m coming,” Tracy said.
She hopped in and shut the door. Ben gave Sarah a wave and made a quick U-turn, heading for the line of cars forming at the exit, the falling rain now looking like flecks of molten gold in the truck’s headlights. Tracy shifted to look out the cab window. Sarah remained standing in the rain, watching them leave, and Tracy felt a sudden urge to go back, as if she’d forgotten something.
“Everything okay?” Ben asked.
“Fine,” she said, though the urge persisted. She watched as Sarah opened her hand, realized what Tracy had done, and looked quickly again at the cab.
Tracy had pressed the silver belt buckle into Sarah’s palm along with the truck keys.
She would not see either again for twenty years.