Sherry suddenly squealed in delight and clapped her hands. “Did you hear him?” she asked, glancing at Jenny. “Did you hear my hunk?”
“That I did,” Jenny confirmed, grinning.
“There is a brain somewhere between those ears, after all!” Sherry continued. “You see! I knew those rumors weren’t true.”
“What rumors?” Hickok inquired, taking the bait.
“That you have rocks for brains,” Sherry responded, giggling.
“And where did you hear this rumor?” Hickok played along.
“From Geronimo.”
Hickok laughed, reflecting on one of his best friends in all the world.
Where was that miserable Injun?
“Where is Geronimo, anyway?” Shane questioned. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”
“He’s been gone almost two weeks,” Hickok said, concern etched on his rugged features. “Said he had to get away for a while. He wanted time to think over his experiences in Kalispell.”
“I was there when he requested a temporary leave of absence from Plato,” Jenny chimed in. “I thought Plato was going to refuse the request, but instead he okayed it.”
“I almost wish Plato hadn’t,” Hickok said wistfully, staring at the brick wall forty yards away, the twenty-foot-high wall completely surrounding the thirty-acre plot known as the Home.
“Well, do we keep practicing or what?” Shane wanted to know.
“We keep practicing,” Hickok answered, glad for the diversion, for a reason to suspend his worry about Geronimo. He moved off to one side and raised his arm again. “Are you ready?”
All three nodded.
“Good. Then when I count to three, we go again. Get set.”
They didn’t appear as nevous this time around.
“One…”
Shane was even smiling.
“Two…”
“Is this a private party or can anyone join?” interjected a new, deep voice.
Jenny spun, catching sight of the bronzed, muscular man with his brawny hands on his hips, his black hair hanging over his forehead, and his gray eyes surveying the firing range. He wore a black leather vest, fatigue pants, and moccasins, but the singularly distinctive aspect of his attire were the twin Bowies hanging in scabbards on both hips.
“Blade!” Jenny ran to her fiance and threw her arms around his neck.
“There goes the lesson for today,” Hickok muttered.
Blade kissed Jenny and they strolled toward the other three arm-in-arm.
“Did you see that?” Sherry ribbed Hickok. “Some men don’t turn into a beet every time they display affection in public. It won’t kill you, you know.”
“My personal life is none of anyone else’s business,” Hickok groused. “I reckon you’d prefer it if we stuck a bed outside one night and charged admission.”
“Sounds like fun!” Sherry grinned. “I’m not ashamed of anything I do.”
“Have you been to the library lately?” Hickok inquired.
Sherry, mystified by the query, shook her head. “No. Why?”
“The next time we’re there,” Hickok casually commented, “remind me to show you the meaning of the word ‘modesty’ in the dictionary. It promises to be one of the major revelations of your life.”
Blade and Jenny reached them.
“What’s going on here?” Blade demanded, eyeing Hickok.
“Why are you looking at me?” Hickok asked innocently.
“Because you have a natural knack for getting yourself into trouble,” Blade replied. “If something is going on here, I assume you’re the mastermind.”
“That’s a bad habit, Blade,” Sherry mentioned.
“What is?”
“Assuming,” she told him.
“Oh? Why?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Sherry inquired.
“Heard what?” Blade responded impatiently.
“When you assume something,” Sherry detailed, “you make an ass of you and me. Get it? Ass-you-me. Assume.”
“I got it,” Blade assured her. “But no one has told me what’s going on here yet?”
“It was my idea,” Jenny revealed.
“Yours?” Blade stared at her, genuinely surprised. His beloved was one of the Family Healers, a woman devoted to easing pain in the service of her brothers and sisters. “Why would you want to take shooting lessons? Is it time for your annual certification?”
Every Family member was required to take yearly firearms refresher and safety courses. If the Home were ever subjected to a full-scale assault, its preservation might well depend on the Family’s ability to wield its arsenal. The Warriors, naturally, practiced their deadly skills more frequently. Only a few of them, though, practiced as often as Hickok: every chance he got.
“It’s not for my certification,” Jenny said to Blade. Her man was the leader of the Family Warriors, the man responsible for insuring the Home was guarded and secure at all times. She knew he partially blamed himself for the successful Troll attack some months ago.
“Then why?” he gently pressed her.
“I thought it might come in handy,” Jenny reasoned. “After the Troll fiasco in Fox, after the horrible loss of Angela, I realized I’m woefully incapable of defending myself. I want to be ready in case I ever find myself in a similar situation again.”
“What about me?” Blade questioned. “You know I’d protect you with my dying breath.”
“That’s just it!” Jenny said in an angry tone. “I can’t rely on you all the time.” She saw Blade move his mouth to object, and she quickly continued, cutting him short. “That’s not meant as an insult or anything! I know you love me, and I’ve seen what you will do to protect me. But let’s face facts. You’ve been gone from the Home a lot lately, what with running errands all over the countryside for Plato. What if I were attacked while you were gone? Who would save me? Hickok? He’s usually with you.
Geronimo? The same. Rikki? He’s in charge of the Warriors in your absence and he has the entire Family to think about, not just me. No.” She paused, searching his eyes for understanding and support. “This isn’t a reflection on your ability as a Warrior. It simply means I realize we can’t be together one hundred percent of the time, and I must be prepared to protect myself during the times we’re apart. Are you upset with me?”
“A little,” Blade confessed, miffed.
“Because I’m learning to stand on my own two feet?”
“No,” Blade replied.
“What, then?”
“Because you went to Hickok for lessons instead of coming to me,” Blade revealed.
“Touchy! Touchy! Touchy!” Hickok cracked in a falsetto whine.
“There are two reasons I went to Nathan first,” Jenny explained, using the original name bestowed on Hickok at birth by his parents, the one he had opted to change at his Naming.
The Founder of the Home had instituted a special ceremony for each Family member’s sixteenth birthday, a practice designated the Naming.
Each member selected the name he or she wanted to be known by for the rest of his or her earthly existence. Members were encouraged to pick a name from some period before the Third World War, possibly the name of a hero or heroine or anyone they admired. This way, the Founder hoped, the Family would be compelled to remain in touch with its historical antecedents. Without a solid education and a thorough comprehension of history, the Family might tend to forget the suicidal course mankind had pursued before the war. It might neglect to learn from the folly and stupidity of its ancestors. On his sixteenth birthday, Nathan had picked the name of the man he considered the greatest gunfighter who ever lived: James Butler Hickok. Sixteen-year-old Lone Elk had become Geronimo.
Young Michael had opted for a name predicated on his affinity for bladed weapons.
“What two reasons?” Blade said, prodding Jenny.
“The first reason should be obvious,” Hickok said, interrupting, coming to Jenny’s defense. “I’m a better shot than you are.”