San Joaquin Valley, California
Distractions. There are times when a distraction can certainly work in one's favor. Mentally reliving my travels on the Enchantress is a fine distraction while dealing with the monotonous task of riding the fence line looking for breaks. Picturing a Martin’s Lake moonlight swim as I sweat off my backside loading hay bales is another excellent example of a fine distraction.
And then there are times when a distraction can be detrimental to achieving my goal. It can interrupt my concentration and lead me in a completely different direction. Distractions like these are damn annoying. One is currently sitting in front of me.
Scott refused to look up from his writing. “Kinsey, you can sit and stare at me all day; my answer is not going to change from what it was five minutes ago.”
“I simply want an intelligent explanation to why I can't accompany you and Johnny during your target practice for Saturday’s event."
I’m reminded of Charlotte, my childhood friend George’s baby sister. She would be about Kinsey’s age today. Charlotte insisted on tagging along everywhere George and I went. Looking back, I'm not sure why she wanted to...we teased the hell out of that poor little girl…and why am I now writing about this?
The journal closed with a snap. Exhaling slowly while folding his hands, Scott attempted to make himself crystal clear with his response. “You’re not invited. You’re not coming. You’re staying here.“
“That is not an intelligent explanation.”
“Well, it’s as smart as I’m feeling at the moment so it will have to do.”
Scott noticed since her apology to Will Jenkins, Kinsey had mastered the smile dipped in honey while adding her own touch of smugness.
“I see. Perhaps I’ll just ask Johnny.” The charmer rose and managed three steps away from the table before the order was given.
“Halt. About-face. Front and center.”
Scott watched the little general turn around and return to the skirmish taking place. “You know quite well Johnny will say ‘yes’ so he can show off, which will result in an afternoon of useless practice. You are a distraction.”
“That's ridiculous. Besides, why should you care as long as you have a productive afternoon?”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck as he felt himself being swayed. The young lady had a point. Why should he care? It’s a competition and having an advantage is always beneficial. “I don’t want little Miss Chatterbox asking questions and offering suggestions while we’re shooting. You have a question; write it down. You have a suggestion; keep it to yourself. If you promise to observe and observe only, you may join us. One word uttered and I will send you back here to clean out horse stalls.”
“Explain to me again, brother, why you agreed to let her come along?”
Scott looked at Johnny. How enlightening, once arriving at their destination, to discover his younger brother had told Kinsey yesterday exactly what Scott had told her today.
“She’s here because my cousin is a skilled manipulator and I am a slow learner.”
Scott’s gaze shifted to the makeshift table under the tree to view the little schemer happily sitting, swinging her legs and pointing to her closed mouth. The older cousin smiled and nodded. ‘You’ll be back home cleaning out those horse stalls within the hour.'
Scott let Johnny be first to take a few practice shots. His younger brother was more comfortable with a revolver in his hand than a rifle. It always took several minutes of scowling, cussing and kicking dirt until Johnny was pleased with his aim.
Walking over to the table where their audience was seated, Scott removed several pieces of paper from his pocket. Unfolding them revealed large and small circles.
“You are allowed to ask me what these are.”
“I don’t need to. They’re targets.”
“Ah yes. But not any targets, my dear girl, they are special targets.”
At the conclusion of last year’s Sharpshooters Jamboree, Scott requested to keep a few of his targets as “mementos” of the event. In truth, Scott was so mad his aim was off in the final round the last thing he wanted to do was remember how he choked. His ulterior motive was simple. He now had a perfect example of the bullseye used in the contest; one which he carefully measured and drew circles to duplicate for their afternoon of practice.
“How do you know the same targets will be used?”
Scott smiled. “Val Crawford officiates over the contest. While saving your behind from a life of crime, I spied this year’s bullseyes stacked on his desk. They haven’t changed.”
Scott also confirmed with Crawford the venue for the Sharpshooters Jamboree. With this knowledge, the older brother had painstakingly stepped off the correct distances on the brothers’ shooting range to reflect those of Saturday’s contest.
“Isn’t this cheating?”
“No, Freckles, this is not cheating. This is called having an edge.” Scott grinned and winked. “The same but different.” Turning his attention back to the task at hand, the older brother shouted an inquiry. “Johnny! Have you kicked enough dirt or do you need more time?”
As the afternoon shooting progressed, it was apparent the brothers would be in the final round. If it wasn’t for Howie Aspinwall returning to Green River, Scott and Johnny would be battling it out to the bitter end for the grand prize. It was also obvious Johnny was slightly distracted; every few minutes he would stop and glance over to Kinsey.
“Something disturbing you, little brother? Your game is off.”
“Yeah. Kinsey’s too quiet. In fact, she’s not talkin’ at all. It’s making me wonder.”
“Is that so?” Scott smiled to himself.
“You don’t find it a little strange? That girl always has something to say. She’s just sittin’ there, watching our every move. I caught her writin’ something down now and again.”
“Is that a fact?” Scott lowered his voice. “What do you think is going on?”
Johnny’s tone reflected suspicion. “I think Howie talked to Kinsey. I think she’s his spy.”
Scott rolled his eyes, laughing. “No. I told her to be quiet and not be distracting or there would be a price to pay. Go ahead. Ask her.”
Johnny squinted in the direction of the so-called informer. “Half-pint! Why ain’t you talkin’?”
“Because I don’t want to clean out the bloody horse stalls!”
“Satisfied, brother?”
Johnny looked down at the ground and grinned. “I don’t know where I got that crazy idea.”
Scott slapped his little brother on the back. “See what happens when you plant a thought like that in your head? You can’t shake it and it takes over.” Scott stopped and held up his hand. “Wait. A distraction. A crazy idea stuck in the head.”
Slinging his arm around the neck of his younger brother, Scott continued. “I believe we may have discovered our edge over Howie Aspinwall.” The older cousin smiled at his little manipulator swinging her legs and waving, “And I think I know who can help us.”
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