THE COWGIRL OUTSHOT EVERY MAN AT THE FALL CONTEST — THE COWBOY WATCHING FELL FOR HER ON THE SPOT
Chapter 1
The first gunshot cracked across the fairgrounds just after noon.
Every conversation stopped.
A flock of pigeons burst from the roof of the old livestock barn, and somewhere behind the grandstand, a horse stamped nervously against the wooden gate.
Then came the second shot.
Clean.
Fast.
Perfect.
The tin target hanging fifty yards away spun violently.
The crowd erupted.
“Who was that?”
“That wasn’t Cole!”
“Another shot!”
The third crack came before anyone had finished shouting.
The target spun again.
Three shots.
Three hits.
And the man who had fired them lowered his rifle with a satisfied grin.
Cole Tanner had won the first round of the Mercy Creek Fall Shooting Contest.
He was thirty-four, broad-shouldered, sun-browned, and famous throughout three counties for being almost impossible to beat.
He had won the contest four years in a row.
The men gathered around him clapped his back.
“Looks like nobody’s taking your title this year.”
Cole smiled.
“Don’t count your chickens.”
His friend Jake Miller laughed.
“Who would?”
Cole glanced toward the registration table.
The contest was being held during Mercy Creek’s annual Fall Harvest Festival, an old-fashioned celebration that brought ranchers, farmers, families, and visitors from across the county.
There were hayrides.
Pie contests.
Horse shows.
A mechanical bull.
Barbecue.
And, every year, the shooting competition.
Cole had come for the contest.
He hadn’t expected anything interesting to happen.
Then he saw her.
She was standing near the registration table.
A woman in faded jeans, worn brown boots, and a dark green flannel shirt.
A tan cowboy hat shaded her face.
She wasn’t dressed like someone trying to attract attention.
If anything, she seemed determined to avoid it.
Her horse stood beside her, a chestnut mare with a white star between its eyes.
The woman was checking something inside a worn leather saddlebag.
Jake followed Cole’s gaze.
“Oh, no.”
Cole looked at him.
“What?”
“You don’t know who that is?”
“No.”
“That’s Emma Carter.”
“Should I know her?”
Jake laughed.
“Everybody knows her.”
Cole looked again.
“Why?”
“She owns the Carter ranch.”
“So?”
“So her father died last winter.”
Cole’s expression changed.
He knew about Thomas Carter.
Everyone did.
Thomas had owned one of the largest working ranches in the county.
“He left her the ranch?”
“Every acre.”
Cole glanced toward her again.
Emma didn’t look like someone who had inherited millions.
She looked like someone who had been working since sunrise.
“She’s entering the contest?”
Jake nodded.
“First woman to register in ten years.”
Cole smiled.
“Good for her.”
Jake looked at him.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“She isn’t entering to make a statement.”
“What is she entering for?”
“To win.”
Cole laughed.
“Against me?”
“Against everybody.”
As if she’d heard them, Emma turned.
Her eyes met Cole’s.
She studied him for one brief second.
Then looked away.
No smile.
No nervousness.
Nothing.
Jake grinned.
“She doesn’t care who you are.”
Cole watched her walk toward the shooting range.
Something about that bothered him.
He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored.
The announcer called the competitors forward.
One by one, the men fired.
Some hit two out of three.
Others managed all three.
Cole remained near the top.
Then the announcer called:
“Emma Carter.”
The crowd became strangely quiet.
Emma walked to the firing line.
She accepted the rifle.
The judge explained the rules.
Three targets.
Fifty yards.
Three rounds.
She nodded.
No speech.
No showmanship.
She raised the rifle.
Cole watched.
The first shot cracked.
Hit.
The second.
Hit.
The third.
Hit.
The crowd exploded.
Emma lowered the rifle.
The announcer stared at the scoreboard.
“Three out of three.”
Jake looked at Cole.
Cole didn’t answer.
Emma walked away.
The next round began.
Cole fired.
Three hits.
Emma fired.
Three hits.
The final round came down to two competitors.
The reigning champion.
And the quiet cowgirl nobody expected to challenge him.
Cole stepped toward the line.
Before he raised his rifle, Emma passed him.
Their shoulders nearly touched.
She looked at him.
“Good luck.”
Cole smiled.
“You too.”
She continued walking.
He watched her for half a second too long.
Then he shook his head.
The announcer raised his hand.
“Final round!”
The crowd roared.
Cole fired.
Perfect.
Emma stepped forward.
She raised her rifle.
The wind shifted.
Leaves scattered across the range.
She waited.
Cole watched her.
She wasn’t rushing.
She was reading the wind.
Then—
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Three hits.
The scoreboard changed.
Emma Carter.
Perfect score.
Cole stared.
The crowd erupted.
For the first time in five years, Cole Tanner had lost.
But strangely, he didn’t feel angry.
He couldn’t stop looking at the woman who had beaten him.
And somewhere between the first shot and the last, he realized something that frightened him more than losing.
He had fallen for her.
On the spot.
