Dang Near Dead (An Aggie Mundeen Mystery Book 2) by Nancy G. West Read Free Book Online

brown. Stoney strode with by-god determination, whacking mosquitoes. Nobody’d remembered to bring bug spray.
    Millie looked despondent. I heard her talking to herself. “I haven’t seen one activity that looks safe.”
    Sam, Meredith, and I walked far enough behind everybody to avoid their dust. Sam craned his neck around Meredith to peer at me. He raised an eyebrow: “Are we having fun yet?”
    I wrinkled my nose at him and kept walking. I’d cajoled him into coming to the ranch by hinting that, although a dude ranch didn’t appear to be dangerous, two unarmed women traveling alone might need protection in the middle of eighteen hundred remote acres. He couldn’t resist my logic. I hoped my lame excuse didn’t prove true.
    When the firing range came into view, Vicki turned around and walked backward, gesturing behind her. “This is where we learn to trap shoot. We fire shotguns at moving clay targets as though we’re firing at game birds. Our instructor, Wayne Rickoff, is a Vietnam veteran and crack shot who wins skeet shooting competitions.”
    Vicki obviously couldn’t reveal more about Rickoff, or her charges would scatter like mice. I didn’t know his entire history, yet I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive.
    We moved toward an area ringed with benches in a half circle. Off in the distance, waist-high tripods placed thirty feet apart held round four-foot-diameter targets. Rickoff stood with one foot on a bench, a shotgun resting across his thigh, and stared glumly at our dusty herd of approaching novices.
    “This is Captain Wayne Rickoff,” Vicki announced. He nodded. No change of expression. “Monty’s setting up the trap machine,” Rickoff said. “I’ll show you how to hit those bulls-eyes out there.
    “Cover your ears.”
    He took his stance, aiming at the round, padded targets. They were painted with concentric rings in different colors with red bulls-eyes in the center. Rickoff fired shots at each target and moved to the next. When he was through, each bulls-eye had fresh holes torn through its center.
    Sam muttered under his breath. “Damn.”
    “Can you do that?” I asked.
    “Not that well. Not without practice.”
    Goosebumps raced across the back of my neck. If Sam grew worried, I’d freak out.
    Rickoff continued shooting. We saw Monty way off in the distance to the right.
    A new man sauntered up to our group. He wore earphones under his cowboy hat and had his face painted like a clown. Ranch guests turned to look at him. When the barrage finally stopped, Vicki introduced him. “This is Sunny Barlow, camp cook and singer.” Her delivery was more animated than usual. Barlow smiled and welcomed everyone to the ranch.
    “Sometimes I clown at rodeos,” he said, “and occasionally, I clown for kids. Hope you don’t mind my wearing clown makeup here at the ranch.” We all shook our heads. He exuded charm.
    “It takes a while to put the face paint on,” he said. “Sometimes I get last-minute calls. This way I’m ready to go.”
    We nodded. When Sunny Barlow smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back. I squelched the urge to go over and hug him.
    “I like to watch Rickoff shoot,” Sunny said. He nodded to Vicki, stuck his hands in his pockets and turned to watch the show.
    When Jangles maneuvered closer to him, he lifted one earbud. “You’re going to cook dinner?” she asked. “Tonight? On a campfire?”         
    “That’s right. It’ll be cooling down soon. Sunset should be beautiful.”
    “You’re the one who sings, too?” Millie inched toward Sunny in her first spontaneous move since she’d leaped onto the cabin table.
    “That’s me.” His clown smile grew wider. He had the kindest eyes. I wondered if Vicki knew if there was some other reason he wore a disguise.
    Rickoff stood with his gun shouldered. “Y’all want to see this trap shooting or not?” he barked. In the distance, Monty had worked his way into position, ready to start the trap