Thank god his dad wasn’t home yet.
Hunter had worried his mom might be home, though she was the polar opposite of her husband: She never interfered in Hunter’s activities. It didn’t matter, anyway. A note hung from a magnet on the refrigerator, something about a trip to her store in town and a snack on the top shelf.
He looked at Clare. He felt jittery now that she was in his house. Somehow the kitchen felt both larger and smaller with her presence. “Are you hungry?”
“Not yet. Your mom has a store? What does she sell?”
Hunter shrugged. “Odds and ends. You know.” His mother really worked for a New Age store in the antique district, but that usually launched a whole line of questions he didn’t feel like answering.
Clare stepped forward and leaned close. His pulse jumped, but she was only reaching out a finger to touch a photo stuck to the refrigerator. “Is this you and your dad?”
“And my uncle. Yeah.” The picture was from a camping trip last fall. They’d gone into the Appalachian Mountains, and it had rained almost the entire time. In the picture they were drenched and smiling.
“You look just like your dad.”
“Everyone says that.”
She touched another picture. “You have a dog?”
“My uncle does. Casper is a police dog. Uncle Jay is a cop.”
Clare looked up at him. “You’re close.”
He shrugged. “You know. Family.”
“Must be nice.”
The tone in her voice reminded him of the uncertainty when she’d talked about her brother. He wondered just how upset her parents must be—and where Clare fit in.
Hunter reached on top of the refrigerator to grab the keys to the gun locker before he could think better of it. “Everything is in the basement. Come on.”
The gun locker wasn’t really a locker at all; it was more of an extra bedroom with a steel door, a dead bolt, and a six-key combination lock.
He wanted to cover his hand while he punched the numbers, but that would look stupid, and what was the difference if she knew how to get in here? She was scared of the very mention of guns; it’s not like she was going to be back later to steal something.
Clare watched him push the buttons until the door clicked and the lock released. “What’s twelve-fourteen-twenty?”
He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Our birthdays. My dad’s is the twelfth, mine is the fourteenth, and my uncle’s is the twentieth.”
“Not your mom’s?”
Hunter had never thought about it. He shrugged. “I guess he ran out of numbers.” He hesitated before pushing the door open. Now that they were down here, he was having second thoughts. Clare put a hand on his arm. “Are you going to get in trouble for showing me?”
Her fingers were warm, and when he turned his head to look at her, her lips were close.
Stop thinking about her mouth.
He had to clear his throat. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
Because no one was going to know about this.
Before he could think better of it, he threw the door wide.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
Hunter tried to see the room with fresh eyes, but it was tough. He’d grown up with this stuff. The hunting rifles in racks along the far wall, the Peg-Board on the right with hooks for the handguns, the military-style guns hanging on the left. Low cabinets lined the sidewalls, the counter space clear. A table sat in the middle of the room, empty, of course. His dad had way too much military training to leave anything out of place.
Clare had sucked back a bit, and Hunter gave her a smile. “They won’t jump out and bite you.”
“Am I being ridiculous?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never showed this room to anyone.”
Ugh. Why did he say that?
“Can I go inside?”
“Sure.” He stood back, then followed her through.
She walked to the wall of military-style weapons first. He couldn’t really blame her; those were definitely the most impressive.
“Do you know how to use all of these?” she asked, her voice hushed.
“I haven’t fired all of them, but most guns work on the same principle.” He took down the AR-15, which looked pretty badass but was really rather simple.
She flinched.
“Relax,” he said, more at ease now that they were in here. With weapons, he knew what he was doing, and it fed his confidence. He did what his dad always did, unclipping the magazine and checking to make sure it wasn’t loaded. Each click was loud, heavy steel sliding into place. When he was sure the gun was safe, he held it out to Clare.
She shook her head quickly.
“No bullets,” he said. “You can hold it.”
She gingerly started to take it from him, just her fingers wrapping around the barrel. Hunter shook his head. “Don’t do it halfway. It’s heavy. Just take it.”
He didn’t let go until her hands were wrapped solidly around the weapon. She held it at a distance from her body, like a poisonous snake.