She was almost out of ammo. Setting the safety, she re-holstered her gun. Why hadn’t she thought to bring a few more rounds?

The rattle of a bike caused her to turn as Sammy coasted down the hill.

“I’m done,” Sammy hollered. He parked his bike behind the estate’s 4x4 Elise had borrowed.

“Do you think you could set up a new target while I get the equipment out?”

Sammy didn’t bother to answer. He snatched up the target and charged to the hay bale, his legs pumping for all he was worth.

While the boy was occupied, Elise retrieved adult and juvenile bows and two quivers of arrows from the storage shed. Rummaging through a crate, she selected a finger tab for him to wear. Beside all this, she placed her stretching band, a bright-blue piece of elastic with plenty of give.

Sammy trotted back. “I’m ready.”

“Before we start, you need to warm up,” she informed him.

“Why?”

“Even though it looks like you’re just standing still, archery requires a lot of upper body muscles, so you need to warm them up.”

Elise picked up the elastic band, then demonstrated how to stretch the back and shoulder muscles. Sammy went next, his facial muscles scrunching in sync with his efforts.

“All right. Let’s shoot a few arrows to make sure you’re tuned properly.” Lifting her own bow, Elise demonstrated how to nock an arrow. “Pull the string to your nose.”

Sammy mimicked her form.

“Now, if you let loose that arrow, where do you think it will land?”

“At the bullseye.”

“Which way is your bow tilted?” Elise nodded toward his arrow.

Sammy took his eyes off the target long enough to check his arrow. “It’s tilted up.”

“That’s right. When you let go of that string, your arrow will sail right over your target. Lower the bow until the arrow is level with the bullseye, then shoot.”

Sammy let go of the string. The arrow whizzed through the air and fell short of the hay bale.

“I missed.”

“Everyone misses the first few times.”

“Did you?”

“Aye.” She let her arrow fly. Twang. The tip hit the center bullseye.

“Wow.” Appreciation hummed through Sammy’s voice. “Do it again.”

“I believe it’s your turn. You aren’t stalling, are you?” Elise asked with a hint of a smile.

“No.” Sammy stood up straight and puffed out his chest.

“When you shoot this time, allow for the difference between your eyes and the actual arrow.”

Sammy nocked his arrow, pulled back on the string, and immediately let the arrow fly. The shaft sailed across the field, well above the hay bale and its target.

“Nuts.” Sammy hung his head.

“You should have seen where my arrows went when I first started. It takes practice and some talent to hit the target.”

“I’m talented,” Sammy informed her.