1
“Pull!”
As the clay pigeon launched into the air, Reva Nygard tracked the bright orange disk with laser focus. Her finger tightened on the trigger, and with a resounding bang, she shattered the target. The crowd erupted in applause.
Capri Jacobs, one of her best friends from high school, stood nearby, a grin on her face. “Way to show ’em what you’re made of.”
Reva’s face displayed every bit of her delight. “Thanks, Capri,” she replied, reloading her shotgun with ease.
The scent of freshly fired gunpowder hung in the air as Reva stepped back up to the shooting station at the Thunder Mountain gun range, her boots sinking slightly into the soft ground as she found her stance. Her long black hair dangled in a braid down her back as she nodded, the cool confidence she often exuded in the courtroom now directed toward the blue horizon.
A second clay pigeon shot into the air. Reva tracked it with unerring focus, her trigger finger curling around metal. Time seemed to slow as she followed the orange disk’s trajectory, and then, with fluid grace, she shot.
A deafening bang resonated through the valley as the shotgun unleashed its payload. Reva’s target disintegrated into a cloud of orange dust, the remnants scattering like stardust against the vibrant backdrop of the Teton Mountains.
The townspeople gathered at the event cheered. A fellow shooter and the town veterinarian, Tillman Strode, shook his head. “Great shot, Reva,” he said, admiration in his voice.
Reva’s heart swelled with pride, her keen senses soaking in the scent of pine needles and damp earth mixed with the heady aroma of chili cooking. In the distance, Oma Griffith, Betty Dunning, and Dorothy Vaughn—known as the Knit Wits to everyone in Thunder Mountain—waved their spoons and ladles in a show of solidarity before returning to dishing up bowls and handing them out.
Competition was stiff here at the annual skeet shoot and chili cook-off. Not only were the best local marksmen lined up to compete, but some serious cooks were standing over simmering pots guarding their secret ingredients. The funds raised would go to charity. This year’s money would help remodel the community center, a place where both seniors and youth could gather.
“I think you’ve got this,” Capri leaned and lowered her voice, cupping her mouth with her hand. “Doc Tillman is your only real rival, and he seems to be losing his focus. You’ve got him doubting himself.”
“You think so?” Reva whispered back. She rarely let her proclivity for conquering her opponents take backstage—even when there seemed to be so little at stake.
Reva’s affinity for victory was undeniable. Winning was simply in her DNA, a reflection of her unwavering determination and unrelenting pursuit of excellence.
She’d once been accused of not knowing how to relax. Perhaps true, but she loved giving life one hundred percent every waking hour. Especially now when her efforts served the residents of her beloved Thunder Mountain. As mayor, she could think of no better focus than on her neighbors and friends.
The final round came down to the wire, with Reva managing to maintain her lead.
As that last clay pigeon disintegrated in the air, she knew she had done it. She could easily win this competition, impressing the crowd, and herself as well. She’d already pulled off a personal best, shooting forty-seven out of fifty—a feat anyone would be proud of. Now, only one more to go to complete victory.
The sun began to dip in the sky and the mountains perched as silhouettes against the fading sunlight. A hushed anticipation settled over the attendees as the organizers gathered at the makeshift podium, where a gleaming trophy awaited its rightful owner.
Reva, her heart pounding with exhilaration, stood alongside the other competitors, including Doc Tillman. Capri waved from the crowd, beaming with pride. The scent of victory was palpable. She rarely missed a shot in all her years of competing.
Reva squinted under the bright sky, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Doc Tillman’s hopeful eyes. The clay pigeon launched, a fleeting target against the vast blue.
With a gentle sigh, she subtly adjusted her aim. The shot rang out, echoing her decision across the field. The orange disk sailed away unscathed, and a surprised cheer erupted for the beloved veterinarian.
Albie Barton, the newspaper editor, served as the tournament announcer. He cleared his throat and raised the award high. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner,” he declared, his voice carrying across the range. “With an incredible display of marksmanship, our very own Doc Tillman has claimed the title of the Thunder Mountain skeet shooting champion!”
Everyone burst into cheers and applause, clapping their hands and whistling in appreciation. Reva’s cheeks flushed with the warmth of their admiration for a man who deserved every bit of the honor. She couldn’t help but smile as he accepted the shiny trophy, shaped like a stylized clay pigeon in mid-flight.
Doc Tillman held the prize close, his eyes glistening with a mix of gratitude and accomplishment. “Thank you, everyone,” he exclaimed. “This means the world to me.”
“Congratulations, Reva!” Capri whispered as she threw her arms around her friend in a tight hug. “You did it!”
Reva scowled. “What are you talking about?”
Capri grinned. “You have a sneaky habit of stepping aside to let others pass you.”
She shrugged and smiled back. “People who take the high road encounter less traffic.”
Capri squeezed Reva’s shoulders. “Let’s get us a bowl of chili, then we’ll head out to Teton Trails and celebrate the news of your non-win with Lila and Charlie Grace.” Capri held up her phone. “I’ve been texting with them. Lila is at the ranch helping Charlie Grace birth that calf that’s giving her trouble.”
The two women linked arms and approached the tables lined with simmering pots of chili, the spicy aromas mingling in the air. “Well, what have we here?” Reva said, stopping in front of the Knit Wit ladies.
