“So, Roxy,” I said in a neutral voice, “where did you learn to shoot like that? Your show yesterday was very impressive. All those trick shots were just amazing.”

   She eyed me over the rim of her mug, wondering whether I was being genuine, but she decided to play along and set her drink aside. “My daddy was a big hunter, and I wanted to be just like him when I was a kid. He’s the one who taught me to shoot. He’d set up glass bottles and tin cans in our backyard, then let me go to town on them. Guess I just had a natural talent for it, because I’ve been doing it ever since.”

   “Hunting or shooting?” I asked.

   Roxy grinned at me. “Both.”

   She pulled out one of her revolvers and started spinning it around and around, making the pearl handle and silver barrel flash underneath the lights. The weapon was like an extension of her hand, and she didn’t even have to look to know exactly what she was doing with it. Instead, Roxy smiled and stared at me the whole time, the gun moving up, down, and back again in her hand.

   Suddenly, she stopped, with the gun pointing right at my heart and her finger on the trigger. “Kapow,” she said, grinning even wider than before.

   Finn, Bria, and Owen all tensed, wondering if she was actually going to pull the trigger and shoot me in the middle of the restaurant. So did Brody. But I ignored the urge to reach for my Stone magic and forced myself to smile back at Roxy, as though this were just a casual conversation.

   I raised my hands in mock surrender. “You got me, Sheriff Roxy.”

   “I sure did, Gin,” she drawled. “I always get my man. Or woman, in this case.”

   Even though I itched to palm a knife, surge across the table, and stab her in the heart, I slowly lowered my hands back down to the tabletop, as though our mock game were over.

   But Roxy didn’t want it to be over because she kept her gun trained on me, her finger rubbing back and forth on the trigger, as if she were a split second away from shooting me after all—

   “Here you go!” a voice called out.

   The waitress chose that exact moment to return with our orders and started dumping plates on the table.

   Roxy’s green gaze locked with my gray one, both of us staring each other down. After a second, she tipped her red Stetson at me and holstered her gun. Once again, our potential showdown was stopped before it ever really got started.

   But we’d face each other for real soon enough.

   We all focused on our food, which was exactly what I expected from a theme-park restaurant—overpriced and underseasoned with pitifully small portions.

   Finn enthusiastically dug into his meal. So did Bria and Owen, but I only picked at my potato soup and grilled-chicken salad. I just didn’t have an appetite. Not when I kept expecting Roxy to whip out her gun again and shoot me at any second. But she and Brody concentrated on their food as well, with the giant shoveling French fries into his mouth in between slurps of sarsaparilla.

   We all ordered the same thing for dessert—a surprisingly excellent piece of apple coffee cake, topped with a warm caramel sauce and melting vanilla-bean ice cream. It was the only good part of the meal. Then again, it was hard to mess up dessert.

   Finally, the bill came, and Roxy insisted on picking up the check. Well, at least my would-be killer was nice enough to spring for lunch.

   The six of us pushed away from the table and trooped out of the restaurant. I glanced around, still expecting something to happen, but I didn’t see any of our usual watchers loitering on the sidewalks.

   Roxy glanced at her silver watch, which had almost as many rhinestones as her belt buckle. “Well, I hate to cut this short, but Brody and I need to get ready for the high-noon show. Don’t we, Brody?”

   “Yep,” the giant said.

   “Finn, maybe you and I can meet later to finally go over the resort financials?” Roxy asked.

   “Of course,” Finn said.

   “It’s a date then.” She gave us all a bright smile. “Y’all enjoy the rest of your day.”

   She tipped her red Stetson at us, turned, and sauntered down the sidewalk. Brody rolled his eyes and followed her.

   And they just walked away. Just like that. Without so much as a backward glance at us. More cold unease trickled down my spine. Something was very, very wrong here.

   “That was almost pleasant,” Owen said.

   “Yeah,” I muttered. “Except for the fact that Roxy pulled her gun on me and she and Brody want us dead. Come on. Let’s go back to the hotel.”

   The four of us headed in that direction, and Finn wobbled on his feet, clutching a wooden post for support.

   I eyed him. “You okay?”

   “Yeah. I just ate too much.”

   Bria snorted. “You think? You had all your barbecue-chicken sandwich and half of mine too. Not to mention all the sides you ate.”

   Finn groaned and clutched his stomach. “I know, and I’m going to pay for that now. Walk slow, guys. Like, waddling-along slow.”

   The four of us eased into the flow of people on the sidewalk, heading back toward the hotel. Once again, I glanced around, expecting to see our usual watchers, but none of them were in sight, and no one seemed to be tracking us at all. I frowned. What was Roxy up to?

   We reached the end of Main Street, and I realized that Finn had fallen several steps behind. “Finn? You okay?”

   Instead of answering me, he shook his head and staggered into the closest alley, still clutching his stomach, as if he were going to throw up. It would serve him right for being such a glutton at lunch.

   Finn stumbled forward several more steps, then turned and looked at me, his green eyes bright and glassy.

   “I . . . don’t . . . feel . . . so good . . .” he mumbled.

   His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he crumpled to the ground.