Charlie collapsed into the hotel's worn armchair, the fabric rough beneath her and the wood legs groaning like they might give out just like she had. Her shoulders ached from hours in the saddle and her jaw still clenched with leftover tension. She hadn't even bothered kicking off her boots—just peeled off her gunbelt and let it hit the floor with a heavy thunk before sinking down.
She'd finally gotten that robbery training she'd been waiting on. The theory part hadn't thrown her—she'd studied, paid attention, and passed without much trouble. But still, something sat heavy under her ribs. It wasn't enough to just know how things worked—she wanted to live it, breathe it, carry it in her gut the way real lawmen did. The way her brothers did. Especially Colt. He didn't just wear the badge—he carried the weight of it like it was stitched into him. Lieutenant Vanderhuge. Her big brother. She was proud of how far he'd come. Wouldn't say it out loud, not unless something serious cracked it out of her, but she'd always looked up to him. Still did.
But that robbery training... It wasn't textbook. It was a storm.
She rubbed her eyes, already sore from the stress of the evening. That first scenario? A disaster. She still didn't know what made her rifle go off—some twitch of the finger while she was zeroed in on the negotiations. Everything had been going alright until then. Then bang. One stray shot and it all unraveled. She remembered the way her heart had dropped, her gut twisting up in a knot. Elijah—sweet-talking hostage taker—had pretended it was him who shot. She thought? She didn't know. Her head had gone foggy with panic and confusion, and she'd lost her footing.
They'd called her out on it after. Rightfully so.
She'd given the order to breach—perhaps too early, thinking the hostage was in danger after more shots rang out. That had been the final nail in that round. She let her head fall back, staring at the ceiling like maybe it held an answer she hadn't caught yet.
"What an idiot," she muttered, the words bitter on her tongue.
So they ran it again. New setup—mock highway robbery, though they didn't even change locations. No matter. Her only goal was to save the hostage. Keep someone innocent from dying.
But Sergeant Kidd wasn't about to make that easy. She realized within minutes that this scenario wasn't one meant to be won. It wasn't in the handbook. There was no right move, only instinct and pressure.
She hated how much it rattled her. Did her best to keep it from showing—especially not in front of Kidd, or Jonas, or her brother, or—hell—Elijah. The way he looked at things, steady and sure, had a way of throwing her off balance even on her better days. And this? This wasn’t a better day.
She wasn't sure how she did. Not really. She tried to keep her head, to focus on the hostage, to play it smart. But even now, hours later, her stomach fluttered uneasily, like it hadn't stopped bracing for impact.
Charlie let out a long breath, letting her hand fall to her side. The quiet buzz of the town outside seemed far away, like the world had narrowed down to this chair, this moment, and the weight in her chest.
This job was harder than she'd expected. Not just the shooting and the riding. The decisions. The pressure. The way every misstep had a cost, even if it was pretend for now.
God damn it, she wanted this.
And she wasn't going to let them think she'd gotten this far just because her last name matched the Lieutenant's. No. She was going to prove it. To Kidd. To Jonas. To Elijah. To herself.
Tomorrow, she'd get back on the horse. She'd study. She'd train. And next time, when that final ride came, she wouldn't fumble.
She'd ride through it like a Vanderhuge.
