If you were looking for this scene at noon and it didn’t show, I apologize. I scheduled it. No idea where the hiccup is.

Some of my best deleted scenes involve Ram! This would have been at the very end of the chapter.

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My disgust with hunting aside, Ram and I stayed in the gun range to perfect my skills. I could tell Ram was having problems with my proficiency.
“Steph?”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you hate guns?”
How do you tell someone who loves guns that you hate guns because they mean death, destruction and violence? I really don’t have a way to answer this for Ram and I suppose my non-answer meant something to him.
“I’m wondering because for someone who hates guns, you’re a natural with one.”
I didn’t want to hear that.

I sense Ram sigh, remove the gun, and hand me a spoon. “Can you do damage to me with this?”
“No.”
“Yes, you can.” I look at Ram in confusion. Ram lifts his pants legs and I can see a half moon indention right above his ankle. “In the hands of a desperate person, anything is a weapon. I got this scar from a skip we had on the ground. He had a cereal spoon in his hands and, trying to avoid it, I ended up spraining my ankle pretty seriously. I was out for weeks and since you’re out on a leg injury, you know how painful it is. Hours of monitor duty is a pain in the ass.”
I grin and nod. I hate Thomas Mann.
“My point is, in the hands of a desperate person, anything is a weapon. Hell, for a desperate person, hands are a weapon. That’s another reason for RangeMan standards, to help you combat whatever could be thrown at you. You don’t plan giving up spoons anytime soon, right?”
I shake my head.
“Ok then. Being in the security business means obtaining enemies. Enemies who want to kill you. I’m beginning to see that being proficient with your gun is not really the issue for you because you’re a natural. The issue is getting you comfortable wearing and drawing it. No more stashing your gun in the cookie jar.”
“Rockford does it.”
“Rockford is fiction. And if Rockford had your skips, he would be a dead man.”
I laugh. Ram is right. I’ve survived due to sheer stubbornness.
We leave and Ram escorts me to Ella’s office.
“Ella,” Ram says, “the CO needs a variety of holsters, purses, whatever it takes to get her to carry. I think we may need to look at specialty providers to find her the right stuff.”
Ella takes my measurements and starts looking online. I watch as she and Ram pick out purses, holsters, and day planners. They even find underwear with holsters built in! Ram takes a look at the Glock 17, shakes his head, and disappears. He returns an hour later.
“Sunny says hey!” he says, slipping a tiny gun into my holster. I pull it in surprise.
“What’s this?”
“A Glock 26. A baby Glock,” he replies, looking at me critically. He smiles. “This is Ella’s personal piece. I thought it might work for you, as a personal gun.”