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The commissioners look out to the throng of people waiting, and I almost wish I could hear their thoughts or at least smell their fear. They sit behind the long table, unmoving, as if we cannot see them.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say to Kimp. “Harding is having a rough day.” I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “Recall efforts will be underway tonight. Are you interested in being a Commissioner?”
“Son, don’t even joke with me like that.” He clasps my shoulder and turns for the door but stops at the arrival of another guest.
Ms. Thimm takes my hand, her weathered one rough from years of farming and sun. Her eyes crinkle in the corners and deep grooves line her mouth. “Thank you, Elias. It was worth the money it took to watch these goons be put in their places. No one likes a con.”
“Thank you for your commitment to the county and the land, Ms. Thimm. And for making these days fun. An ace up the sleeve is always more enjoyable than the one on the table. If you ever need anything, I’m here.”
She pats my hand with her other. “How’s the pup?”
“He’s growing like a weed and already right at home. Thank you again.”
With a wink, she turns and snakes her hand through the crook of Jose Reyes’ arm and walks out of the council chambers.
I turn back to Kimp.
“Thank you,” he offers genuinely. “Worth the acreage just on the principle of the thing and to honor old man Veramendi and his gift to our family. But to watch their faces as they realized they’d been out maneuvered… There are days I’m petty. And today was fun.” In his face, I can see a mischievousness that I rarely have before.
“Thinking we need to make sure Reyes and Ms. Thimm are okay. I’m fine poking a bear, but they don’t need the wrath when the bear counters.”
“Jose’s good. He can take care of himself. And I dare say, he can take care of Lisette too.”
“Let’s celebrate.”
Braxton, Emberleigh, and Willa walk up from the back of the gallery where it was standing room only during the meeting. Judge Johnson should’ve known better when he saw a packed room than to suspect all would go without challenge.
Braxton grabs my hand before pulling me into a back-slapping hug. “Damn, that was fun to watch. But I’ll be good if we never do that again.”
“Same.”
“Hoping we get a little peace and quiet now that the conservancy is no longer at risk and the court cases at home are settled,” Emberleigh adds.
The PR nightmare has died down. Kimp is a perfect face as the noble victim. Though to call him that is to watch his blood boil. He played the part, discussing the sanctity of protecting his family, and the desire to see his business operations not take a hit due to concerns aside from breed quality. His stroke of genius, though, was the subtle threat that his top-quality stallions and mares would be bred less and sold for more in Kentucky if Texans decided that one of their own should be punished for being the victim of an attack.
It's hard to argue with that one.
I nod to Emberleigh but grab my phone and shoot a quick text to Jon. “Drinks tonight?”
From the far side of the public seating, I see him glance at his watch, and he nods, all without making eye contact or acknowledging me. He stands with Enterprise, not engaged in their post mortem, but on the fringe.
He’s in an odd spot. No longer DA, fully aware of illegalities and public bribes, but having been on the right side of this the whole time. It’s something no one can know, or he’ll be unhireable.
Colt toddles forward, using Willa’s index fingers for balance and then claps for his own accomplishment while giving a big toothy grin. “Up,” he says while tugging on Kimp’s pants.
“What Colt wants, Colt gets. Pop-Pop wouldn’t deny his best boy, would he?” He lifts Colt but only cradles him after tossing him in the air, his giggle echoing through the room.
Brighton slides her hand into mine, noticeably late to the party, turning her phone over and over in her free hand. “Pop, this new conservation zone you’ve established? Is it taking on any grazers?”
Kimp turns his chin to her. “What’s this about?”
“I have five sickly mares who need a home. A welfare check led authorities to a client’s house where they discovered his body. The autopsy is still to come.”
“Good riddance,” Braxton mumbles.
Our whole group turns to him, dumfounded.
“The county needs to rehome the horses, but I don’t want to bring them into our stables until we know what’s going on with them. We have the turnout blankets and fly masks to spare, and it should be unseasonably warm for the next week so they shouldn’t need housing for several days while I figure things out,” Brighton continues as if Braxton hadn’t just celebrated a death.
