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Me: Love you too.
Sliding my phone back in my pocket, I grab Eli’s hand, my eyes snagging on a sleeping Colt in his carrier at my feet. “When I said possible, not imminent, you didn’t correct me.”
“If my gut is anything to go by, it’s both, and, I suspect, also in process. At least one wave, anyway. The threats are about Colt, so I’m guessing his maternal grandparents got tired of going the legal route.” He taps at one of the squares on the screen showing an SUV in front of the big house. Two people exit.
He slides his phone out and swipes screens hurriedly before lifting the phone to his ear. He pulls it back, studies it and goes again, this time leaving a message. “Kimp, you’ve got company. Check in.”
We’ve lost one of the people on the screen. We’ve lost both actually. The vehicle sits where it’s parked, but the occupants have disappeared. Like those movies where time jumps and you can’t figure out how a person vanishes.
And, in that moment, just like in the movies, time grinds to a halt.
I slide my eyes to Eli who stands sentry in front of Colt’s carrier.
The hairs on my arms lift, and my hearing picks up the far-away crunch of boots—too tentative to be someone who knows this place.
Then… on concrete.
Then... on hay.
When I see the barrel, I do not hesitate. Not even for a moment.
I draw.
I fire.
I fire a second time.
Call it brash or call it stupid, but adrenaline courses through me as the horses shriek and Colt screams.
I move.
I stand over a man, face covered in a black hood. Blood oozes from below him onto the ground.
I kick the gun from his hand and hold him at point blank range.
“Ranger Ranch,” I hear through Colt’s screams. “I need the police and an ambulance. Unknown assailant. Trespassing. He was shot twice when he drew on a resident who defended herself.”
A pause is followed by “Elias Finchley.” Colt’s wails pierce the ringing in my ears. “I don’t know. His face is covered with a hood.” Another pause. “Yeah. We’re at the stables. I’m hanging up, but warn the sheriff’s deputies we know of at least two intruders. One is still unaccounted for.”
He clicks off, leans down, and scoops up Colt. His chubby face is red and fat, angry tears course down his cheeks as he screams. Eli walks and rubs his back, talking to him.
My nephew’s cries don’t stop.
“Bright?”
I whirl.
“Lower your weapon, baby.” His voice is soothing amid the chaos.
I realize I have my pistol trained on him, finger still on the trigger. I work to unclench my jaw as I remove my finger and place it on the barrel before taking a deep breath.
“Got any money on you?”
“Odd question, Eli. Are you taking bets or something? Check my desk, though, there’s some change in there.”
He pulls open the wide middle drawer and lifts a couple of coins sliding them into his front pants pockets.
Weirdest day ever. I must’ve said that aloud.
