50. I Reserve the Right to Change My Mind
I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO CHANGE MY MIND
brAXTON
I extend a hand to Pop, pulling him off the floor, and turn on my boot to head to my bedroom.
Without a word, I grab my Glock and a knife from my nightstand. I also drag my long rifle from the closet and put two full magazines in my back pockets.
I’m done.
I’m way fucking done with my family being under siege.
With worrying about my son.
With my baby’s grandfather calling the shots.
With the threat to my ranch.
Fucking.
Done.
I return to the kitchen where everyone has moved to avoid the almost floor-to-ceiling windows and extend the pistol to Emberleigh. “You know how to shoot?”
She shakes her head as she stares at the gun in her hands.
“Point it at the threat and squeeze the trigger. Do not aim it at anyone you’re not willing to kill. I mean that. Full magazine. One in the chamber. You point it at anything, assume it’s dead. Got it?”
She nods, quiet and thoughtful.
“Take your finger off the trigger, baby. Only put it there if it’s you versus them. And if it comes down to that, choose me, choose Colt, and take the shot. Need you, Emberleigh, so you’re going to have to choose you, if it’s you versus them. Okay?”
She nods again, this time the resolve in her eyes shows her steely strength.
“I’ve got it.”
I thumb her bottom lip before turning to the room. “Not going to be target practice for this fucker. What’s the plan?”
“Hey, now—” the sheriff begins.
“Ralph, got all the respect in the world for you, but Brax is right. We’re sitting ducks. And we’re on private property. We can defend our homes and ourselves here. The question is if you’re with us,” Pop expounds.
Ralph’s typical jovial nature is nowhere in sight. He’s all business and sounds exhausted when he speaks. “This is not the wild, wild west and you’re not Billy the Kid. We’re not doing this.”
The EMTs in the living room lift the delivery man onto a stretcher and continue to work on the man who was just doing his job when he got caught up in this mess.
“All due respect, but I am,” Pop replies and looks at Sam next to him. “You did all you could do. He was dead when the sniper pulled the trigger. Nothing you could’ve done would undo that.”
Ralph continues, “Defend yourselves, but don’t go rogue. Don’t want to arrest you, Kimp.”
“Arrest him?” Emberleigh pipes in. “Why would he be arrested?”
Pop looks over at her, and I can see it.
He’s made her one of us. She’s in his heart and in his family, and that seals his fate.
“Darlin’, he’s telling me not to go hunting.
” He looks at Ralph before returning to Emberleigh.
“He knows better, but he’s doing what he has to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Pop turns on his heel and heads for the front door.
“No!!” Emberleigh screams, and that stops Pop in his tracks. Her voice goes eerily quiet. “He’s out there. You can’t go that way. You can’t. We need you. Colt needs you.” And ever so quietly, I’m not sure if anyone else hears it, she adds, “I need you.”
“She’s right,” I throw out. “We need a plan, and you walking out there is an easy shot for him. We need to have a strategy. We can’t just wing it.” I extend his phone to him, and he grabs it, sliding it in his breast pocket.
I slide mine from my pocket and thumb it, shooting off a message to Cyler and another to Brighton and Elias.
I turn to the EMTs and ask a question that makes my skin cold... “Got another stretcher in that rig?”
“Nah. Back brace, but no stretcher.”
“You willing to bend the rules a little?”
Both are boys, no more than twenty-five, and neither knows what the hell is happening. But they’re Texans nonetheless and locals at that.
“How?” the shorter one asks.
“Are you willing to drive Pop to his house? He can go in your uniform or on a stretcher. Need him to be safely out of here and not seen exiting. Shooter took two shots. Doesn’t know there aren’t two bodies.”
Pop nods as Ralph runs a hand down his face, sliding it to grab the back of his neck and tug.
“Easiest thing is to give me your shirt,” Pop says. “I’ll help you load the stretcher and then jump out at my house. I can leave the shirt and you can make the loop back here and grab your partner before heading out. Sirens and lights will make it easier for us and harder for him.”
“But he’s out there,” Emberleigh whispers.
“Yes, darlin’. He is… and I’m doing what I can to protect my family. That includes you. So Ranger up, Emberleigh. This is how it’s going to go,” Pop says.
“Haven’t heard that phrase in ages,” I mumble.
“Can’t very well say sac up, now can I?” The twinkle in Pop’s eye says his fear is gone. That’s good and that’s bad. Fear makes one cautious. And I need him to be cautious.
“Guess not.” I turn to the EMS guys and ask, “You game?”
They look at each other and nod in unison. The stockier one strips off his shirt, tossing it to Pop who puts it over his bloody undershirt. The tech is left in a ribbed tee that has a faded Pearl Jam logo on. That thing must be older than he is.
“You’ll have to talk me through the mechanics of the stretcher,” Pop says to the thinner one.
“Can’t hurt him,” he says, nodding to the sheet-covered stretcher.
They leave and red lights bathe the house as sirens scream through the air.
Ralph, Sam, Emberleigh, and I are left with Pearl Jam. I extend a hand. “Braxton Ranger.”
“Joey Guerrera.” His grip is firm.
“Glad you’re here. Sorry it’s for this reason.”
“Not on you, man.”
I nod, because what else can I do in this situation?
“If you come back today, may it be for the asshole out there and not for one of us.”
His Adam's apple bobs as his chin does the same, but mutters a quiet yeah at the same time my phone vibrates.
Pop: Home. Have my scope and am looking. Nothing yet. Phone on DND so it doesn’t vibrate.
Me: Roger that. Keep in touch.
The ambulance slides in front of the house, so close to the porch, I wonder if he killed my landscaping. Not true, but I’d wonder if I gave a fuck.
Joey slides out the door and the ambulance kicks up gravel as it heads to the ranch gates. I check my phone to confirm the gates are closed and see a message from Brighton.
Bright: Elias got him safely here.
Me: Any luck?
Bright: Alive, if that’s what you mean. If you mean thermal, I’m working on it.
Bright: Never expected to use it on humans. The cameras are all in the wrong spots. I’ll keep you posted.
Me: Protect my boy.
Bright: With my life.
Me: Don’t let it go that far.
Bright: Love you too.
Me: You good?
Cyler: Yeah. Except for those sirens, it’s too quiet.
Me: Be smart. I owe you a raise.
Cyler: Was the case before the gunshots, boss.
Me: Yeah, yeah.
“Sheriff,” Emberleigh begins. “My father loves his grandson. Remember that if you have to apprehend him.”
Ralph’s mouth drops open. “You think this is your dad?”
She simply nods as her throat bobs. “I do. Grief at losing my sister has left him a shell of a man. I’m not defending him. Lock him up for this shit, because no one sane would send a sniper when they miss a child.”
“Em—” I start.
“No, Braxton. He deserves to be put away for life for his attempts, if not for the delivery man.”
“Ralph?” I call. “I respect you. I always have. But I’m going to ask you and Sam to leave the ranch now.”
“Braxton, that’s not a good idea.”
“Sir, gonna protect my family. Given another thirty seconds to think about it, you’d recognize I’m protecting your career and, more importantly, your lives by asking you to move outside the gates.”
“You’re no vigilante, son.”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
“I have all the experience in this area,” he continues.
“Yes, sir, you do. So use it. But do it off my property, Sheriff.”
“Brax—”
“Might be worth taking a tour of the Veramendi Conservancy.”
“What the—” But his gaze snaps to mine and the steel in his voice matches the light dawning in his eyes. “Great idea, Braxton. Sam and I will do that. In the meantime, I hope not to see you again today.”
“Same to you, sir.” I look from Ralph to Sam. “Sam,” I say on a nod.
Emberleigh
“What are you doing?” I ask as Braxton shoves the two officers out the back door. “What was that about?”
He looks at me before hurrying past me to the kitchen table where I laid his pistol. He extends it. “This stays on you and with you until the next time you see me. Do not hesitate if you need it.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face.
“Braxton.” It comes out as a whisper.
He holds my cheek. “Don’t know what I did to get so lucky to have you.
Never said it, though it’s true. You’re easy to love and I do.
Love you, that is. Wish I could tell you that while I’m inside you.
The next time I say it, I will be. And not to rush this moment, because I really don’t want to, but I have to go. ”
“What?”
“Which part, baby? The ‘I love you’ part? Or the ‘I have to go’ part?”
I drop my gaze. Last night was bliss. Today has been hell. Shit. The last twenty-four hours have been some of the worst of my life, aside from losing my sister.
“I don’t like this. It feels like a trap. Not to be all woo-woo, but it feels all wrong.”
“Agree. Got your phone?” he asks.
“It’s not set up yet.”
“Get after that. Going to need to be able to get in touch with you. Need a promise from you, Emberleigh. Under no circumstances do you leave this house. That’s none. Not hearing I’ve been shot. Not hearing Colt is gone. None. Okay?”
“Like hell I’m promising you that!”
“Emberleigh,” he all but growls.
“Braxton.” I meet him tit for tat, hands firmly planted at my hips, chin jutted.
“Baby, promise me.”
“No.”
“I need to know you’re safe.”
“Then afford me the same!” That shuts him up. “You can’t ask me for something you’re not willing to give.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“Am I allowed to do the same?”
“Not going to lose you. Not going to allow Colt to either.”
I stamp my foot. I don’t mean to come off childish, but he’s hit me in the gut and in the heart. “Fine, but I reserve the right to change my mind.”
“Not today, baby. Tomorrow, that’s your prerogative. Today you make me a promise I can rely on while I go hunting.”
Hunting. He says hunting. “Nothing’s in season, Braxton.”
He takes my mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. “Keep your word, Emberleigh. I’m keeping mine.”
“Which one is that?”
“The one where I tell you I love you while moving inside you.”
While I stand there dumbstruck, he heads out the back way that the sheriff and the deputy took just a few minutes ago.
I lock the doors, set the alarm, draw the curtains, and grab my new phone. I’ll have to reset it later. I don’t have the time to restore it. I switch it on and see what looks like my device without anything I need or want or love on it.
Maybe I have all the time in the world. But I can’t know that and I can’t afford to have it tied up in case I need it.
I sit and I wait. A better woman would do something productive. Ask someone on the ranch how things are going or what they may need or if there’s anything I can do.
Instead, I wait.
I panic and wait.
I listen and wait.
I chew my thumbnail and wait.
I pace and wait.
I pray and wait.
I just fucking wait.
I’m so jittery that when my phone finally buzzes, I jump. It clatters to the hard tile floor and I hold my breath hoping I haven’t cracked two in as many days.
Nine digit number: I’m hit. Call 911. Protect Colt.
Fuck!
It could be Braxton or Brighton.
Shit, it could be Elias or Pop.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“Ranger ranch. Someone’s been shot.”
“That call has been responded to.”
“It was just called in?”
“Less than an hour ago,” her voice is almost mechanical.
“This is a different one. It’s family. I need an ambulance. Now!” I rattle off the address.
“Stay on the line, please. Which building on the ranch?”
“I— I don’t know. I can find out by the time you get here. Hurry!” I hang up and run to the bedroom before realizing my shoes are already on. I have the pistol in my pocket, but it’s heavy and sliding out when my phone rings.
“Yes?”
“You hung up.”
“I did.”
“We weren’t done,” the disembodied voice says in a bored tone.
“What else do you need?”
“The building on the ranch.”
“I’ll get it for you asap. I have to go!” I disconnect again and ignore the call as it rings again.
My phone vibrates again, and I’m almost wishing for the silence of the last few hours when another text comes through.
Nine digit number: Emberleigh, get to safety. Protect Colt.
That one has a Dallas area code and is probably one of my parents’ numbers—who knows which since nothing is effing programmed in this stupid new phone.
I scream at the top of my lungs.
I need to know who’s hurt.
Me: Where are you?
Nine digit number: …
“Fuck!”
The bubbles never stop.
A response never comes.