Chapter 32
“Sheriff,” Travis drawled. “What brings you all the way out here?”
Micah kept his voice level. “You been home all afternoon, Travis?”
Travis tilted his head, the toothpick shifting to the other side of his mouth. “Yeah. Why?”
“Someone fired shots from the woods behind your property. Nearly hit three people.”
Travis’s eyebrows rose—just enough to register interest without committing to concern. “That right? Must’ve been hunters. Happens sometimes.”
“This close to a residential property?” Micah asked.
Travis shrugged. “People don’t always pay attention to boundaries.”
Micah held his gaze. “Anyone been out in your woods today?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Your brothers around?”
“Jared’s in town. Kyle’s inside.” Travis leaned against the doorframe appearing casual and unbothered. “You need to talk to him?”
“Not yet.” Micah let the words sit for a beat. “Mind if I take a look at your firearms?”
The amusement in Travis’s eyes sharpened. “You got a warrant, Sheriff?”
“Not yet.”
“Then no. I don’t mind—I just can’t let you.” Travis’s smile widened. “You understand, I’m sure.”
Micah didn’t move. Didn’t look away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let Travis sit in it, let him know that this wasn’t going away.
“Someone fired two rounds near your property. I’ve got the casings.
I’ve got boot prints. And I’ve got the trajectory.
” Micah took a step closer, his voice dropping.
“If I find out anyone on this property was involved, I’ll be back with a warrant, and I’ll press charges.
Reckless endangerment at minimum. Attempted assault if I can make it stick. ”
Travis’s smile didn’t falter, but something behind it shifted. “Well . . . it’s a good thing it wasn’t anyone on this property then.”
Micah held his gaze another long moment before stepping back. “I’ll be in touch.”
Before leaving, he glanced at Travis’s feet. He wore boots with fresh mud on them. He would bet the print that shoe left was the same as the print he’d found in the woods.
He stored that information to the back of his mind.
Then he turned and walked off the porch, Wyatt and Thunder falling into step beside him.
They didn’t speak until they’d crossed back over the fence line and were deep enough into the trees that the house was out of sight.
“He knows exactly what happened,” Wyatt said. “Most likely, he was a part of it.”
“I agree.”
However, without a confession or a witness or a matching firearm, Micah couldn’t prove it.
Not yet.
At least he had the casings and boot prints. If he could get a warrant—if he could match those casings to a rifle on the Hendersons’ property—then he’d have enough.
He didn’t have answers yet.
But he was getting closer.
Naomi stood at the back window, one hand pressed against the glass, the other holding Grace against her chest.
She’d been standing there for almost an hour. Maybe longer.
Good Boy sat at her feet, ears forward as if he knew something was wrong also.
Her mom moved quietly in the kitchen behind her, putting away dishes. The soft clink of plates was the only sound besides the old clock ticking in the hallway.
Caleb paced the space as if unable to settle.
Millie had tried to get Naomi and Caleb to sit down. To eat something.
But neither Caleb nor Naomi had listened.
Micah and Wyatt were out there. Walking through woods where someone had just fired at them. Where someone might still be waiting.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Come back.”
Good Boy’s tail thumped once against the floor.
Then his ears perked higher.
Naomi’s breath caught.
She leaned closer to the glass, scanning the tree line beyond the fence.
Movement.
Two figures emerged from the woods, Thunder ahead of them.
Micah. Wyatt.
Relief hit her so hard her knees nearly buckled.
“They’re back,” she called over her shoulder.
Her mom appeared, dish towel in hand. “Thank God.”
Naomi crossed the living room in quick strides and pulled open the side door.
With Grace still in her arms, she stepped onto the driveway, Good Boy right behind her, and watched as Micah and Wyatt cleared the back gate and started across the yard.
Micah saw her and lifted one hand. The small gesture said enough: I’m okay. We’re okay.
Naomi’s chest loosened, just a fraction.
The men reached the screened-in porch, and Micah’s eyes went to her first—then to Grace, as if checking that they were both still there, still safe.
“What happened?” Naomi asked, her voice steadier than she felt. “Did you find anything?”
They stepped into the house and gave a recap on everything.
Wyatt shook his head as they finished. “I’m telling you—Travis knows exactly what happened out there.”
Naomi’s arms tightened around Grace. The Hendersons had been nothing but trouble since the day her family bought this property. Harassment. Intimidation. Travis hitting her SUV.
But firing guns on their property?
That was different. That crossed a line.
“What if one of those bullets had hit someone?” Naomi’s voice came out sharper than she intended.
Micah’s expression softened. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
“This isn’t acceptable,” Naomi said.
“They won’t get away with it. I’ve got the casings. I’ve got the boot prints. If I can match those to a rifle on Henderson property, I’ll have enough for charges.”
Naomi wanted to believe that would be enough. Wanted to trust that the law would protect them, that evidence and warrants and proper procedure would keep her family safe.
But the bad feeling in her gut—the one that had settled there the moment she’d heard those gunshots—didn’t ease.
It sat heavy and cold, like a stone she couldn’t swallow.
Because the Hendersons didn’t care about evidence or consequences. They cared about this land. About what they’d lost. About making the Kings pay for taking it.
And people like that didn’t stop until they got what they wanted.
Or until someone made them stop.