82. Owning the Fucking Room
OWNING THE FUCKING ROOM
brIGHTON
“I want to tell them exactly what to do with their summons.” I stand and pace from my seat in Pop’s living room, staring between Pop and Eli.
“All due respect, darlin’, you have the right, but there’s no wisdom in it. Listen to Eli. He’s the expert.”
“Always the girl being told not to speak,” I huff under my breath, but there’s no anger in it.
“Like that’s ever worked.” Pop’s eyeroll is tempered by his smile.
“Bright?” Eli calls before doing it a second time. “We need to prep for this. As sharp as you are, it isn’t in your best interest to come off that way.”
I gasp. What? He’s adding insult to injury.
“Let me finish. You will not be sympathetic if the jury sees you as annoyed by being there or defending yourself as if you’re above the law. We get one chance to make them walk in your shoes. You’re going to have to set that scene.”
“I get it, Eli. They need to see that Colt was vulnerable, we were sitting ducks, that we had no control, and were at the mercy of mad men. I stepped up—not because I wanted to—but because I was forced to. To protect my nephew, to save my own life… Despite my fears, not because of them. Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly.”
I don’t want to go back to that place. Hearing Colt’s screams, feeling the horses fear. The ambulance sirens that haunt my dreams.
A shiver runs down my body.
“I’ll ask questions. I want you to pause and think strategically before you respond. Don’t react. Don’t let anyone push your buttons,” Eli says.
That’s not my strength, generally. I fire, then aim—verbally anyway. And Eli knows that as well as anyone. He also knows I won’t fly off the handle. I’m hot tempered but not stupid.
He lobs question after question at me. It’s exhausting. They start to feel pointed and too personal. I don’t like this at all.
He “rests his case,” and that’s the moment Pop steps in. He ingratiates himself, asking details we’ve been over. He makes light of some things and gets me to let my hair down. He asks details we’ve been over more than once tonight. “Did you feel threatened?”
“Yes.”
“Earlier you said you knew you were threatened. Were you preparing for an attack? Were you waiting—vigilante style—to tip the scales in your family’s favor?”
“I—” I start.
“Do I understand you were a competitive markswoman for years?”
“I was.”
“So you’re a trained killing machine?”
“You walked right into that one, Bright. Try that again.” He looks between me and Pop.
“Miss Ranger, were you a competitive markswoman?”
“Years ago. I was also a competitive barrel racer. I don’t see how either one factors into the moment in question when my nephew was being hunted.”
“Better,” Eli pipes in. “This time, dial back the anger, dial up the vulnerability.”
“I’m weary.”
“I understand, sweet girl, but we only have tonight to prepare, so let’s keep going.” Pop encourages me before turning on me as if he’s rehearsing for a role on a weekly legal drama.
“Miss Ranger, were you a competitive shooter?”
“I was, but it’s been many years now.”
“Does one lose the skill?”
“I guess, like most things, skills are sharper the more they’re used. I’m definitely out of practice and certainly not within striking distance of any decent competitor.”
“So you don’t deny you’re a hell of a marksman?”
“I wouldn’t define myself that way, Sir.”
“How would you define yourself?”
“As someone who did what she must because it was a matter of my nephew’s life, of my life, or our imminent deaths.”
“Why imminent? That sounds overly dramatic.”
“Sir, I never want to be on the working end of a gun. Ever. But in the presence of my nephew…” I intentionally let the words hang. “Have you ever stared into the pipe of a pistol as it’s pointed at your head? Imminent is as close a word as I can use to describe that moment.”
“Excellent,” Eli cuts in. “This is exactly where you want to be. Don’t let him walk you into a trap about your shooting skills. You’re too good. I don’t want him to bring up a skill that would’ve allowed you to nullify the threat instead of eliminating it.”
“Kimp?” Eli turns to my dad. “Are you comfortable?”
“Not even close.” He shakes his head. “Not even close.”
“What is it, Pop?”
“I can’t protect you tomorrow any more than I could protect you on that horrible day.
” He rubs his side where he was pierced with a bullet and stares into nothingness, almost as if talking to himself.
“I have no way to shield you and no peace knowing that. Couldn’t save your Mom…
Can’t save you.” He turns to Eli. “Promise me you’ll do everything you can, Elias. ”
“Of course I will. Only thing I can’t do is keep her temper in check.” He turns to study me before returning to focus on Pop. “Only she can promise you that.”
My nod is solemn. I know what’s at stake.
I’m no fool.
The next morning, I throw on the black dress I wore to Mom’s funeral—the one I swore I’d never wear again.
I should’ve trashed it that day. I definitely will tonight.
It’s not comfortable, and I don’t want to fidget in it all day, but I can’t go to this hearing in mucked-up boots and Levi’s, so I’m doing what I can.
This dress serves another purpose. It keeps me somber and reminds me of my promise to Pop. Only I can save myself now, and I need to remember how.
Eli hands me a travel mug of coffee and scratches Luna between the ears. “Be back soon, girl.”
The man is smart. I knew that, but he proves it over and over again. He woke me with his mouth between my legs and, while I was still cresting the wave of that orgasm, thrust inside me. I had a second while he rode me hard.
Two orgasms and then coffee. The man isn’t just smart, he’s a genius.
Our ride into town is silent, just as our morning has been. It isn’t tense silence. I’m stuck in my head and, if I had to guess, I’d say Eli is too. I need to steady my focus and he’s allowing that.
He squeezes my hand in his as he turns into a parking spot in the town square. When he’s done, he turns to me. “Where’s your head? Are you ready for this?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You seem melancholy.”
“I promise.” I hold his eyes before dropping my gaze to our joined hands. “I’m thinking about Mom and, oh yeah, I’m burning this dress tonight.”
“Okay, darlin’. What do you need from me?”
“Stay by my side today?”
“Without a doubt. Let’s go.”
I grab the door handle and exit the vehicle.
“Time to Ranger up,” he says.
“It’s weird when it’s not Pop saying it.”
“Time to Ranger up, sweet girl.” Pop’s voice comes from behind me and tears threaten to form.
I spin to him, caught off guard that he would be here. “You’re here?
He scoffs. “As if I would let you do this alone.”
He’s in his dress jeans and boots, but has added a sports coat over his starched shirt. His hat completes the look. He’s every Texas man. And his presence will remind them of that.
We comply with all the security measures and are led into a small meeting room with a table and six chairs.
In my head, I’d pictured a courtroom and a judge in flowing black robes.
In this scenario, I was the inmate in the orange jumpsuit that didn’t have access to decent hair products.
Instead, we’re greeted by one man and a recording device.
“Percy.” Pop offers a hand. “Good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Too long for sure.”
“You know my daughter, Brighton.” Pop gestures as if he isn’t making an intro at a freaking summons.
“I do.” Percy turns to me and extends a hand. “How are you, Dr. Ranger?”
“I’ve been better.” I look around the room. “I’m more at ease in work boots and with my horses.” I offer him a smile when my eyes come back to his.
“We haven’t met.” He extends a hand that Eli takes. “Percy Krause.”
“Elias Finchley. Nice to meet you.”
“Let’s sit,” the District Attorney gestures to the chairs.
“We normally would do this with jurors present, but some have been sick and, with the holidays barreling down on us, I wanted to get this done. We’re basically simulcasting this like a Zoom meeting, if you agree, with the caveat that we may need to ask additional questions later if we have any technology issues. ”
I look to Eli. At his nod, I affirm the DA’s request. “If that’s your preference, I’m fine with that.”
He flicks on a button, and I look at the camera, knowing I have no body language feedback and Eli has no way to gauge reaction. I also realize that I cannot let my guard down because I’m talking with Pop’s old friend instead of being grilled in court.
“Let’s begin. Dr. Ranger, please state your name and occupation for the record.”
I do.
“How long has it been since you lived at your father’s address?”
“I was eighteen when I left for college and twenty-five when I finished veterinary school. I was home for holidays and summers during that time. I bought a home three years ago.”
“But you go home often?”
I smile smally. “I’m there five or six days a week. I’m our business’s veterinarian. Horses aren’t nine-to-five, so yes, I’m home more than I’m, well, home.”
“You still consider it home?”
“Yes, sir. I always will.”
Pop puffs out his chest in pride.
“On the day in question, October twelfth, were you there working?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was anything unusual that day?”
I shiver. “Everything was unusual that day.”
“How so?”
“We’re a working ranch. We breed. We stable. We break—though I hate that term. We train is a better way of saying it. There’s a routine to it that was interrupted that day.”
“Interrupted how?”
“There had been threats against my brother and against my nephew. They were credible and unnerving. Do you have horses, Mr. Krause?”
The DA looks taken aback as if I’m not allowed to ask questions.
“No, I don’t.”
“Horses are mirrors. They mirror emotion. It’s almost as if they absorb joy or fear. My normally playful, relaxed horses were edgy that day. I suspect it was the sirens among other things.”
“The sirens?”