“Since that’s not possible, we’ll have to take extra precautions for a while. Would you be comfortable if I had Mr. Torrente take you home for the time being, Mrs. Lambert?”
She shook her head. “I’m protected, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I have a CCP and a Springfield Hellcat nine-millimeter in my tote. I don’t advertise it, but I’m not afraid to use it. Since my husband passed away, I take my personal safety very seriously.”
My expression must have shown shock, because Mrs. Lambert gave an uncharacteristic giggle. “My son calls me his pistol-packin’ momma.” After that comment, I joined her.
“So, that’s anoon the ride home? Noted. I’ll have to insist that Mr. Torrente or Darren Horne escort you to your car when you’re ready to leave for the day. Call the guard desk when you turn into the garage in the morning so they can monitor your arrival on the cameras to ensure your safety.” Thankfully, Mrs. Lambert nodded in agreement.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” She began gathering her things to return to her desk, dismissing me.
“Uh, please send that email and ask Senator Brady to drop by when he has a chance. Thank you, Mrs. Lambert.” She nodded and closed the door.
I needed to get my shit together and get to work, so I glanced at the call sheet and attempted to reschedule my week. If I were in DC to work, I’d damn well work.
Maybe it would keep Jericho Hess off my mind...
Chapter Fourteen
Jericho
Tires crunching on gravel caught my attention at eight that morning. I was just taking the saddle off Trixie, having taken the old gal on a sunrise ride to check the fences.
Thankfully, there were none in need of repair, and all the gates were still secure. I hadn’t ridden the fences since before Bethany Roberts came to help out from southern Virginia.
I’d done little else except mess with the horses and complete some repairs around the barn that I’d been neglecting, and it was time to quit jacking around and do some actual work. My heart wasn’t in it, and I didn’t know how to move forward since Sean Fitzpatrick had walked out the front door. Damn if I didn’t miss that man.
I stepped out of the barn to see John Langer get out of the passenger side of his pickup with his son, Cody, sitting behind the wheel. I hadn’t had the chance to call them yet, and for an instant, I worried I was about to get my ass kicked. John met me pound for pound and inch for inch, but he had two good legs and feet. He also had fifteen years on me, so we were probably pretty evenly matched.
I grabbed the pitchfork I used to clean stalls, heading out of the barn and stopping by my truck where my Mossberger was resting behind my seat. My Glock 22 was in the living room gun safe.
“Jericho, how are you? I haven’t seen you around much lately,” John said, extending his hand.
I moved the pitchfork to my left hand so I could shake. “John, I’m good. How about you? I’ve got a full barn, so there’s not much time for anything else. I guess the fence-building business is good.”
“Yeah, my schedule’s full up for the summer and early fall, thanks for asking. Look, Jericho, I wanted to talk to you about what happened here the other night.”
John turned toward the truck and motioned for Cody to get out, but the kid gave a stern shake of his head. I damn near laughed.
“Is he okay?” I had yet to learn if I was going to be charged with any kind of crime because Mom and I owned the property where the kid broke in and Bethany shot him.
“Stubborn as hell and petrified of your horse hand. She around?”
“Naw. She was a friend from southern Virginia who was lookin’ out for the place and Mom while I went to DC. I hate that she shot him, John, but she was defending my stock and my mom. She was well within her rights to do it, but I hate that he broke into my barn in the first place. Are you lookin’ to press charges against her? She was acting under the Castle Doctrine.”
I did my damn research to make sure Bethany was justified in shooting the kid, especially since she didn’t use lethal force. When I called Sheriff Jackson to check my understanding at six this morning, he confirmed I could interpret the law that way and asked if I wanted to press charges against Cody. The kid was sixteen. I really didn’t want to ruin his life.
“That’s what Sheriff Jackson said when he dropped by. I’d like us to reach a compromise for Cody’s punishment. It’s really my fault because he wanted to go to Ocean City for the Fourth of July, and I told him we didn’t have the money. I shot off my mouth about Mindy Spriggs owing me money for building the fence around her property.
“My genius took that to mean if I got paid, he could go, which wasn’t my intention at all. I want his lazy ass to come work for me over the summer, but his mom’s giving me shit about it, so I had another idea.”
John leaned against the side of my truck bed, glancing over his shoulder at Cody, and a second later, we heard the truck locks engage. I chuckled.
I leaned the pitchfork against the truck door, pretty sure I wasn’t looking at an ass beating. John Langer had the reputation around town of being an honest man, but when someone crossed his family, maybe he had an explosive temper? I had no idea.
Before I was deployed to South Korea, I’d hired John to put up a nice vinyl fence around Mom and Dad’s front yard, and he’d done a fantastic job. It had been my Christmas gift to them shortly before my life was blown up—literally.
“Sheriff Jackson called me while I was on the jobsite and suggested I bring Cody over here to apologize and offer that he’ll work for you as a sort of probation. He said you weren’t really interested in pressing charges, and given the situation, he said that woman wasn’t wrong.
“Jackson told me to be grateful she only used bird shot, and I am. He can do stuff like clean stalls or mow grass. He needs another week to lift anything heavy. I should thank you for using small shells. They plucked a hundred pellets out of him, and he’s still sore.” John moved his hand around his gut where the kid had been shot.
