Protecting Jess

Chapter 2 - Dead is Dead

The wound had been instantly fatal. That's what he'd said as they rode back to the ranch, snaking through the foothills near where he'd found her. He explained that her father had been shot, from point blank range.

No one survives that.

He wasn't the only one killed, there were others, but he hadn't said how many. The Lieutenant had come to find her father's next of kin, and her aunt had apparently said she wasn't about and sent him out to her uncle. He'd said that he had offered to wait. She figured her Uncle had shown him Champ and told him to go out and get her. He viewed solutions simply, and likely didn't want to deal with having anyone hovering while they waited for her to come back.

She wondered if her Aunt and Uncle were prepared to deal with the mess that her father left behind. Given how little they talked about her past, Uncle had sent this officer out because he didn't want to be the one to tell her he was gone. They were always quiet about her family. Never explained anything to her. Just that she was there, and not with her real parents, and it was a gift from God.

She had always sensed they avoided talking about it out of shame. It didn't matter, this was home. Always had been.

The Lieutenant also said her father didn't suffer. It was of little consequence to her. All that echoed in her head was the word Dead. She didn't say much, couldn't. How was she supposed to react to news like this, about a man she hadn't talked to in seventeen years? What was she supposed to say? Or do? She had no idea what the proper response would be in a situation like this, so she gave none, and simply turned for home.

When they started back, she refused to let him push Champ to gallop, knowing full well he would be blown, and likely come up sore tomorrow. So they jogged and loped along the fastest route she knew, taking frequent breaks. It wasn't as if it would change anything. The horse was not worth soring over something that didn't need hurrying over. Dead was dead. She didn't dawdle though, wanting to avoid talking further to the unanticipated company.

They slowed to cross a small creek, and as the horses entered some thicket on the edge of it, the dense brush pushed at the tops of their heads. Jess grew more and more irritated, swatting away twigs, ducking around branches. Couldn't this have waited until she got home? Was it that important he ride out to get her?

The officer halted Champ, and she turned in the saddle to see why. Their eyes met, and she looked away, uncomfortable as his sharpened on her.

"You haven't asked what happened," he commented matter of factly while he extracted a loop on his uniform from a low branch. Okay, so he was perplexed at her behavior, and she gave him that. She would be too, had she ridden out onto the prairie to find the next of kin of a dead man, to bring the news, and said kin didn't bat an eyelash.

She shrugged. "Does it matter? He's dead. I'll find out soon enough."

"I take it you weren't close?" he asked, nudging his horse abreast of hers, halting again.

She looked away, through Wally's ears. How could you explain all the years of nothingness, preceded by sadness and abandonment? How did you sum up the most horrible lack of a relationship in your life with a word? She wanted to scream at him that she didn't even know the man, could only remember the smell of his aftershave and the big blue truck he drove away in after leaving her with Aunt and Uncle. Her anger caught her chest and tightened it. Instead, she looked back to his eyes, noting the flicker of concern masked by professional detachment, and mirrored it.

"No," she clipped, and clucked to move Wally along.

-----

Shaun watched her stocky horse step lightly through the creek bed and a wave of sadness enveloped him. The tang of sweat from his own horse punctuated his senses, giving him pause to remember how good it felt to be in a saddle, and how strange a situation he now found himself in.

Her back was ramrod straight, the creases of her oilskin sliding sideways across her shoulders, moving and bunching as she rode. Her ease in the saddle suggested a lifelong love of just this, and he felt guilty for invading her sanctuary, instead of waiting for her return like he ought've. The temptation her uncle had given him, showing him the gelding in the paddock and saying "Saddle's in the far room, bridle above it. Marked Champ. Might want to go git 'er before the vultures descend." was too much. It had been a long morning, and he needed the reprieve from the images from the crime scene.

Her hair was gathered up in a messy ponytail, whipped about in the breeze, strands everywhere. He pictured the face of her father, and mentally superimposed it over hers, and thankfully could find no similarities. A different life had given her the hint of joyful laugh lines and freckles from her time out in the sun. He was oddly thankful she hadn't had to see her father's end. Even if, at her reaction, it didn't matter.

"Not far now," she called back over her shoulder, as they moved back out of the creek and onto a gravel road. He urged the old gelding up beside her, and her glance slid over him once more.

"Good to hear," he said, and shifted in the saddle. "I haven't ridden in a long time."

A sound from her turned his head to take in her profile. She was attractive, and despite his reason for being where he was at that moment, he admitted it. Of all the things he normally noticed about a woman, their nose was not high on the list, but he cataloged the gentle slope down to the end, pink with the cool air matching her cheeks despite it. Her lips were slightly parted and just as flush, chapped by the wind. The reaction he had to her took him by surprise, and he rubbed one hand over the back of his neck in private embarrassment.

"Why'd you come get me?" she clipped out, bringing him back to her, and not his own inner chastisement.

"I figured it might be better if I found you first, rather than you find yourself met by the news people on the road if you didn't come back until later," he replied.

"News people," She said, her tone indicating disbelief.

"Media will be all over the place," he answered matter-of-factly. "You might need to be prepared to make a statement at some point."

She stopped her horse and turned in the saddle, her fists tight on the reins.

"Why in God's name should I be making a statement about the death of a man I didn't even know?" she hissed through clenched teeth, showing the temper he had wondered about. She set her jaw, blinking, and her nostrils flared as she calmed herself down. "Why would anyone care about why he specifically died? I mean, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?"

Shaun cleared his throat and kept her eyes with his. Maybe she didn't need to be told gently. She had said she didn't want to know, and he'd intended not to tell her until they were safely back with her family, but it was plain to see she was curious, if for nothing else than to reconcile that despite the seeming lack of relationship, she was now involved. Death did that. It brought people out of their comfort zone in the relationship. It made them say goodbye, even if it was to someone who they never knew, and that was fundamentally hard if you had baggage, like this girl did.

"Miss Nichols, as I said before, your father was at work, at the plastics plant, where the shooting took place. The assailant killed fourteen people before evading our tactical squad and escaping."

"Fourteen?" her eyes went a bit bigger, and her anger drained from her face like a sink full of water. "You didn't... Wow. That many."

News like that would affect anyone, he thought, and cringed at her lowering of defenses for what he said next. He had an urge to put a hand out to hers, wondering if she would accept the comfort, or if it would be pushed away. He didn't know her well enough, so he kept his hands to himself.

He took a deep breath. "Miss Nichols, we're fairly certain your father was the target of the attack."