Protecting Jess

Chapter 7 - Checkpoint

Shaun waved out the window as he turned his truck around in the front driveway. The officer who had replaced him stood on the front veranda in the dying light, Jess uncomfortable beside him, her arms crossed. He watched her out his rearview as he drove down the laneway, and marveled at how well she had recovered from her initial shock of learning she still had a mother, and that now, both her parents were—

Shit. A normal person would've been a gibbering idiot by now, not planning out how to secure the ranch, making her statement, dealing with the media, and ensuring rifles and ammunition were ready.

He had no doubt she could shoot better than him, the way she handled the long guns they pulled from the gun safe. Safe gun storage was paramount, and Kevin had a cabinet near the side door that latched, and the guns were unloaded, with ammo above them on a shelf. If it came down to it, he would rather easily load rifles that were within reach, rather than ensure laws were followed to the letter in the heat of an emergency. These were people who he could trust to be safe with guns. He'd noted as much in his report back, at least.

She turned just as he reached the gate and strode into the house, and he swallowed the trepidation back, wondering if he was feeling the need to protect her, or that momentary spark of attraction when they were standing by the fence was confusing the two. He wanted to avoid labeling it and giving it life. Now was not the time.

But the truth was, he was intrigued by her. That, and he respected the hell out of her for her ability to refocus herself. She would make a very good cop, he reasoned. She'd also look really good in a uniform.

He adjusted himself in his seat. That was no way to be thinking about her. He had a job to do, not flirt with his protective detail.

He turned onto the highway, and slowed through a checkpoint before town. No sign of the shooter had turned up, and his radio had stayed silent except for the usual chatter. He recognized Stewart and Gordon, and hung an arm out the window as they beamed their flashlight into the car.

"Shaun. Hey, coming back from Crampton's place?" Gordon said, shutting his off, hooking it back onto his belt. "Everything okay out there?"

Shaun nodded. "Yeah. Going to stay out as liaison. Nice family. A real shame. Chief come by at all?"

Gordon shook his head no and grimaced. "I know of them. My sister rides the same circuit. She always says nice things about the daughter there, Jessica, I think? Damned fine rider, according to her."

The picture of Jess in the saddle as they rode back hit Shaun's brain and he quirked a smile. "Yeah, I imagine she is. She's a tough cookie too. I hear updated info on our shooter came through from my report, so you know the details?"

Gordon nodded and stood up, motioning behind him as the headlights of a car shon off his badge. "Shitty. No one needs to hear one of their parents are dead, shot by the other one. Not like that."

"No. Suppose not," was all Shaun could say. Shitty was an understatement.

Gordon waved the car behind Shaun up, so Shaun moved on, and turned his radio down, the crackle of activity from the checkpoints irritating him. He wanted quiet. He needed to think. Or not think, just process. He also hadn't slept yet and it was starting to get to him.

He turned onto his street just before nine. He looked at the small, square wartime house he rented, the shutters flaking white paint, the overgrown bush by the front porch, the lawn brown and dead, awaiting winter. He instantly missed home. The horses, the farmhouse, the creak of the floors and the smell of leather and hay had hit him harder than he thought. He sighed and got out, listening for crickets, but hearing the wail and hiss of a cat, then a garbage can topple over.