Page 75 of Fall to Me
“I have a private investigator looking for him and a security detail on her.”
Rhett gives me a curious look. “Does she know about the security detail?”
I shake my head.
He chuckles and jumps back into the Polaris, releasing the brake and shifting it into drive.
“God help you if she finds out you have people watching her. You did good, son,” he says as I slide in beside him. Pointing to a compartment in front of my seat, he smirks. “Sorry about your ear. You might find a band aid in there.”
“I’ll be alright,” I grit out, dabbing the tip of my ear with the end of my shirt.
I’m not about to put on a band aid like a fucking pussy in front of this man. That crazy fucker can lie all he wants; I know he would have killed me. We take off and head right. As we approach a fence, he shines the spotlight on the cows, finding them all doing well. He pulls away from the fence, heading left, then cuts back until we’re deep into the woods.
“We need to check the deer feeders. You hunt?”
“No, sir.”
“You do now. We roll at 4 am. Know how to shoot?”
I shake my head.
Rhett huffs. “Alright, City Boy, let’s see if we can’t find those coyotes lurking around the feeders and make them into target practice before they get ahold of my animals.”
The coyotes haven’t made a peep since he fired that shot at my head. We come into a clearing and stop. Rhett kills the engine and lights. My eyes adjust, and I can finally make out the deer feeders in front of us.
We wait for what feels like forever before he taps me on the arm. He hands me the gun and silently walks me through what to do without saying a word. There are five of them, wandering around, sniffing the ground, and looking this way and that.
Looking through the thermal scope, I line up the shot. I’ve never done this before, and I only know what I’ve seen in movies, but it can’t be that hard. The coyote is right in the center target of the scope, looking around with its ears perked up. I take the shot and miss causing them to scatter.
“Dammit! Sorry.”
After the way he’s treated me, I shouldn’t want to impress him, but I guess there’s just something in me that wants my father-in-law’s approval. I didn’t want to let him down.
“Don’t worry. They’ll be back. They like to prey on the fawn. Give ‘em a few.”
We sit and we wait. And wait. And wait.
Howling echoes in the distance, and I lift the gun to look through the scope, then nudge Rhett with my elbow. Nodding my head to the coyotes, I try to hand him the gun, but he pushes it back to me. I hold the rifle against my shoulder and take aim.
“Breathe in and hold it . . .” he whispers. “Now, take the shot.”
I do as he says—my heart pounding at a million beats per minute—and pull the trigger. One drops—legs up—and the other four take off. Rhett takes the gun from me and starts toward the coyote. He fires another shot before getting out and throwing the coyote in the back. We spend another hour hunting, then take off towards the front of the property.
He must see the look on my face as he hops out of the vehicle to hang them on the fence because he turns to me.
“It’s not for nothing, son. These things prey on our livestock, and they carry diseases. Don’t feel bad for protecting the farm.”
Rhett jumps back in beside me and takes off to tend to the rest of their animals—chicken, pigs, goats, and horses. Seeing they’re all fine, we park back in the barn and head inside the house. River sits on the couch she previously swore off, talking to her mom. She takes one look at me, bloody and probably looking like a mess, and she’s out of her seat.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Uh.” I look at Rhett, and he smirks. “Your dad was teaching me how to shoot, and one of the shells clipped my ear.”
Not a complete lie, but not the complete truth either. She leaves and comes back with a first aid kit, setting it on the table. Marcy grabs my arm and leads me to the dining room table, sitting me down in an old oak chair.
Turning my head, River checks out my ear.
“This isn’t from a casing,” she says, taking gauze and an alcohol pad out of the box. “It’s from a bullet. Dad, what the hell?”
