At Long Last; Book 4 of the Long Ranch Series

by Michel Prince

  “Ashleigh I need you in my office,” Harper ordered as she gave Hamilton a nod while passing. “Bring the Rockford file.”

  The message was clear. Harper felt petrified and was putting on a show. Ashleigh scrambled to retrieve a random file and followed Harper into her office. “Sorry Hamilton, this case is coming up in two days. Just a few housekeeping items I’m sure.”

  Harper’s tears streaked down her cheeks as she sat in her high backed desk chair. It was turned to the side, but the wet trail down her mocha skin was unmistakable. “Aren’t I the blushing bride,” she said and reached for a few tissues to clean her face. “I’m sorry, just seeing Hamilton grinning like a damn half witted cat set me off again. I said I wasn’t coming in, but I need to.”

  “You know I can’t—”

  “You can’t give me specifics,” Harper interrupted and turned her chair forward. “Sit, because I have a hypothetical for you.”

  “Nothing good can come of this.” Ashleigh sat in the chair across from Harper and set a file on the desk. Rockford file had been their go to when they needed to talk. No one in the office had a clue. If they’d thought about it, the fact the Rockford file hadn’t been settled in over six years might have been a bit of a red flag.

  Pain seared Ashleigh’s chest as she gazed at her friend. This should have been her happiest moment. Instead of sitting at a desk worrying about her husband’s future, she should be on a beach sunning her baby bump. Now she was trying to stay composed enough to stay within the law.

  “Fearing for his life, a man can chase another man off his property while yielding a firearm,” she began.

  Ashleigh stood up.

  “I’m keeping it within the bounds of hypothetical,” Harper added.

  Ashleigh backed up to the door and slowly turned the door handle then shoved it open in one hard thrust. It hit resistance that culminated in a howl of pain. She then closed the door and sat back down. “I’ll I can say is this…” Ashleigh glanced back at the door satisfied she shed her tail as she continued, “Remember how I said we don’t like Hamilton? Yeah, to get his ass moving I had to insinuate that the DA would have an opening.”

  “Oh, no.” Harper closed her eyes and breathed in deep.

  “He actually has ambition,” Ashleigh bemoaned. “I never thought slugs would win a race, but he’s trying.”

  “I’m meeting with Jason Whitmore in a few hours.”

  Ashleigh leaned back in her chair and shook her head. Sure, he’d come by last night, but that could have been the luck of the draw. Ashleigh didn’t think he was the Long’s actual lawyer. Jason had been Harper’s arch nemesis when it came to cases. He’s the one who found the drunk driving sting had been more than a coordinated police effort to cut down on traffic deaths. Part of Arthur Connelly’s push for convictions to the point where he broke the law enforcing it.

  “I know, but he’s good. Damn good. And better yet, he knows about Federated Gas and all the Connelly shit.” Harper turned her eyes down and fiddled with a pen. “Self defense, how many times have we fought that defense?”

  “How many times have you given passes for that?”

  “I looked that up last night,” she confessed. “And of all those times, only once was it to a man. I didn’t even know the guys had guns with them.”

  “What would you have done? Taken Monty’s and tore off down the street in your dress and heels?”

  “If need be,” she said. “Have the ballistics come back at least to determine whose gun did what?”

  “There were three bullets in Yahir, so now it’s a, what did what first game. You know how CC Duncan loves a puzzle,” Ashleigh said not giving away anything privileged from County Coroner Duncan’s initial findings. “The driver on the other hand had one head shot. From Miles’ gun.”

  “Shit!” Harper had tears on the edge of her eyes demanding to be released. “Is it wrong that I’m grateful? Miles is my brother now.”

  “Monty isn’t going to be charged,” Ashleigh said. “The examiners said his gun had never even been fired. At least for now.”

  “What do you mean at least for now?” Harper asked.

  “Fingerprints,” Ashleigh explained. “Just because Miles turned in the gun they linked, Hamilton isn’t convinced the gun wasn’t switched. He heard about Miles pleading on the courthouse steps to let his brother go.”

  “It was logical. Monty had to be at least a block behind them. He was making sure I was okay, Sunny and Walt didn’t take off. Clayton was about to go, but MeMaw…” Harper shook off the news and went into prosecutor mode, or was it defense attorney? What a foreign concept outside of trial prep.

  Either way, Ashleigh could see the wheels turning and knew she would be dismissed soon as Harper formulated her attack.

  “I’m going to need your help. I know it’s asking a lot. I’ve been asked to join the federal attorneys with their prosecution of Federated, Art and the like.”

  “That’s going to consume you for a decade.”

  “Possibly. I’m going to have to quit working for the DA’s office. They’ll be bringing me in full time with the feds.”

  “In Albuquerque?”

  “No, I explained I’m pregnant and with the ranch being so close to the border, they’ll have me be in charge of the investigation on the scene basically. I’ll just have to go into El Paso a few times a week for conference calls. Technology is a wonderful thing.”

  “So, when are you leaving here?” Ashleigh asked with a pang of sorrow. “You only have a handful of cases since the Vasquez case kept you busy.”

  “I’ll be handing off two of my cases and I’ll get the rest settled. I’ll be doing double duty pretty much for the next few weeks. Triple, if you count the guys’ murder cases.” A shiver shot through Harper.

  “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “I know it’s selfish and stupid, but I expected you to come with me,” Harper added. “What can I say? I sold this amazing paragod who helped me organize and research the case. Ash, I can’t go without you, well I can, but you know you’re the one who makes me look good.”

  Tightness placed a vice on Ashleigh’s heart from the confession of her favorite boss, but uprooting wasn’t as simple for her as it was for Harper. Sierra had a base and Ashleigh couldn’t remember the last time she even left Las Cruces. Commuting down to El Paso wasn’t an option and Harper didn’t even know about Sierra or the demands on Ashleigh’s schedule. She always played off her busy schedule as hot dates, not needing to make sure her sister got home safely on the bus.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have me babysitting the moron?” she asked as acid bit the back of her throat. Dammit, why couldn’t she just be single and fancy free? Oh, that’s right her parents are assholes. Even moving from one apartment to another, she needed two weeks to get her sister settled in. The office thought she’d taken off to Cancun. The truth was she was teaching her sister bus routes and going with her to make sure she knew, without Ashleigh’s prodding or pointing out. Then walking through the apartment building two dozen times until Sierra knew and wouldn’t freak out, feeling lost in the corridors.

  “You have a point. Any chance you’d be up for overtime? I know it would cut into your sex life, but I’ll buy you a toy if you come and help me at the ranch a few nights a week. On top of getting a federal paycheck.”

  “Tempting, but…you’re leaving anyway.” Ashleigh twisted and tangled her fingers. “I have a sister, she has downs, she’s highly functioning, but my sex life was a bit of a fantasy. Or stolen from romance novels I devour after she goes to sleep.”

  “Wait—you have a sister?”

  “Sierra.”

  “How old?”

  “Twenty-one, but I’m her legal guardian, have been since she was ten.” Ashleigh shifted ready to rid herself of the conversation. “Why do you think my amazing legal mind stopped at just being a paralegal, instead of going for the whole enchilada? I didn’t have the time or resources for law school.”

&
nbsp; “That explains a lot,” Harper agreed. “Something tells me you could kick ass in law school, but she’s an adult and high functioning.”

  “High functioning for her. I can’t leave her for too long without an activity. You don’t understand.”

  “Are you done giving me shit for not inviting you to my wedding?” Harper admonished.

  “Hell, no.”

  “You hid a family member.”

  “But you didn’t know that when you abandoned the only maid of honor you ever needed.”

  “You lied about hot dates.”

  “You needed my hot dates to get you through some days.”

  “Point taken,” Harper said. “But still, a sister that you’ve been raising—”

  “Okay fine, but your bitch ass could have brought me a piece of cake.”

  “We didn’t even have a cake. Before everything popped off, I did hear talk of a reception at some point. Now we just have a get my father-in-law, brother-in-law and Monty’s uncle sprung from jail party.”

  “Bail hearing is in two hours.” Ashleigh got up and stood by the door. “Harp, I’m sorry all this happened. I’ll do what I can. Maybe if you meet Sierra, you’ll see a way I can come with you because God knows, I can’t spend another moment with Hamilton, even though he’s a genius lawyer with untapped potential.”

  Harper gave Ashleigh a confused look until she shoved the door open. This time, Hamilton got a small smack to his forehead. No blood, too bad, Ashleigh thought. Oh well, there’s always next time.

  “I needed to talk to Harper,” he said as if he’d just been about to knock on her door.

  “Never a doubt.” Ashleigh smiled and headed to her desk. El Paso had more opportunities and doctors for Sierra and a move might be good for the two of them, but it frightened Ashleigh. She talked a good game, but she wasn’t sure what came first. Sierra’s fears—or her own.

  * * * *

  “Well, this sure isn’t your mama’s oatmeal,” Henry said.

  Miles poked at the gelatinous gruel before him. No amount of sugar packets could turn this into a meal.

  “At least the toast is cold. I hate when your mama’s toast scalds my mouth.”

  Miles lifted his head to see his father slathering the oatmeal over the edge of his toast. “Who scalds their tongue on toast?”

  “You were listening.” Henry nudged his brother Clevon who gave Miles a nod. “Might as well eat. No guarantee on bail this morning. Picking at it won’t make it taste better.”

  “I’m just making sure it won’t move on its own,” Miles kidded before swallowing a spoonful.

  “It’d have to be fresh to still be alive,” Clevon grumbled as he drank from his juice cup. “This is World War Two surplus here. I remember MeMaw buying it from the peddler that used to come around when we were kids.”

  “That’s the flavor,” Henry said. “I knew I remembered it from somewhere.”

  “There is no flavor,” Miles snapped. “There’s only a texture close to cud.”

  “Boy, we don’t know how many days we’ll be here. Knock it off actin’ like some spoiled child.” His father pointed his spoon at his face. “There are worse things in the world than a few bad meals. Clean that plate, we’ve got like five more minutes before we have to clear out of here.”

  Feeling like a five-year-old wasn’t helping Miles with the case of nerves running through his body and mind. Every scrape of a chair across the floor or burst of laughter had him checking his back for an attack. Too many prison movies, he tried to tell himself, but when the gate locked him in after processing, his skin had itched. “Days? You’re pretty confident with that estimation.”

  “Your brother just married a DA, you think she’ll prosecute us?” his father asked.

  “No, her hands will be tied.”

  “We were defending our family,” Uncle Clevon added after eating the last of his fruit cup. “No one will prosecute us.”

  It amazed Miles how his uncle and father could eat this slop. “Because four black men running down the street with their guns drawn makes everyone feel safe,” Miles pointed out.

  The men who’d grown up in Tender Root, New Mexico shifted a bit in their seats. Law and order being doled out by the citizens in conjunction or before the police were around to be involved. They came from a different time when being a cowboy actually meant something more than a man who raised cattle or rode in the rodeo. New Mexico had been one of the last places where the west still existed, but that wasn’t the generation he’d grown up with. His generation had the consequences not necessarily the lessons. Instead, they seemed to be a punishment for a problem that didn’t exist before the whole politically correct crap came into the world.

  Miles’ enjoyed living off the hard work of his forefathers. The ones who got their papers freeing them from slavery and headed west to make their own way. That was the way it had been in the wild west. Too much was at stake to not pay a man a fair wage because he was born black. Although, his family hadn’t been one to mix with natives, Hispanics or whites until now, they’d never been looked upon as anything but a family who had earned the forty thousand acre ranch. Or was it now sixty? Had the sale gone through with the Winston’s? It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours, how could Miles stay locked up for years or even life? Was that on the table? He needed to talk to their attorney.

  “When you’re dying of hunger later, don’t come to us crying,” his father said as Miles scraped the last of his breakfast into a trash bin. “We’ll be gone during lunch for our hearing.”

  “At what point were you diagnosed bi-polar?” Miles asked partially kidding. “One second, we’re getting out today or tomorrow, the next we’re stuck in here for a few months and skipping this breakfast is going to make me wither away.”

  “Heard you did the same thing in Mexico. This ain’t no five hours in a Mexican holding cell. You always been too skinny for your own good.”

  “And now you’re my mother.”

  His father shoved Miles up against the wall and held his jumpsuit in his fists while his uncle covered them, so the guards wouldn’t see. “No, I’m your father. The one who is here to make sure your mama ain’t cryin’ tomorrow because you’re ass got shanked or killed. I also have to make sure your depression doesn’t creep in and you can’t see the end to this situation. You’ve been thinkin’ about ending it again? Huh? Cuz your mama can’t handle that shit. You think we don’t know, but we do boy. You get trapped, confined and it takes something from inside that we all need to live. Keep makin’ your jokes and being the funny man.”

  “There’s a difference between spending ten years and fifty.”

  “I think he just called you old, Henry.”

  “I caught that,” his father said and released him from his grip. “I’ll do the time son, as long as you don’t. Now, let’s get cleaned up for court.”

  Three hours later, they’d been transferred and walked into the courtroom with handcuffs on, at least they didn’t have them in leg shackles too.

  “Does the prosecution have a charge for the defendants?” a judge asked as she looked down at the men brought before her. She looked like the woman who married Harper and Monty the day before. “Wait a minute, are you the Longs?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” his father answered.

  “I performed a marriage ceremony for your family yesterday.” The judge waved over her clerk. There was a whispered discussion with the clerk nodding and pointing to Harper in the gallery. “Alright, well, I’ll take the pleading and request for bail, but only if the prosecution accepts the mild conflict of the situation. I won’t be the judge of record for this case, it will be passed to one of my associates.”

  Miles turned so see the lead prosecutor discussing with the beautiful blonde associate from the day before. Damn, she wasn’t with his lawyer. A little part of him had hoping he’d see her again, just not on that side of the table. Stupid, he told himself, he was about to be charged with murder in one form or another. T
he last thing he should be thinking about was a woman.

  “The People will allow the conflict for this part of the prosecution,” Hamilton Boyle stated. “At this time, The People are charging all three with manslaughter, negligent use of a deadly weapon and we are still in contact with the federal prosecutors on possible terrorism statutes.”

  “How do the defendants plead?”

  “Not guilty,” Miles said followed by his father and uncle.

  “On all charges?” the judge asked as she looked over her half rimmed glasses at the men.

  Jason leaned over to them. “Say yes at this time, it’s not going to change the weapon’s charge. We can always plea that down. It’s only a petty misdemeanor. Little fine, I don’t think I can get you off of.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Miles said, repeated again by his father and uncle.

  “Bail recommendations?” she asked Hamilton.

  “At this time the prosecution asks for remand,” Hamilton answered and the blonde woman’s head snapped to stare at him. He waved her off and she turned to Harper with apologetic eyes.

  “The defendants have strong family ties, even the police were willing to let one of the Long men go last night and he’s in the gallery. There’s no risk of flight.”

  “Is the fourth man being charged?” the judge asked.

  “Not at this time,” Hamilton replied. “We are still gathering evidence.”

  “So you brought half of a case to my courtroom?” the judge asked.

  “The men in question were arrested at the scene with their weapons drawn. One confessed on the steps of the courthouse.”

  “Objection,” Jason said. “This alleged confession was obtained prior to my client being read his Miranda rights. I’ve already drafted a motion to suppress.”

  “I’m sure the next judge will be all giddy to hear the arguments. I on the other hand, see no reason to not let these men out on bail, but I believe in inconveniencing them so they do return to our beautiful courthouse. Five hundred thousand, cash or bond on each seem fair, Mr. Whitmore?”