Falling For The Deputy. Amy Frazier

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      MACK LEFT THE DOOR to the sheriff’s office open. A symbolic gesture. Let the reporter see the department had nothing whatsoever to hide.

      He placed his Stetson on a rack behind the door, then sat on the edge of the desk, feeling edgy himself. His headache had subsided to a dull throb. He relished the law-and-order part of his job, not the public relations. He examined his watch. Twice.

      Garrett and he had talked about how they wanted the new Colum County Sheriff’s Department’s story told. To that end, they’d hoped to get a reporter without an agenda, who’d write an unbiased story that would accurately portray both the danger and the drudgery of rural law enforcement. They’d agreed the article shouldn’t be about individuals, but about the team.

      Thinking about the fishbowl position he was now in, Mack’s muscles went rigid. The pencil he gripped snapped in two.

      “Surely, the prospect of meeting with me can’t generate that much tension.”

      He jerked his head up to see the young woman who drove the battered Yugo, standing in the office doorway, carrying an enormous backpack. He chucked the ruined pencil in the trash, then stood. “Did you get your car fixed?”

      “Mel says I can pick it up this afternoon before she closes.”

      “Is that going to throw your schedule off?” He didn’t really want to know. He was trying to be…human. Approachable. Practicing for that reporter. “Work? School?”

      “No.” The kid stepped into the room. “I was planning to stay the week, anyway. At June Parker’s bed and breakfast. While I take care of my assignment.”

      “Let me guess. Appalachian folkways.” The professors at Brevard College often sent their students to do field work in Colum County.

      “No. I’ve come to see you. Well, Sheriff McQuire, but I understand you’re the one in charge at the moment.”

      “I am. What can I do for you?”

      She extended her hand. “I’m Chloe Atherton. Reporter for the Western Carolina Sun. I have an appointment.”

      He inhaled sharply. My head. Ignoring her outstretched hand, Mack walked around the desk and glared at the sheriff’s calendar. He deliberately placed the tips of his fingers on Garrett’s illegible handwriting next to today’s date. Gave himself a couple of seconds to absorb it.

      This kid was the reporter?

      “You could have told me who you were back by the roadside,” he said at last, looking up.

      “You could have told me Mel was a woman.” She plunked her battered backpack on the floor, then perched on the chair opposite his desk. “Can we begin?” Without waiting for his reply, she pulled various items from the backpack.

      He remained standing, the desk solidly between them. “Ms. Atherton, how long have you been a newspaper reporter?”

      “I think I’m the one doing the interviewing.” There was a defiant tilt to her chin. “But if it will make you feel more comfortable…no, I’m not thirteen years old.”

      He’d been thinking more like seventeen.

      “I’m twenty-six,” she offered, lining up a notebook, a pencil, a small tape recorder and what appeared to be an expensive Nikon camera on the metal desk. As if the space were hers to do with as she pleased. “How old are you?”

      He frowned. “Do you need to know?”

      “My newspaper still requires ages.”

      “Thirty-five,” he said, suddenly feeling ten years older. “But this article isn’t supposed to be about me.”

      “Maybe not, but you’re my first interview.”

      Damn. Although she looked like a teenager, she handled herself with the equanimity of СКАЧАТЬ