The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas. Linda Warren

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      “I don’t plan to,” he replied, picking up his cell and punching out a number. “Bubba, there’s a red Lexus coupe on the northeast highway. Please pick it up—we’re impounding it.”

      “Damn, that’s an expensive car. Did you catch a drug dealer?” Bubba asked with his usual overactive curiosity.

      Wyatt sighed. “Just take care of the car. I’ll get with you later.”

      “Sure thing, Sheriff.”

      Bubba was one of the Wiznowski family, and he owned a gas station and wrecker service in Horseshoe. Bubba had tried several times to become a deputy, but he never passed the physical because his six-foot-four-inch body weighed more than three hundred pounds. He spent too much time at his grandmother’s bakery. But he did help out when Wyatt needed someone to watch the office.

      Silence filled the cab, and that was fine with Wyatt. He’d had all of her mouth he wanted. Placing his glasses on the dash, he glanced at his watch. He was late. Jody would be calling. Damn, damn!

      Damn Peyton Ross for ruining his Sunday.

      Chapter Two

      Wyatt’s office and the jail were next to the courthouse. A covered walkway connected the two buildings, which had been built in the late 1800s. While there had been updates, basically the two structures stood as they had for years.

      He parked the car and got out to open the back door. For a moment he thought Ms. Ross wasn’t going to budge. Then without a word, she scooted out and he guided her into his office. The fight seemed to have gone out of her. He hoped that meant she realized the seriousness of her situation.

      They went through the room and down the hall to the jail. The tap-tap of her high heels on the concrete floor echoed through the quiet space. After removing the cuffs, he opened the cell door and she walked in, the soft rustle of her gown annoying him for some reason. As the steel bars clanged shut, she jumped, and her eyes brimmed with fire.

      “You bastard. My mother will have your hide.”

      “So you keep telling me.”

      Her cheeks reddened. “I want my phone.”

      “Hey, fancy lady,” Zeke called from the next cell, his bearded face pressed between the bars to get a closer look. “Ya got a fella?”

      “Cool it, Zeke,” Wyatt said. “And leave the woman alone. She’s not interested in you or marriage.”

      Zeke was in for “drunk and disorderly”. He lived alone in the woods along the Brazos River. Every now and then, he came into town, looking for a wife. Zeke wasn’t known for his bathing habits and he probably didn’t even own a toothbrush. When women saw him, they ran the other way. Then Zeke would drink and become violent, accosting women, and Wyatt always had to lock him up to give the people of Horseshoe some peace.

      The Wilson brothers were in the next cell, and they were a rough lot. The two families with eight kids lived in a three-bedroom trailer deep in the woods. Honest work wasn’t for them. They’d run a chop shop until Wyatt closed it down, and now they were into growing and selling marijuana. Wyatt had a feeling the judge was going to throw the book at them this time.

      “Wyatt, that’s not fair,” Leonard complained. “We can’t see her.”

      “Yeah, Sheriff, that’s discriminatin’ or somethin’.” Leroy had to make his views known.

      “I’ll inform your wives of your complaints when they come to make your bail.”

      “Ah, c’mon, Sheriff. You know Velma’s as mean as a wasp.”

      “Maybe you should remember that, Leroy, before you go gawking at other women,” Wyatt replied. “Now settle down.” He walked out before he lost all his patience.

      Stuart stared at him, bug-eyed. “Sheriff—” he nodded toward the cell “—that’s a woman.”

      “Notice that, did you?” Wyatt sat at his desk, trying to ignore the astonishment on Stuart’s face.

      “But we don’t have facilities for women.”

      “We do now.” He reached for a pen. “What did you find out about the license number?

      “It’s on your desk.” Stuart pointed to the papers. “I was going to call, but I heard you drive up.”

      Wyatt scanned the information. The car was registered to Peyton Laine Ross from Austin, Texas. It wasn’t stolen and Ms. Ross had no outstanding tickets, warrants or prior convictions. So what had happened today to make Ms. Ross break the law?

      Stuart jerked his thumb toward the cell. “Is that Peyton Ross?” His voice was a whisper, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear him.

      “Yes.”

      “What did she do?”

      As Wyatt filled out the paperwork, he told his deputy what had happened on the highway.

      “She tried to bribe you?” Stuart’s eyes opened even wider.

      “That’s about it.” Wyatt pulled the hundred-dollar bill from his pocket.

      “Gosh darn, that’s a lot of money. The last time I saw one of those was when I graduated from high school. My grandpa gave it to me.”

      As Wyatt fingered the bill, a slight whiff of gardenias lingered. With a frown, he handed the bill to Stu. “Label it for evidence. The judge will be back from his vacation on Wednesday to decide her fate. In the meantime, I’ll set her bail.”

      Since the population of Horseshoe was under two thousand, Wyatt took over setting bail when the judge was out of town.

      Stuart slanted his head toward the jail. “But, Sheriff, we have some rough characters back there.”

      “I know.” He studied his pen. He didn’t feel right leaving Peyton Ross locked up with Zeke and the Wilson brothers, but what was he to do? She’d broken the law and he couldn’t cut her any slack just because she was a woman. But he needed to do something.

      “Get some blankets and see if you can hang them from the bars to give her some privacy. That will keep the guys from gawking at her. But first, please get her case and purse out of my car.” Wyatt leaned back and reached into his pocket for his keys, pulling out Ms. Ross’s keys, too. He threw the squad car keys to Stuart.

      Stuart deftly caught them and glanced over his shoulder. “She sure is a looker, isn’t she?” The deputy, like Bubba, had an avid curiosity, and Wyatt wasn’t going to stoke it.

      He laid Ms. Ross’s keys aside and continued to fill out the papers.

      There was a slight pause, then Stuart asked, “What’s she wearing? It looks like a ball gown or something.”

      “Get the items out of my car, please,” Wyatt repeated without looking up.

      Stuart was Horseshoe-born and raised, just like Wyatt. At five foot ten, Stuart was СКАЧАТЬ