The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas. Linda Warren

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      Stuart charged toward the front door and soon returned with Ms. Ross’s things. He stood there, fidgeting.

      “Blankets, Stu,” Wyatt prompted.

      “Oh, sure.” The deputy hurried to the back room.

      Wyatt opened Ms. Ross’s case to make sure she didn’t have a weapon. Silky, feminine things beckoned. A daring, tantalizing scent filled his nostrils and he wanted to slam the case shut. It reminded him of Lori. Not the scent, but the clothes. Undergarments that he’d enjoyed removing…He closed his eyes tight to block the memory.

      It didn’t help. Lori’s memory was in his heart. And it ached. Ached for her. Ached for them.

      Quickly he searched Ms. Ross’s bag and wondered why the woman needed so many cosmetics. Finally, satisfied, he picked up her things and walked to her cell. The other prisoners were lying on their cots. Using his key, he opened the steel bars and stepped in.

      She sat on the edge of a cot, her face flushed, her eyes mutinous.

      He placed her case and purse beside her. “You can use your cell phone to call whomever you wish. Or you can use our phone.”

      “Am I supposed to say thank you?”

      His eyes caught the blue fire of hers. “An ‘I’m sorry’ would be nice.”

      “For what?”

      “Do you not comprehend what happened this afternoon?”

      She folded her arms across her breasts. “I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me.”

      He sucked in a breath. “For the record, you were speeding and almost struck a pedestrian. You did not acknowledge the siren or stop when I motioned you over. And you tried to bribe a sheriff. We may be country bumpkins around here, but most of us know how to obey the law. Most of us respect it, too.”

      She bent her head and was silent. That shocked him. He expected fireworks. Her demeanor prompted him to ask, “Do you want to tell me why you did those things?”

      Her head shot up, her features a mask of seething fury. “Go to hell.”

      Now he had the fireworks. This lady did not want help. At least he’d tried. “My deputy is going to put up some blankets so you can have some privacy, in case you want to change your clothes. When you need to use the bathroom, a deputy will escort you to the one down the hall. The judge will be here on Wednesday for your hearing. I’ve set your bail.”

      “Wednesday!” Alarm bracketed her eyes. Finally he was getting through to her.

      Before he realized it, she’d leaped from the cot and grabbed his arm. “Wednesday! You have to be kidding! You can’t leave me in this hellhole until then. That’s insane. You’re insane!”

      Her fingers pressed into his skin and a forgotten longing shot up his arm and through his system. He had to get away from her.

      “You bastard. You country-bumpkin bastard. You’ll pay for this. You’ll—”

      He opened the cell door, stepped out and slammed it shut, the sound resonating in the confines of the concrete walls like a gunshot. He felt a moment of remorse at the terror in her eyes, a terror shrouded in anger and fear. But he’d tried to talk to her and it hadn’t worked.

      She’d broken the law. Now she had to pay.

      PEYTON GRABBED her phone and punched her brother’s number. She’d show the high-and-mighty sheriff. He’d regret the day he ever put her in handcuffs.

      The weird guy in the cell across the aisle leered at her, his face pressed between the bars. A cold chill scooted across her skin. He reminded her of a bum searching through trash cans on skid road. He licked his lips with a smacking sound. Good grief. She turned away, willing Quinn to pick up.

      Pick up, pick up, she silently chanted.

      Finally she heard his voice. “Where the hell are you?”

      Evidently he’d seen her name on his caller ID. “I need your help.”

      “You’re calling the wrong person, Peyton. Since you skipped out on Mom’s wedding, I’m not doing anything for you. Mom was terribly worried and blaming herself for your selfish behavior.”

      A twinge of hope pierced her chest. “She didn’t marry him?”

      “Oh, so that’s what this little ploy was all about.” She could almost see him nodding his head, the way he did in the courtroom. He was a brilliant defense attorney, and if anyone could get her out of this mess, he could. “You thought Mom would be so distraught over your disappearance that she’d cancel the wedding?”

      She took a deep breath. “Quinn, I really tried, but I couldn’t watch her marry another man.”

      “Mom has a right to a life. Dad’s been dead five years and it’s time for us all to move on, especially you.”

      Peyton bit her lip. Quinn didn’t understand. No one did. Her father had been her hero, her best friend, and losing him had shattered everything she’d believed about love and life. She didn’t understand how Quinn and her mother could move on so easily.

      But she did need to apologize to her mother. “I’d like to talk to Mom.”

      “No can do.”

      “Why not?”

      “I’m not letting you upset her, Peyton. She’s happy and getting ready to go on her honeymoon. I will tell her you’re fine, so she won’t worry. And do not, I repeat, do not call her on her cell. Let her be happy.”

      Peyton started to argue like she usually would, but she turned and saw that guy leering at her again. It brought her dire situation to the smack-dab middle of her messed-up life. She had to get out of here.

      “Quinn, I need your help.”

      “You said that before. What’s going on?”

      “I’m…I’m in jail.” Remembering how she’d gotten here warmed her cheeks again. Damn that straitlaced sheriff.

      “For what?”

      “Speeding.”

      Her brother sighed. “Peyton, they don’t lock people up for speeding.”

      “Well…” She squeezed her eyes closed, hating to admit the next part and not sure how to explain it to her brother. But Quinn knew her better than anyone.

      “You know I’ve been upset since Mom started dating Garland Wingate six months ago,” she said.

      “That’s no big secret.”

      “I couldn’t believe she was serious.” Peyton’s voice wavered and she hoped Quinn understood she didn’t mean to hurt her mother.

      “How many times did I tell you she was?”

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