The Sheriff and The Amnesiac. Ryanne Corey
felt at a distinct disadvantage sitting. Still, at five foot two she didn’t gain much height. If he put his arm out straight, it would go right over her curly head. “Let’s talk about trouble. I was hungry, so I decided to stop and get something to eat. Before I know it, I’m being accused of all kinds of things I didn’t do. At least, I didn’t do them intentionally. I’m not some career criminal who travels from town to town on her motorcycle ripping off Mexican restaurants—” she threw the waitress a dark look “—despite what she seems to think. And I’ll tell you something else.”
“Oh, boy,” the sheriff drawled. “She’s not done yet.”
“This town has trouble written all over it. Everyone here is hostile.” She paused, then added grudgingly, “Well, that’s not true. That sweet white-haired lady crocheting in the corner booth has been very friendly. She keeps smiling at me. I like her, but otherwise, I can’t wait until I see the last of this place.”
Obviously listening to their conversation, the white-haired lady waved her crocheting needles at the sheriff. “Hello there. You’re looking very handsome in your new hat.”
“Always the sweet-talker, Ella,” the sheriff called out. Then he exchanged a speaking look with the waitress. “You didn’t tell me my grandmother was in here today, Sunny. That kind of puts a new light on things, if you know what I mean.”
“Sunny?” Jenny blurted out incredulously. “Her name is Sunny? She is the least friendly waitress I’ve met in my life. And that lovely lady is your grandmother? How weird is that?”
The sheriff took off his sunglasses, swinging them in slow circles from his finger. The blue-eyed gaze he leveled at Jenny was heavy-lidded, thoughtful and penetrating. He had Baryshnikov eyes, luminous and startling against the smooth, golden-brown tint of his skin. Far more beautiful than she had expected. And much more human.
“Her name is Sunny,” he told her conversationally, “and that lovely lady is indeed my grandmother. My name is Sheriff Cook, but you can call me Tyler. You see? We’re actually a very friendly town, so you don’t have anything to worry about. Now do me a favor and be quiet for a minute. If you’re capable of it. Sunny, how long has Ella been here?”
“Well…most of the afternoon,” Sunny replied, looking uncertain. “I never thought about…well, Dr. Wetzel told me she was doing better. Said she took up crocheting instead.”
The sheriff ignored her, continuing his conversation with Sunny. “Something tells me Ella has had a little relapse. She looks too happy.”
Jenny slapped her forehead with her hand. “What is going on here? Am I going crazy? Or is everyone in this town crazy except me? Why won’t you let me go outside and look for my wallet? What does that nice little lady have to do with anything?”
The sheriff looked sideways at her. “Don’t you ever do anything you’re told? I said to be quiet.”
“I don’t have to be quiet,” Jenny said. “I’m in deep trouble, anyway. What are you going to do, arrest me for using up too much of your oxygen?”
He tipped his hat back on his head, revealing a tangled fringe of honey-colored hair. “You have a really bad attitude. I know your middle name is Trouble. You mind telling me your first and last?”
“Jenny Kyle.” She held his gaze, one golden brow arching defiantly. “Jenny Maria Kyle.”
“You have the right to remain silent, Jenny Trouble Kyle.” He folded his sunglasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. “Take advantage of that right, while I go and have a little talk with Ella.”
Jenny immediately bristled. “That nice woman has done absolutely nothing to…mummph.”
The sheriff was pressing his fingers firmly against Jenny’s lips. “The right to remain silent.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. From the tip of her head down to her toes, her entire body stiffened beneath his touch. Sunny giggled, finding the whole thing immensely entertaining.
“That’s a good girl,” Tyler said. He removed his fingers slowly, by inches, as if prepared to silence her again should she dare open her mouth. “Now, sit.”
“I feel like standing.” The words came out in a rush, before he could react.
It should have made him angry. She had intended to make him angry. Instead his lips crooked in a smile that might have been boyishly beguiling under different circumstances. “Trouble,” he said softly, then walked away.
Jenny had no idea what he said to the poor, dear lady in the corner booth. They spoke too softly to overhear, no matter how hard she strained. She couldn’t even see the woman’s expression, since the sheriff’s broad-shouldered back blocked her view. Jenny could only wait and wonder, her teeth working nervously at her lower lip.
When he returned to her, however, her chin was high and her unsteady fingers were hidden in the pockets of her jeans. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he could shake her. She’d done nothing wrong, and she wasn’t about to act as if she had.
But she might have been invisible for all the notice he paid her. He pulled Sunny aside and whispered something to her, nodding his head in Ella’s direction. Sunny listened intently, then hurried to the telephone and made a call.
“I don’t suppose you would like to explain to me what that was all about?” Jenny asked. “Wait a minute. I know! You’re going to arrest that wonderful little woman for being too friendly. I’m sure that’s a felony around here.”
For a long moment Tyler didn’t answer. He simply examined her leisurely, his head tipped to one side. “You know, you really have a problem with authority figures. I think a few years in the big house is going to do you a world of good.”
She gave him her wide-eyed, vulnerable look. “A few years? The big house? What is this, a James Cagney movie?”
“And I don’t see any sign of remorse for your crimes, either,” he went on thoughtfully. “It doesn’t look good for you, Trouble.”
“Give me a break! I lost my stupid wallet, for Pete’s sake!”
“Like I said, a real bad attitude.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Judge Curry doesn’t like anyone with attitude. He doesn’t care much for anyone who rides motorcycles, either. Last Fourth of July a motorcycle gang came tearing through town, right in the middle of the Independence Day Parade. Flattened two flashing barricades and ran over Judge Curry’s bulldog. He had him all dressed up for the occasion, too, with a red, white and blue collar and a little stovepipe hat. It was a real heartbreaker, I’ll tell you.”
Now Jenny sat down, groaning as her head dropped against the back of the booth. “Wonderful. Just shoot me, would you? Shoot me and put me out of my misery.”
“Of course, the judge does have a soft spot for women,” he went on. “You could very well get out in a year or so on good behavior. You know any karate?”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Karate. You know, kickboxing and punching and things like that. Believe it or not, the women’s correctional facility is a lot harder on the inmates than the men’s. You’d be wise to brush up on your self-defense.”
“Do you honestly think I’m buying this?”
He grinned, pushing his hat back another inch. “I don’t really care if you believe it or not. Any family or friends you want me to call before I toss you in the slammer?”
The look she gave him was strangely blank. “What?”
“You’re entitled to a phone call. Would you like to call your poor husband, God bless him?”
“You have such a delightful sense of humor,” she muttered. “If I had a husband, which I don’t, I’d be an idiot to use my one call on him instead of my lawyer.”
“Suit