The Sheriff and The Amnesiac. Ryanne Corey
moment. “You are a very bad person,” she said, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “This is blackmail, and you know it.”
“Pretty much.”
“And what’s more, you’re enjoying it.”
“Right on that one.” He grinned, deep grooves framing either side of his expressive mouth. “Can’t put one over on you, can I? Which will it be, Trouble? Jail or the Cotton Tree?”
Jenny’s hands slowly closed into fists at her side. She was trapped and she knew it, which made the situation even harder to swallow. Restraint suffocated her. Her cheeks were burning, but she never took her eyes away from his. “All right,” she snapped. “I’ll check into the Cotton Tree like a good little hostage. But come morning I’m out of here.”
“Thank you so much,” Tyler said, hand over his heart. “May I open the door for you?”
“What about my bike?”
“I’ll have someone bring it over to the motel.” He adopted a wide-eyed cherub’s expression, which was enhanced by the tangled fringe of honey-bronzed hair beneath the brim of his hat. “In the morning, of course. I wouldn’t want you sneaking out of town tonight when I wasn’t looking. Motorcycle keys, please.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Not at all. Keys?”
She retrieved the keys from her back pocket and slapped them into his waiting palm. “Do you mind if I get my duffel bag out of the storage compartment, or would you like to impound that, too?”
“Not at all.” Dimple in gear, an amused Tyler tossed the keys into the air and caught them. “I’ll be more than happy to get it for you. After you get in the car.”
Jenny pushed his hand away as he reached past her to open the door. She opened it herself, teeth ground together hard enough to make her jaw ache. Giving him one last murderous look, she climbed in, slamming the door shut with astonishing force from such a petite woman.
She didn’t see Tyler laughing. She couldn’t; he had his face buried in his arms on top of the car.
Tyler was a realist. He knew he definitely had his work cut out for him.
He braked for a stop sign and glanced sideways at his unhappy captive, raising his eyebrows as he noted the sullen set of her lower lip. Apparently, she didn’t think being arrested was romantic. She wasn’t talking, she wasn’t moving, he wasn’t even sure she was breathing. Such a defensive little soul.
“Try to remember this is for your own good,” he said cajolingly, trying to win a little smile. He’d never had trouble coaxing a smile from a woman. Until this woman.
Jenny sniffed disdainfully and slumped farther down in her seat. This was the first sign of life she’d shown since Tyler had started the car.
He tried again. “Bridal Veil Falls isn’t such a terrible place to spend the night, you know. It’s a nice little town.”
At that, she laughed out loud. “I’m sure. Although it should have been named Bride Falls on Her Head, like some creepy town in a Hitchcock movie.”
Tyler grinned, then took his right hand off the steering wheel, driving with his knee while he patted her shoulder. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. If you give it a chance, you’ll see that Bridal Veil Falls is a perfectly normal town. And who knows, you might like it so much you’ll decide to stay.”
“Yeah, right,” Jenny replied. Unsettled by Tyler’s casual touch, Jenny shifted away from him. “Now stop driving with your knee or I’ll make a citizen’s arrest.”
He put both hands back on the wheel, slanting her a quizzical look. “I’m just a wild and crazy guy, I guess. You don’t like to be touched, do you? Sorry. I was just trying to lighten the mood a little.”
“I can handle my own moods,” she muttered. “Since you’re keeping me here against my will, I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t want to become bosom buddies.”
“Whatever you say.” He turned into the parking lot of the Cotton Tree Motor Lodge, pulling up in front of a lighted soft drink machine. He kept the car idling, giving her a look of blue-eyed innocence. “Seeing as how you don’t want to be friends, I won’t inflict myself on you further by going in with you to register.”
She gave him a look that said, “I didn’t ask you to,” then pushed open the door and climbed out. Slam. She opened the door to the back and pulled out her duffel bag. Slam. “For a little bit of a thing,” Tyler remarked through the open window, “You swing a mean car door.”
Ignoring him, she hoisted the strap of her duffel bag over her shoulder and headed for the office. A stinging-hot shower of resentment prickled at her from her head to her toes. She was staying in a place she didn’t want to stay, for no reason other than it suited the overbearing sheriff of Bridal Veil Falls. The man took his job way, way, way too seriously.
“Hey, Trouble. One more thing.”
She stopped, gritting her teeth as she slowly turned on her heel. “What?”
“Have a nice night. We aim to please here in Bride Falls on Her Head.” His tawny head was hanging out the window, hatless and backlit with the dying glow of sunset. He looked like an adorable Boy Scout trying to do a good deed, but she wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She gave him the most insincere smile of her life, followed by the most insincere statement of her life: “It’s been wonderful meeting you, Mr. Sheriff, sir.”
She turned and walked into the office without another word. She had a rhythm to her walk when she was irritated, a sassy little strut that she gave full rein to. Had she looked over her shoulder, she would have gotten yet another surprise.
Tyler Cook was smiling as if Heaven itself had just shown itself to him.
It was a typical motel room. The mattress was extra-firm, except in the middle where it was extrasoft. The pillows seemed to be made of plywood, and the air smelled strongly of disinfectant. The only window provided an aluminum frame for the blinking sign of the bowling alley across the street. Ritz Classic Bowl. Lounge, Leagues and Open Play. Plenty of Fun for Everyone!
Jenny sat on the bed like a zombie and watched the motel room change colors along with the bowling alley sign: red, yellow, green, red again. There was simply nothing else to do. She’d already showered, made a trip outside in her ratty chenille robe to the soft-drink machine for a cola, and watched an ancient rerun of Mr. Ed on television. It was barely eight o’clock, and she was wide awake and couldn’t sit still. Nights were especially hard for her. Everything seemed intensified when the world wound down, grew quiet and dark. Her restlessness. Her memories. That lonely, aching place called the future, always waiting for her. She took it one day at a time, but no matter how many days, months, years she crossed off, the future was always just as vast and just as empty. No matter how many tomorrows she put behind her, they never seemed to grow easier or less intimidating.
She needed to keep moving, and this motel room was not the place to do it. She liked to have her mind occupied with unfamiliar places, unfamiliar things, unfamiliar people. In fact, anything unfamiliar was oddly comforting. She never went to bed before midnight, anyway, and never slept more than three or four hours at a time. Regardless of how tired she was—and Lord knew tonight her muscles had no more strength than limp spaghetti—her soul perpetually resisted rest.
She stood up abruptly, dressing in a clean pair of jeans and a rather wrinkled white cotton peasant shirt pulled from her duffel bag. Five minutes later her still-damp hair was curling wildly in the breeze as she walked across the street to the bowling alley. The night air had a bite to it; she made a mental note to buy herself a warm coat before she left town in the morning. She was thinking about making a little detour into Canada for a couple of weeks. She’d never been there before, and she’d heard it was an incredibly beautiful country.