The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas. Linda Warren
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 thin and wiry and strong, thanks to his workouts every morning at the school gym. He took his job seriously, but he tended to be a gossip and Wyatt tried to discourage that every way he could. In a small town, it was typical, though. There were very few secrets.
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,