The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas. Linda Warren
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?”
“I know. I was in denial. No one can take Dad’s place. No one.”
“Then, damn it, why did you agree to be a part of the wedding?”
“I didn’t want to lose my mother but…but I couldn’t go through with it. I sat in my bedroom, decked out in my bridesmaid dress, staring at Dad’s picture. In that moment I knew I couldn’t be a part of the wedding. It would be a dishonor to him, so I bolted for the garage, fresh air and freedom.”
“Very mature, Peyton.”
“I had planned to call Mom.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She winced, knowing what she had to say was going to sound awful. She said it, anyway. “I called Giselle, instead, and she said the sorority sisters were having a big party in Dallas and what I needed was some fun, liquor and sexy guys. It sounded good to me at the time. That way I could forget what Mom was doing.”
“Again, a very mature move.”
“Stop being so sarcastic.” She took a quick breath. “It wasn’t easy. As I drove, the tears started and I couldn’t seem to stop them. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t stop that, either. So I put an earbud in my ear to tune out my conscience.”
“I almost feel sorry for you.”
“Please, Quinn.”
“So what happened?”
She rolled the scene around in her head, searching for the right words. The sheriff of this stop-in-the-road town certainly wasn’t in her plans. She honestly hadn’t heard the siren and when he’d motioned her over, she thought he was after the truck and wanted her out of the way. She’d never realized she was driving so fast, and then his big bad attitude had rubbed her the wrong way.
“Peyton, are you there?”
“Yes,” she mumbled, not believing she’d been so stupid.
“What did you do?”
She dredged up her last morsel of courage. “I tried to give the cop, sheriff or whatever he is, money to let me go.”
“You did what?” Astonishment shot through the phone. She could almost hear the reprimand that was about to erupt.
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“Giselle told me she never gets tickets because she flirts with the cop and shows some cleavage. If that failed, then money always did the trick. Cops barely make minimum wage and need extra cash.”
Oh, why had she even thought of Giselle’s ploys? The sheriff hadn’t even noticed her cleavage. And the sheriff of Nowhere, Texas, turned out to be honest.
“And you listened to that airhead? She’s always getting you in trouble.”
“Stop being so judgmental and get me out of here.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know, somewhere between Austin and Dallas.” What had that snotty sheriff called it?
“I need a name, Peyton.” His astonishment turned to irritation. “Weren’t you paying attention? Or do you even care? You just expect me to drop everything and figure out where you are and solve your little problem. Typical Peyton.”
He made her sound selfish and spoiled. Someday soon she might have to admit the truth of that, but not now. “Horse something. Yes, that’s it.”
There was a long pause on the line. “You know what, Peyton, why don’t you get comfy? After what you did to Mom, I’m not running to your rescue. It’s time for you to grow up and start thinking about someone besides yourself for a change. Give me a call when that happens. And you might check out the name of the town in the process.”
“You wouldn’t dare—”
The sudden dead silence on the line told her he would. She had the urge to throw the phone. With restraint, she sank onto the lumpy cot and slowly started to count.
One. Quinn would come.
Two. Quinn wouldn’t leave her in this backwater town, whatever it was called.
Three. She slammed the phone onto the cot.
Pride wouldn’t let her ask the sheriff the name of the town. From her position, she had a very narrow view of the sparse office, but she could see him sitting at his desk writing something. He’d removed his Stetson hat. A wayward lock of dark hair had fallen across his forehead. His khaki shirt stretched across broad shoulders. The sun coming through a window caught his badge and it winked at her like a caution light.
She noticed all that a little too late. He was a no-nonsense, straightforward lawman, a mix between Clint Eastwood and Jimmy Stewart. Some women might find that attractive, but she found him a bore and a bully.
As she scooted back to sit on the bottom of the bunk beds, she wondered if the sheet was clean. The steel bed had a lumpy mattress, pillow and a dirty brown blanket. A roach skittered across the grimy concrete floor. She jerked up her legs, shuddering. She had to get out of here. Fast.
She’d show that cocky sheriff.
He wasn’t keeping her a prisoner.
Quinn would come. He always did.
Chapter Three
Wyatt wasn’t sure what to do with Ms. Ross. She’d made her phone call, so why wasn’t someone calling to arrange her bail? His plans were to release her if she promised to return on Wednesday for the hearing. But so far he’d