Читать книгу The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas - Linda Warren - Страница 11

Wyatt’s office and the jail were next to the courthouse. A covered walkway connected the two buildings, which had been built in the late 1800s. While there had been updates, basically the two structures stood as they had for years.

He parked the car and got out to open the back door. For a moment he thought Ms. Ross wasn’t going to budge. Then without a word, she scooted out and he guided her into his office. The fight seemed to have gone out of her. He hoped that meant she realized the seriousness of her situation.

They went through the room and down the hall to the jail. The tap-tap of her high heels on the concrete floor echoed through the quiet space. After removing the cuffs, he opened the cell door and she walked in, the soft rustle of her gown annoying him for some reason. As the steel bars clanged shut, she jumped, and her eyes brimmed with fire.

“You bastard. My mother will have your hide.”

“So you keep telling me.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I want my phone.”

“Hey, fancy lady,” Zeke called from the next cell, his bearded face pressed between the bars to get a closer look. “Ya got a fella?”

“Cool it, Zeke,” Wyatt said. “And leave the woman alone. She’s not interested in you or marriage.”

Zeke was in for “drunk and disorderly”. He lived alone in the woods along the Brazos River. Every now and then, he came into town, looking for a wife. Zeke wasn’t known for his bathing habits and he probably didn’t even own a toothbrush. When women saw him, they ran the other way. Then Zeke would drink and become violent, accosting women, and Wyatt always had to lock him up to give the people of Horseshoe some peace.

The Wilson brothers were in the next cell, and they were a rough lot. The two families with eight kids lived in a three-bedroom trailer deep in the woods. Honest work wasn’t for them. They’d run a chop shop until Wyatt closed it down, and now they were into growing and selling marijuana. Wyatt had a feeling the judge was going to throw the book at them this time.

“Wyatt, that’s not fair,” Leonard complained. “We can’t see her.”

“Yeah, Sheriff, that’s discriminatin’ or somethin’.” Leroy had to make his views known.

“I’ll inform your wives of your complaints when they come to make your bail.”

“Ah, c’mon, Sheriff. You know Velma’s as mean as a wasp.”

“Maybe you should remember that, Leroy, before 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, 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?”

“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.