Sheriff Takes A Bride

“Five weeks from today—at the county seat. Judge McBain.”

“Five weeks! Certainly you don’t mean to keep her locked up until...? I mean, what about bail? Releasing her on her own recognizance?” Hallie didn’t know much about legalities—but there was such a thing as rights.

“Believe me, I wouldn’t want to keep that woman under lock and key any longer than I have to,” he said. He leaned back in his desk chair, observing Granny Pearl for a moment over Hallie’s left shoulder. “Tell you what,” he said, righting the chair again. “I could be persuaded to release her into your custody until then—”

“Of course,” Hallie answered without hesitation and rose from her seat as if that settled it.

“Ms. Cates, not so fast.”

“I said I agreed.”

He smiled slowly. “I was about to add, provided you accept full responsibility for your grandmother’s actions, see she keeps to the straight and narrow, doesn’t skip the country—”

Hallie gave an exasperated sigh. “Sheriff, this is all ridiculous. My grandmother is not a criminal. Of course, she’ll obey the law.”

“Right,” he answered slowly. “And dogs don’t hunt.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked tersely.

“It means, dear Hallie, that you’re gonna have your hands full with Ma Barker over there.” He hooked a thumb in Granny’s direction.

At the moment the woman looked positively angelic. Hallie shoved the jail keys across the desk at him. “Just open up, Sheriff, so I can take my grandmother home.”

Chapter Two

Granny prattled on all the way to her cabin, not giving Hallie an inch of an opening, not a single chance to ask the big question: innocent or guilty? But for tonight Hallie wasn’t sure she wanted an answer from the woman. She was tired from her long drive here, cranky from dealing with Cam Osborne and with Granny, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse into Granny’s spare feather bed, snuggle into the sheets line-dried in the Arkansas sunshine and let sleep take her.

Tomorrow, or the day after, would be soon enough to tackle the truth—if Granny Pearl would give it to her—and to seek legal counsel for her.

Hallie could just picture the little old lady in court, cussing out the judge, the hunk of a man who arrested her, and the world in general. It would not be a pretty sight—and one Hallie hoped they wouldn’t have to face.

George and Myrtle met them at the gate as Hallie turned her unflagging little Subaru into the drive. She saw why Granny was so devoted to the pair. They were cute, with their little black faces, their curiosityfilled eyes and friendly, brayed greeting.

“Oh, my little children are hungry,” Granny said and was struggling with the passenger door handle before Hallie had brought the car to a full stop.

The creatures could survive easily on the grass they kept close-cropped in Granny’s yard, not to mention the goodies they “stole” from her trash barrel, Hallie knew. But Granny insisted on feeding them extras—like her special corn bread, or whatever it was she had for her own supper each evening.

The woman was out of the car and hurrying, as nimble-footed as her goats, toward the back door. While Hallie struggled with her luggage in the trunk, Granny was back with two metal tins piled high with what looked suspiciously like her wonderful homemade honey biscuits. Hallie’s tummy rumbled and for a moment she was envious of the goats. What she wouldn’t give for a couple of those biscuits, warm from that old oven of Granny’s.

“I hope you saved one or two of those for the person who sprang you from jail,” Hallie teased as she carried her suitcase toward the cabin.

“Oh, Hallie, you must be thinking’ I’m a silly old woman.” She dropped the tins and affectionately admonished the goats to eat with manners, then raced toward her granddaughter. “I reckon you must be hungry as a bear after that trek of yours all the way from Texas. Come on in the kitchen, girl.”

It was nearly eleven, but Granny put on a spread anyway, every leftover in her small, antiquated refrigerator, plus the remainder of her honey biscuits, complete with her to-die-for raspberry jam.

Hallie knew if she was going to be eating Granny’s cooking she’d have to increase her exercise proportionately. And first off would be a walk through the piney woods that surrounded Granny’s property to search for that so-called still Cam Osborne claimed Granny was putting to use.

She just hoped she didn’t find one.

By the time Hallie had the dishes washed, Granny sat dozing in her rocker. How innocent she looked lost in sleep, her white hair spiked here and there in disarray, as if she’d been dragging a worried hand through it. Her skin was a soft, well-earned fine pattern of wrinkles, the pale pink blush on her cheeks natural and demure.

In repose she hardly looked like a moonshining grandmother. She didn’t look like a woman who would sink her teeth into a man’s arm, either—but Hallie had seen the evidence below Cam’s shirtsleeve.

“C’mon, Granny Pearl, let’s get you into bed, pronto,” Hallie said, stirring her gently.

Granny mumbled something incoherent, something that sounded like...wh’ lightnin’—which Hallie didn’t exactly find reassuring.

In the morning she would definitely have to have that look around Granny’s place—every square inch of it.

Cam didn’t have a clue how he happened to find himself on the road to Pearl Cates’s small cabin, but damned if that wasn’t where his four-by-four was headed.

If he were wise he’d breeze right on past the old woman’s property, maybe find that favorite stream of his, dig out the fishing rod he always carried with him, sit on the bank and sink a line—then spend the remainder of his afternoon forgetting Granny Pearl’s redheaded granddaughter. And what she’d done to his usually peaceful night’s slumber.

So she had glorious high cheekbones that glowed with the warm blush of summer, a pert little mouth—with that sassy tone not unlike her granny’s—and green eyes a man could drown in if he were so inclined.

But Cam wasn’t inclined.

He didn’t intend to make room for a woman in his life ever again. When a smart man got burned, he didn’t get near the flame a second time—and Cam considered himself a smart man.

He was only checking up on Pearl, he told himself, as he took the right fork toward her cabin in the woods. It was just a professional visit to be sure the old gal was keeping to the straight and narrow. And away from that still of hers.

Hallie was a bright woman, but he suspected she could be blinded by love—and she loved Granny Pearl. All of Greens Hollow did. Cam knew just how popular he’d be when the folks around here learned he’d brought the little old lady in and charged her with selling local lightning—especially when it cut off the supply for some of the town’s denizens.

He doubted Granny Pearl would admit the truth to her granddaughter. On the contrary, she’d have Hallie believing Cam was the meanest man in the county, a man who picked on little old ladies, kicked dogs and dewinged butterflies.

Was that his reason for stopping by the Cates place? Was he afraid Granny would paint a villainous picture of him to Hallie?

Why should he care if Hallie thought him a louse, a blackguard? He didn’t care. It was his job to uphold the law—and that’s all he was doing.

He turned the black Cherokee into the gravel drive and caught himself searching around for Hallie. But he found only George and Myrtle, those two silly creatures who butted any man who came onto Granny’s property or meant the old girl harm.

They didn’t much like Cam. In fact, last time he was here they’d tried their best to render him a soprano for the rest of his days. Cam had had to be plenty fast on his feet to save his manhood and other much-needed body parts.

He was just wondering if there was any chance of winning the two critters over when he glanced up and saw Hallie coming out the front door of the cabin. His breath caught in his throat. The afternoon sun cutting through the trees caught the red in her hair, releasing its fire. Was her passion as fire-hot? Damned if he didn’t wish he could sample it—just once.

“What brings you out here, Sheriff?” Her green eyes sparked with cool ice. “Searching for more little old ladies to arrest, are you?”

Her words hurt, but Cam wasn’t about to admit it, even to himself. “Are you going to shoot me on the spot or may I come in?” He indicated the gate that stood between them, the watch goats protecting it. Protecting her from the likes of him.

She seemed to consider her options, and taking her sweet time to do it, too. “That all depends,” she said finally, crossing her arms and eyeing. him cautiously.

“On what?”

“On whether or not this is an...official visit.”

Why did he have the feeling that whichever way he answered he was in trouble? If he said “official” she’d have her dander up royally, and if he said “friendly”, well, let’s just say, she didn’t exactly look...friendly toward him at the moment.

“I just happened to be passing by,” he parried. At least that was partly true. “I wanted to be sure Granny hadn’t suffered any ill effects from her...time in jail.”