The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas

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.”