The Sheriff of Horseshoe, Texas

“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 heard nothing from her family.

And it was getting late. He had to call Jody.

Before he could punch out the number, his daughter bounded in with Dolittle, her yellow Lab, trotting behind her. She was dressed in her customary jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, her short blond hair clinging to her head like a frilly cap. She looked so much like Lori that it squeezed another drop of sadness from his heart. Her eyes were like his, though, dark brown with flecks of green.

“Hey, Daddy, what’s taking so long?” She rested her elbows on his desk and cupped her face, those big eyes sparkling like the rarest of gems. He’d never thought it possible to love someone so much, so deeply, but he did—the same way he had loved her mother. There was nothing on this earth he wouldn’t do for his daughter. He’d give his life for her in a heartbeat. She was everything to him and would be until the day he died.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I have a situation here at the jail.” Glancing outside, he saw her bicycle. “Does Grandma know where you are?” Usually his mother called when Jody was on her way to his office.

Jody shrugged. “Grandma doesn’t know where I’m at half the time.”

“Really?” He leaned back in his chair.

“Shoot.” Jody snapped her fingers. “Ramrod says I’m the sharpest knife in the drawer and sometimes I cut my own self.”

Everyone in town knew Jody and she wasn’t in any danger. But it was against the rules for Jody to leave the house without permission. His daughter spent too much time at the local barbershop owned by Virgil and Ramrod Crebbs. They were old cowboys who had grown tired of the long hours in the saddle and had moved to town. They opened the one and only barbershop. Jody loved to hear their tales and she’d picked up their lingo.

Disciplining his daughter was hard. She had him wrapped so tight around her little finger that he let her get away with just about everything. He had to be stronger where Jody was concerned.

How many times had he told himself that? Just last week he had been called to the school because Jody had punched a boy in her class. The boy had told her she was a pretty girl. Apparently, those were fighting words. Jody was a tomboy and refused to admit she was a girl. Although the two of them has talked about this often Jody stuck to her stance that she was just Jody, not a girl.

He sucked in the fatherhood department.

Jody was a loner and that bothered him. She didn’t have friends her own age—all her friends were adults. He had to address that problem soon, too.

Dolittle came around the desk and nuzzled Wyatt’s leg. Wyatt scratched the dog’s head. “So you left the house without telling Grandma?”

“Well, Daddy, it was like this.” Her brown eyes grew serious and he just wanted to kiss her sweet, pixie face. “Grandma was having her Sunday poker game and she was telling Gladys that she needed to get her cataracts removed because she couldn’t see squat. You know how Gladys hates it when Grandma tells her what to do. They were having a loud argument about mind-your-own business types of things when I shouted that I was going to see what was keeping you so long.”

“I see.” Wyatt realized he had no control over any of the women in his life. His mother played the organ in church on Sunday mornings and then played poker with her friends in the afternoon.

Gambling was illegal in Texas, so he’d told them they couldn’t play for money. But the winner bowled free on Tuesdays and also got a free lunch; the others paid, at least that was what his mother told him. Half the time he didn’t know what the ladies were up to, and most of the time he’d rather not know. He’d prefer not to have to lock up his own mother.

Trying to look as stern as possible, he pointed a finger at Jody. “Next time, make sure Grandma hears you.”

At the firmness of Wyatt’s voice, Dolittle became rigid, on guard. They’d had him since he was a pup, and they realized early that the dog was lazy and did very little, hence the name. But he was protective of Jody and he’d fight a lion for her.

Wyatt rubbed the dog’s head, letting him know that no one was hurting Jody.

“Sure. No problem,” Jody replied. “Are you ready to go now? Virgil says the catfish are biting today. He says he caught one this big.” She stretched out her arms as far as she could.

“Virgil tells a lot of fish stories.”

“Uh-uh, Daddy.” Jody shook her head vigorously. “Virgil doesn’t lie.”