I Shocked The Sheriff

“Open your door, please. I won’t ask you again.”

What was he going to do about it? Shoot out the windows? Drag her out of the car by her hair? The Porsche was legally registered in her name, a gift of love from her father for staying sober for a whole year. She’d tell this big, bad cop a thing or two…respectfully, of course.

No sense in ending up in a hick holding tank for sassing the local law. No matter how desperate her high school was for teachers, they’d fire her in a heartbeat if they found out she’d spent her summer vacation in a West Texas jail.

Funny, how the youngest person in her AA group had inspired her to use her degree to teach and mentor at the high school. Finding a purpose had helped her to stay sober, and watching over kids who had it rougher made her appreciate her life.

She grinned at the irony, relishing even this nowhere place and this nobody cop who’d come to rescue her. Wallowing in the sheer relief of being sober.

Roxy unlocked the car doors.

“Step out of the car slowly.”

She pushed herself away from the steering wheel. It didn’t do any good to argue with certain types of cops—his kind of cop. She could tell by the look in his frigid brown eyes.

Still sitting, facing forward, she put one tentative foot outside, grateful for the firmness of the ground and the rustle of dry grass beneath her sandal as a familiar wave of dizziness washed over her.

She breathed deeply, filling her lungs several times before she noticed him shifting in apparent frustration. “I’m sorry, officer. I’m unsteady this morning. Forgot my medication. Ran out of gas. An all-around unhappy morning.”

Roxy’s tone wasn’t flip, but it wasn’t placating, she didn’t have placating in her soul, no matter how many spectacular mistakes she’d made.

He looked her over as if she were roadkill. He’d likely found less pleasant company on the side of the road, but she guessed he wouldn’t admit it. She ran her tongue over her teeth. She hadn’t brushed them, but she hadn’t been drinking, either. Lucky for him, my breath won’t be too toxic.

“You think you could pass a Breathalyzer?” he asked.

Of course, a sheriff from Hicksville would assume the worst. She slung the other leg around the edge of the seat. There she sat facing him, feet on the ground, grass tickling her calves. She resisted the urge to tug on her very short shorts. It would just draw attention to her naked thighs. Out here, anyone not wearing jeans and cowboy boots probably ended up arrested for indecent exposure.

“I haven’t been drinking.” She tried on a smile. Flipped a hunk of hair over her shoulder. Let him think whatever he wanted to just as long as he gave her a lift to the nearest gas station with a rest room.

He looked her over. “What kind of medicine?”

He’d obviously been paying attention to more than her lank red hair and the circles under her eyes. Score one for the policeman. “Do you have any orange juice? I’m worried about my blood sugar.”

“Are you claiming to be diabetic?” He sounded skeptical.

“I’m borderline diabetic. And I’m out of gas. So I guess I’m going to be riding with you. If you’ll help me to my feet we can start for town.” Then she remembered. “If there’s a town in this godforsaken place.”

“You don’t even know where you are? Don’t you know it’s dangerous to run out of gas in West Texas in the middle of the hottest summer on record? In a few hours you’d be cookin’ in that car and there’s no shade and no water for quite a ways.”

She grimaced up at him. This was familiar territory. All cops liked to give lectures. “Actually, I drove all this way just so I could try my hand at hitchhiking along a desert highway in the middle of summer.” She brushed her hair back again. “And I think it’s unkind of you to deprive me of that scintillating experience.”

“That fancy word tells me that you’re educated, but you’re not very smart. You could have died of heat prostration out here.”

Roxy licked her dry lips, imagining being stuck here even more thirsty than she already was. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking straight.”

She was telling the truth. Her longtime friend Joey had attempted suicide after being dry for six months. The shock had hit her hard and fast. And the five-year-old memory of finding her brother, overdosed on Ecstasy, had followed on its tail, kicking her in the teeth like it was yesterday. She’d felt brittle, an urge away from tumbling headfirst off the wagon.

Instead Roxy had grabbed her keys, driving the loneliest stretches of roads she could find. Anything to avoid the neon lure of civilization and alcohol.

“Ma’am, I need to see your identification. Where’re you from?”

“I’m from Dallas. I have my driver’s license here somewhere.” She reached around to look for her purse and found it wasn’t under the seat where she usually stowed it. She looked in the back seat and didn’t see it there. In fact the car looked decidedly bare. In her rush to get away she hadn’t brought her purse, her phone, or anything else.

“Gosh, darn it!” Swearing was not allowed at school and she cringed at the sound of her silly exclamation. Too bad it doesn’t go with his image of me as a lowlife. She would have enjoy harassing this hick, if not for her hard-won job.

Roxy turned back and put her feet on the ground again. The fresh air smelled good, but now she caught the faintest scent of warming asphalt. Add lots of exhaust and it’d be just like home. Roxy looked up at him and shrugged. “Sorry, no purse.”

“Miss Dallas, you’ve got no straight answers and no identification?”

“I’m full of straight answers. You just haven’t asked me the right questions.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. Do you usually drive without your license?”

She shrugged. “I was slightly upset when I left home.” Understatement of the century. “I forgot it.”

“You don’t leave me with any choice. I’ll have to run you into Red Wing and you can sit at the station until we get some confirmation of who you are.”

“Red Wing?”

“It’s a town about ten miles from here. You’re lucky I had business out at Pete’s place or you’d have been in a world of hurt. This is a lonely stretch of road.”

“Do they have gas pumps and orange juice in Red Wing?”

He nodded.

Roxy didn’t know why she bothered being sarcastic. He didn’t even notice. It was almost as irritating as his cop attitude. Because he sure was a handsome man under that uniform, with a body good enough to wake her slumbering hormones.

Down, girl. She’d always been a sucker for broad shoulders and a tight little bottom, but the tight-ass attitude belonged to a cop. It’s not hormones. It’s just my blood sugar.

“I’ll need your keys so I can lock the car.” He looked at her expectantly. It took a minute, but she soon realized he meant for her to get up. She knew she’d never make it to her feet so she held out one hand. “If you don’t want to haul my butt out of the grass you’d better help me up. I’m dizzy as all get out.”

He took her hand as if it were the last thing he wanted to do. He sure was tall. Once she stood up she had to tilt her head back to look up into his face.

“Thank you.” She said it rather reluctantly since it felt like he’d rather be hauling a carcass off of the road.

He didn’t seem to notice her attitude for which she was famous. Roxy handed him the keys with a grimace. Be smart, girl. Don’t challenge him. He’s not worth getting fired over.

He nodded, putting the keys in his pocket and one hand on her arm. She tried to pull away, but it only made her more dizzy so she accepted his touch while doing her best to ignore the zing that had all her nerves humming. He walked her to his car as if she were an old woman, towering over her despite her height and the two-inch heels on her sandals.

His impersonal attitude didn’t upset her, she told herself. She didn’t care if the gorgeous cop from Hicksville saw her as a stray and not as a woman. He probably had a wife and six children back at the ranch.

The only thing that mattered was that she’d done it. Stayed sober despite extreme provocation. It proved…well, it didn’t prove anything. Twenty-six years old and she’d still run, still hadn’t been strong enough. Over two years sober and she was still afraid.

Terrified.

So I’ll just keep fighting it the way I have been—one day at a time. And today’s a good day, another day clean. She hummed a little ditty on the way to the police car.

SHERIFF LUKE HERMANN started his car and then pulled out from behind the eye-popping-yellow Porsche. That was a custom paint job if he’d ever seen one. The car was a beaut and so was the woman.