Chapter 2 – Sheriff Chris Nelson
I’m sitting at my desk at the police station, checking my e-mail, when our office administrative assistant, Darlene, pops her head through my open office door. “Hey, boss. Sorry to bother you, but Ricky just brought in Ted Monroe for DUI. He ran his pickup into the ditch.”
“Again? It’s the second time this week.” I shake my head. “That old fool is going to kill himself one of these days.” I check the time. “It’s not even eight-thirty yet.”
“They’re in booking right now. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Yeah, all right.” I sigh. “Tell Ricky I’ll be right there.”
When I walk into the booking room, Deputy Ricky Stephens has Ted Monroe handcuffed to a bench as he takes the scowling man’s photo for the booking report.
“He’s too drunk to stand,” Ricky says with a shrug. “And he wouldn’t sit still, so I had to cuff him to the bench.”
“Ted, I told you if we caught you driving drunk again, I’d take away your keys.”
“You can’t do that, Sheriff!” Ted yells. He’s slurring his words so badly I can barely understand him. “I know my rights!”
“Watch me.” I hold out my hand, and Ricky places Ted’s car key on my palm. “This is mine now until you can prove to me you can stay sober.”
“You’re an asshole!” Ted sneers. “I’ll never understand how you got elected to sheriff in this county.”
“Well, Ted, it’s a small county, off the beaten path, and apparently competition was thin. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
The old man scowls. “It’s cause you went away to that fancy university in Phoenix and came back puttin’ on airs. You’re no better than your whore of a mother.”
Any time someone mentions my mother, I feel an inevitable sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. She’s been gone almost a decade now—victim of a drug overdose when I was away at college—but folks around here still remember her.
Hell, half the men in this town probably slept with her at some point, including old Ted Monroe.
I ignore the possibility that Ted could be my father.
It’s certainly not out of the question. Of course, just about any Tom, Dick, or Harry in this town could be my daddy as well. I’ll never know.
“Finish booking him and lock him up,” I tell Ricky. “We’ll let him sleep it off today. He’ll get his chance in front of a judge tomorrow down at the courthouse.”
“You can’t do this!” Ted yells as I walk away. “Give me back my keys! That’s my personal property! I know my rights, Sheriff!”
Ignoring Ted, I keep walking back to the administrative offices. My morning started off with a headache, and now it’s gotten worse.
As I return to the front of the station, Darlene catches me. “We just got a call from the diner. A customer is causing a disturbance and throwing things. Do you want me to have someone—”
“No, I’ll go.” I head straight for my office, strap on my duty belt, and shove my hat on. I’m out the door and in my SUV in less than a minute. Fortunately, the station is only four blocks away from the diner.
When I arrive at the restaurant, I double-park behind a Jeep and a pickup truck parked out front and run inside just in time to see Jennie standing her ground between an irate middle-aged woman and the baked goods display case.
Just like it does every other time, my chest tightens at the sight of Jennie Lopez, and my breath catches.
She’s always beautiful, but right now she’s nothing sort of magnificent as she fends off what looks to be an irate, belligerent customer.
Her soft brown skin is flushed from exertion, and her dark eyes are lit up.
The woman grabs Jennie’s arm and attempts to pull her away.
Well, there’s a charge—simple battery—which I can add to disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace. Already I can tell this one is going to be fun.
“That’s enough!” I yell, using what Jennie refers to as my cop voice.
As soon as she realizes I’m here, Jennie’s entire demeanor changes, going from fierce mama bear to interested bystander. Her gaze locks on mine, and she gives me a smile, complete with dimples in her soft, round cheeks.
Curious to find out what will happen next, everyone in the diner goes silent. Even the perpetrator stops what she’s doing and turns to face me.
“Thank goodness you’re here,” the indignant woman says with a huff.
I start mentally cataloging the suspect—white female, five-five, approximately 160 pounds, mid-fifties, white or blond hair (can’t tell), wearing a pair of navy trousers, white high heels, and a silky white blouse with an obscenely low neckline. And lots of gold jewelry.
As I approach the counter, I’m resting my left hand on the butt of my service piece. It’s a habit.
First things first. I glance at Jennie. “Are you okay?” If this woman hurt Jennie, I’ll throw the book at her.
Jennie nods as she nervously tucks her chin-length, straight black hair behind her perfect shell of an ear.
Before Jennie can reply, the woman says, “Why are you asking her if she’s okay? I’m the victim here! You should be asking me!”
“I’ll get to you in a minute, ma’am. Right now, I’m talking to Ms. Lopez.”
“I’m fine, Sheriff,” Jennie says. “She—”
“Forget about her!” the woman screeches. “I’m the wronged party here. I want to press charges.”
“She’s wrecking the place,” Jennie says to me, nodding behind her.
I step closer and peer over the counter at the mess of shattered glass and spilled food on the floor.
“She was unhappy with her meal,” Jennie says, as if that justifies disorderly conduct.
“Yes!” the woman yells. “I want a full refund right now!”
Cara comes around the corner, spitting like a cat who got her tail stepped on. “Don’t listen to her, Sheriff. She ate every single bite. If she didn’t like her food, then she shouldn’t have eaten all of it and then complained.”
Jennie sighs. “Cara, it’s okay. Let us handle this.”
“I told you, I had low blood sugar!” the woman yells. “You stupid—”
“She’s just trying to get free food!” Cara yells.
“Ma’am, calm down, please,” I say to the woman. She’s not a local, and I’d hate to arrest a tourist for being an ass, but if she keeps on being belligerent and wrecking the diner, I will.
And that’s when the woman grabs another customer’s coffee cup from a nearby table and lobs it over the counter. It hits the wall, shattering, and falls to the floor. Coffee drips down the wall.
“That’s enough.” I grab one of the woman’s wrists and pull it behind her back. “You’re under arrest.”
“What for?” she shrieks. “I didn’t do anything.”
I grab her other arm, pulling it behind her so that I’m holding both of her wrists in one hand. I retrieve my handcuffs and secure her.
“On what charges?” she demands.
“Well, for starters, how about disorderly conduct, public nuisance, and simple battery.”
“Battery?” she says, nearly spitting the word. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you grab Ms. Lopez’s arm.”
“So what if I did? It’s a free country.” The woman tries to jerk out of my hold.
“Would you like to add resisting arrest to your list of charges? Now, where’s your ID?”
“In my purse.” The woman scowls at me. “On my table.”
Jennie retrieves the woman’s purse and hands it to me. “I’m sorry about all the commotion,” she says, smiling apologetically. “I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to start your day.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask her quietly. “I saw her grab you.”
Jennie flexes her arm, rubbing it and wincing slightly. “It’s just sore.”
When I ask the woman for permission to obtain her ID, she gives it, and I pull out her wallet and locate her driver’s license—Bianca Hayes from Helena, Montana.
“All right, Mrs. Hayes, let’s go,” I say as I direct the woman toward the exit.
“Go where?” she shrieks. “Where are you taking me?”
“To jail. Where do you think?” It’s all I can do not to laugh at her indignation.
She sputters in shock. “Do you know who I am? You can’t take me to jail!”
“Actually, I can.”
“I want to call my husband right now! And my attorney!”
“Relax. You’ll get your chance to make phone calls after you’re booked.”
I pause a moment to glance back at Jennie.
She looks a little flustered after her ordeal, but otherwise she seems fine.
I allow myself a full second to take her in.
If I weren’t here on business, I’d stay long enough to eat a slice of her famous pecan pie.
Anything that would give me an excuse to stick around a little while longer.
I try not to dwell on the notion she might have gotten hurt here today. When she smiles at me, my heart rate kicks into overdrive. Even after all these years of pining for her, I still feel gut punched when she looks my way.
“Call me if you need anything,” I tell Jennie as I nudge the Hayes woman toward the exit.
Before I’m out the door, Jennie calls after me, “Will I see you at lunch?”
I nod. Barring a schedule conflict, I have lunch here every day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with Micah. I often come for dinner, too. I say it’s because I hate cooking, but the truth is I just want to see Jennie.
When we were kids, I thought she was the prettiest, kindest, and smartest girl around. I still do.
I doff my hat to her. “I’ll be here.”
* * *
I ignore the constant bitching coming from the backseat of my cruiser as I drive Mrs. Hayes to the station.
After taking her inside, I leave her in the capable hands of Deputy Stephens to book her and lock her up.
It’s early enough she’s likely to get to see a judge today.
I imagine she’ll be out on bond before dinner time.
Based on all the jewelry she’s wearing, I don’t think paying the bond will be a hardship for her.
“How’d it go?” Darlene asks when I finally make it back to my office.
“I arrested a tourist for disrupting the peace and simple battery. She’s cooling her entitled ass in jail as we speak.”
“Jennie’s okay?”
“She was manhandled a bit, but she’s okay. I’m off to do rounds now. See you later.”