20. Sophie #2
“Oh, come on.” She smiled. “Handcuffs. Jail bars. Authority figures.” Her gaze drifted toward the booking desk where two deputies were filling out paperwork.
“I’m beginning to understand why so many people role-play this.
” She tapped one perfectly manicured fingernail against the bar.
“Although I do think the fluorescent lighting kills the mood. Candlelight would’ve been a stronger choice. ”
“I’m really not in the mood, Lola.” I sighed dramatically.
“Can we maybe postpone your erotic jail redesign until after I’m no longer technically an inmate?
” There had to be a more appropriate time for this conversation.
Then again… this was Lola. She’d probably consider my arraignment an icebreaker.
Dottie blinked innocently. “People do that?” She genuinely sounded fascinated, like Lola had just revealed a surprising fact about migrating geese instead of humanity’s collective bedroom habits.
Lola looked at her. “Dottie.”
“Yes?” She leaned forward with complete sincerity.
Lola flashed her a smile. “They absolutely do.” She said it with the quiet confidence of a woman who had conducted extensive… field research. Frankly, I did not want to know how extensive.
Dottie frowned. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that.”
Lola laughed. “But now you do.”
I buried my face in my hands. There really weren’t enough hands available for the amount of embarrassment I was currently experiencing. Ideally, I’d have liked another two. Perhaps four. One set for my face and the others for my ears.
Lola leaned closer to the bars. Close enough that her sunglasses slipped slightly down her nose. “I have to admit, though…” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “You move fast.” Her grin widened. “Even by my standards.”
“I do not.” I pointed at myself. “I had one brief emotional lapse. One. Let’s not turn this into a personality trait.”
“You kissed the sheriff.” She counted on one finger like she was presenting evidence to a jury that already knew the verdict. “You stole a truck.” A second finger.
“I know.” The list was developing an uncomfortable momentum.
“You kidnapped livestock.” Third finger. “Technically an entire mobile petting zoo.”
“I know.” Every time she said it out loud, it somehow sounded more criminal.
“And now you’re behind bars.”
“I know that too.” I sighed so deeply I was fairly certain it came from a previous lifetime. “When you say it all in order like that, it really does sound as though I’ve completely lost my mind.” I paused. “The worrying part is… I still think rescuing the animals was the right decision.”
“I don’t care about all that.” Lola smiled brightly. “Good news, ladies.” The smile alone should’ve made me suspicious. Lola rarely delivered good news without wrapping it in at least three layers of inappropriate commentary first.
I looked up. My optimism cautiously peeked around the corner, prepared to retreat if necessary.
She planted a hand on her hip, pushed out her chest and said, “I’ve come to rescue you.” She somehow managed to sound like both a superhero and a perfume advertisement at the same time.
I stared at her. “You have?”
“I’ve come to bail you out.” She lifted her chin proudly, as though she’d negotiated a peace treaty instead of driving to the sheriff’s office with a handbag big enough to smuggle a small pony.
My eyebrows lifted. “Really?” I had no idea how jail worked. My legal education came almost entirely from television, which probably wasn’t ideal. For all I knew there’d be paperwork. Or stamps. Government offices loved stamps.
“I have money.” She shrugged like that explained absolutely everything. Knowing Lola… it usually did.
“Ah.” Fair point. Money solved considerably more problems than emotional overthinking ever had. I’d been trying the second strategy for years with very limited success.
Before I could ask more questions, keys jingled nearby. The sound echoed down the hallway, oddly official. Funny how quickly a ring of keys could become intimidating once you were on the wrong side of the bars.
Deputy Jenna walked over. She still wore the same calm expression she’d had during processing, like locking us up ranked somewhere between answering emails and refilling the coffee pot on her morning schedule.
She slid a key into the old brass lock. It resisted for half a second before turning with a deep metallic clunk that echoed through the empty holding area.
Then she wrapped her fingers around one of the cold steel bars and gave the door a firm pull.
The hinges groaned in protest before the cell door swung open.
“You’re free to go.” She stepped aside, gesturing toward the hallway with quiet professionalism.
I blinked. “We are?” Huh. I had not expected that.
Jenna nodded. “The handler isn’t pressing charges.” She said it matter-of-factly, but one corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly, like even she realized how unusual this whole situation had become.
I stared at her, trying very hard to process that sentence without my imagination inventing twelve impossible explanations. “But…” My mouth kept starting sentences my brain wasn’t equipped to finish.
“You got lucky.” Jenna held my gaze for a second longer than before.
That kind of look suggested she’d seen plenty of people who weren’t nearly as fortunate.
There wasn’t any judgment in her voice anymore.
Just simple honesty. Like she wanted to make absolutely certain I appreciated just how close I’d come to a considerably worse day.
Her expression softened just a fraction.
“This could’ve gone very differently.” She glanced briefly toward the booking desk.
“People have ended up with criminal records for a whole lot less.”
Relief flooded through me so suddenly my knees almost gave out.
It arrived in one enormous wave, washing away hours of panic, embarrassment, and catastrophic mental planning.
For one glorious second I considered hugging Deputy Jenna.
Then I remembered she’d fingerprinted me three hours earlier and decided perhaps we’d skip directly to gratitude from a respectful distance.
Then another thought crashed into it.
“The animals.” Of course. Freedom was wonderful, but it wasn’t the thing that had brought me here in the first place.
Jenna frowned. “What about them?” She genuinely looked puzzled, as though she’d expected me to ask about paperwork or my belongings instead of four extremely fluffy emotional support felons.
“Where are they?” My heart climbed back into my throat. Please don’t let the answer be gone. Anything but that.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“But…” The word escaped before I could think of a better one. It seemed to be doing a lot of heavy lifting today.
“If you want that answer.” She glanced toward the front office. “You’ll have to ask the sheriff.”
My heart sped up again. Because emotional stability had become optional. I stepped out of the cell with Dottie beside me. Lola followed at her own unhurried pace, taking in the sheriff’s office as though she were touring a boutique hotel instead of part of a jail.
We walked toward the front office. Every footstep echoed through the station, keeping time with the frantic pounding of my heart.
And there he was.
The sheriff stood with his back partly turned, one hand resting on the counter while he signed paperwork.
His uniform was still perfectly pressed despite what had already been a very long morning, and the sleeves stretched across his forearms as he wrote.
I hated that I noticed things like that.
I especially hated that my brain still had room for appreciating his forearms while simultaneously worrying about my furry friends.
Human beings were deeply confusing creatures.
He looked up as we approached. The movement was small, calm and controlled. He’d worn the same measured composure ever since we’d left the vet clinic parking lot. Not once had I seen even a crack in it.
Our eyes met. For one hopeful second, I thought maybe he’d say something.
Maybe he’d explain. Maybe he’d tell me I’d been reckless, but he understood why I’d done it.
Maybe he’d even call me Sophie instead of Hartwell again.
My imagination, ever the optimist, managed to construct an entire conversation in approximately half a second.
It had always been alarmingly efficient.
Anything.
“What happened to the animals?” The question burst out before I could stop it. Not Why did you ignore me? Not Are you angry? Not Did last night mean anything? Just the only thing that had mattered since this ridiculous day had started.
His eyes held mine for one long heartbeat, and I searched them desperately for something, anything—anger, frustration, understanding, any tiny hint that Captain Competent was still in there somewhere behind the badge.
His expression gave nothing away. It was like trying to read a locked door, solid, quiet, and completely impossible to see through. I’d seen him smile. I’d seen him laugh. I’d even seen him kiss me. Somehow this version of him felt like a stranger wearing the sheriff’s face.
Not anger or kindness. Nothing. Just professionalism. That sort of expression probably made people confess to parking violations without being asked. It also made my heart sink somewhere near my shoes.
Then, without answering, he turned and walked away.
And that hurt even more than the handcuffs had.