Rachel Gibson: True Confessions

Hope took a deep breath and glanced in her rearview mirror. She reapplied her red lipstick and wished she’d worn something nicer than her white cotton shirt that buttoned up the front, jeans, and black leather belt. Not that what she wore wasn’t nice. It just wasn’t going to make anyone kick himself in the ass for dumping her.

Hope approached the information desk and waited for the female deputy to look up. “I need some information on a restraining order,” she began.

“Is this an emergency?”

“I think so.”

“Have you been assaulted?”

“Not yet.”

The officer picked up the telephone receiver and punched a button. “Hazel, I have a woman out here who needs to obtain a TRO.”

“No.” Hope shook her head, stopping the deputy before she made the mistake of involving Dylan and his secretary. “I already have a restraining order. When I lived in California, I had to take Myron Lambardo to court. I won, but I just saw him at the M and S Market.”

“Just a minute, Hazel.” The woman pressed the hold button. “And you’re positive it was him?”

“Yes. You can’t miss Myron. He looks a little like Patrick Swayze, only shorter.”

“How short?”

“He’s a dwarf.”

The officer blinked twice, then lifted her finger. “Hazel,” she began again, “the woman here says she’s being stalked by a dwarf from California. She wants to know about a restraining order.”

Hope groaned. “Oh, my God.”

“Just a sec. I’ll ask her.” The deputy looked Hope up and down. “Are you the woman with the peacock boots?”

“Yes.”

“Yep.” The woman pointed to the double glass doors that led to Dylan’s office. “Go right in there and Hazel will help you.”

Hope looked at the big gold star painted on the doors, and her dread of seeing Dylan replaced any lingering fear of Myron. “I just want some information. Can’t you help me?”

The deputy shook her head. “If a stalker has followed you here from California, the sheriff needs to be informed.”

Hope figured she had two choices. She could be an adult and brave it out, or she could run and hide like a coward. She stood frozen for several indecisive moments. Maybe it wasn’t Myron. Maybe it was some other dwarf who wanted her to make Micky the Magical Leprechaun a stud muffin. If she left, she could always return on a day when Dylan was out of the office. Maybe if she just ignored Myron, he’d get tired and go away. Problem was, she’d tried that and it hadn’t worked.

Hazel swung open one of the glass doors and settled the issue for her. “Sheriff Taber said to come on back.”

Hope’s stomach got a bit queasy as she moved toward Hazel and followed her past her desk and down the short hallway. The closer she got, the worse she felt. And then there he was, standing as she entered his office, looking better than she remembered. Tall and handsome, his hair rumpled as if he’d combed it with his fingers. Her footsteps faltered and she stopped just inside the doorway.

“Shall I hold your calls, Sheriff?” Hazel asked.

“Yes,” he said, and the sound of his voice after so many days without it poured through Hope like warm sunshine on a December day. “Unless it’s the prosecutor’s office.”

Hazel shifted her gaze to Hope as if she were a scanner, trying to detect the true nature behind Hope’s visit. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me, Sheriff,” she said, then left, and Hope was alone with the man she loved, her broken heart, and her queasy stomach.

“Why don’t you sit?” Dylan offered.

“No, really. I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to disturb you. I just have a quick question that I thought one of the deputies could answer for me. I guess no one knew the answer and just assumed you’d want to see me. I know that you don’t, and I wouldn’t have come if I’d known-”

“What’s your question?” he asked, interrupting her.

She placed a hand on her abdomen and took a deep breath. “Is a restraining order obtained in California enforceable in Idaho?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She let out her breath and took a step backward. “Thanks.”

“Why?”

She stood close enough to see his green eyes, close enough to see him looking back at her as if she were just any ordinary citizen stopping by to fill out a complaint. As if he’d never shown her Sawtooth Lake and Cassiopeia spinning around on her head.

In his gaze, there was no spark of hunger nor even the interest that had been there from the first moment she’d met him. There was nothing, and she hadn’t realized until it was gone how much she’d delighted in it and how desired he’d made her feel. The backs of her eyes stung and she slid her palm over her stomach as if she could hold in the pain of seeing him.

“Why?” he asked again.

Looking at him made it hard to think of anything beyond how much she still loved him and how little he felt for her now. She lowered her gaze to the clutter of paper on his desk.

“A few months ago I was granted a restraining order against a man named Myron Lambardo.” She paused and her fingers nervously rubbed the smooth leather of her belt as she told herself not to cry. “He was part of the reason I came to Gospel. I needed to get away from the whole mess and stress of the court hearing.” She glanced up. “I saw him when I was coming out of the M and S.”

“Today?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“What did he say?”

“I think he called my name.”

“What else?”

“He held a big sign that said, ‘Make Micky a Stud Muffin.’ ”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Who else could it be?” Dylan was so professional. So impersonal, and although she wouldn’t have thought it possible, he broke her heart just a little bit more.

“How close was he to you?” he asked.

“A parking lot away.”

He pointed to the chair opposite his desk. “Have a seat, Hope.”

Finally he said her name, and she wished he hadn’t. It made everything so much worse, reminding her of all the other times he’d said it, or whispered it against her neck or into her mouth.

“I’m okay,” she said but took a step further into the room.

He looked at her for several long moments; then he sat in his chair and typed something into his computer. “Are you afraid he’ll physically assault you?”

“Not really. He’s never touched me, but he used to threaten me with a tombstone.”

He glanced up.

“It’s a wresting move.”

“I know.” He read something off the screen, then lifted his gaze to her once again. “By following you to Gospel, he has violated the terms of the restraining order,” he explained. “Of course, he can always say he’s here for some other reason, but I doubt a judge will believe him.”

“What happens now?”

“I’ll bring him in, and depending on what time he’s actually booked into jail, he’ll go before the magistrate either today or in the morning. Bail will be set as well as a court date.”

“I’ll have to go to court again?” Hope didn’t want to go through another hearing.

“That depends on his plea. He might plead guilty, pay his fine, and leave town.”

Hope doubted it. “Can’t you just talk to him? He’s easy to spot in a crowd. He’s not even four feet tall and he looks a bit like Patrick Swayze. Maybe you could just scare him into leaving?” But she doubted fear of Dylan would send Myron running. Dealing with him had never been that easy.

Dylan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If that’s what you want, but you still need to swear out a complaint. Just in case we need something to take to the prosecutor.”