Marie Ferrarella - Lassoing the Deputy

“You want some time off?” he asked her gently.

That caught her by surprise. “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Crossing over to her desk, Rick turned so that while he faced her, his back was to Larry. He wanted to block the other deputy’s view. The office was a fishbowl, but he did what he could to give Alma some privacy.

“I know this is all kind of rough for you,” Rick told her.

“It would be,” she conceded, then said with feeling, “if I wasn’t over him, Sheriff. Really, I’m fine.” Rick had always been like another big brother to her. An understanding big brother who didn’t get off on teasing her the way her real brothers did on occasion. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but it’s not necessary. I don’t need any kid-glove treatment. I’m the same person I’ve always been,” she assured him. “No need to walk on eggshells or tiptoe around me. Really,” she stressed.

“All right. If you want to stay on the job, look into this for me.” Taking a piece of paper out of his breast pocket, he placed it on her desk in front of her. “Sally Ronson just called, said that she saw the Winslow boys horsing around in the field beyond the high school. They were smoking.” There were two things wrong with that. “They’re underage and this is fire season. Get those cigarettes away from them and put the fear of God into them any way you see fit—just remember, we draw the line at flogging.”

He said it so seriously that for a second she actually thought that he was.

And then she saw the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Got you. No flogging.”

Joe, who listened unobtrusively to everything that went on in the sheriff’s office, looked up. “The Winslow boys?” Joe repeated, then asked, “Kyle and Ken?”

Rick nodded. “The very same.”

Joe shook his head. The two brothers were a rowdy handful.

“Good luck with that,” he told Alma. “Those two don’t have half a brain between them.” And then he raised his eyes to hers. “Want company?” he offered.

She knew what he was thinking. What all of them were probably thinking. That the sixteen-year-old twins were strong young bucks and she would need help getting them to listen to her.

“Thanks, but no,” she told Joe. “The day I can’t handle two snot-nosed teenage boys is the day I’m handing in my badge.”

Rick nodded, relieved that at least some of Alma’s fighting spirit was still intact. For a minute back there, when Cash had walked in, he’d had his doubts.

“Go get ’em, Deputy Rodriguez. And if they give you any lip,” he said, “bring them back here to me.” His eyes met hers. “Understood?”

“Understood,” she parroted. And then she smiled. “They won’t give me any trouble. Don’t go dusting off the jail cell just yet.”

After folding the paper the sheriff had given her, Alma tucked it into her back pocket. She did it as a formality. Everyone knew where the high school was and she was more than acquainted with the field he’d referred to. She and her brothers used to hang out there.

As had Cash, she remembered.

Even just thinking of his name made something twist deep in her belly. It would be a hell of a long two weeks.

Walking out, she silently blessed Rick. She was glad to leave the office on a pretext. Rick’s initial offer of letting her go home wouldn’t have been any good. She didn’t want to go home. Being alone with her thoughts right now was worse than being subjected to an afternoon laden with Larry’s jokes. She needed to keep busy, but being cooped up in the office with Larry unintentionally saying stupid things wasn’t conducive to having a tranquil afternoon, either.

She thought back to Joe’s offer to come with her. She actually wouldn’t have minded his company, but ever since he’d gotten married, he seemed to be slightly more talkative, slightly more prone to commenting on things. It used to be that he kept mostly to himself and spoke only when he had to. Right now, she would have preferred that version of Joe to the new, improved one. One that didn’t feel compelled to offer sympathy or comfort.

All she wanted to do was go on as if Cash Taylor was still on the West Coast. She didn’t want to talk about him or think about him.

Not exactly an easy matter, she realized a couple of moments later, given that his image popped up in her mind every second and a half.

That was because she was still in shock, she told herself. And why not? He’d come on like an apparition from her past, walking right into the middle of the sheriff’s office. Granted, Larry had propelled him into the room but that still didn’t negate the final effect.

Or the fact that her heart had stopped beating and then launched into triple time.

She hadn’t thought it was humanly possible for someone as good-looking as Cash to grow better looking over time, especially since she assumed that he had had a sedentary life since he’d left Forever.

But he had.

Those were muscles beneath his custom-made jacket. Firm muscles. They went well with his flat stomach and his taut hips.

As for his face, he seemed to have taken on a more chiseled look. Certainly his cheekbones had become prominent. All in all, it gave his profile a somewhat haunting look.

There was that word again, she thought. Haunting. She might as well admit that was the way she felt right now.

Haunted.

Haunted by Cash’s memory, by his presence—and by the thoughts of what might have been.

The next couple of weeks were not going to be good. She would just have to resign herself to that and make the best of it.

Easier said than done.

A lot easier said than done.

Chapter Three

The area just beyond the back of the high school couldn’t actually be called a park. It was a clearing with several sun-bleached benches scattered about and a lot of grass in between. Summer evenings invited couples seeking a private moment or two. During the day, children occasionally still brought their imaginations and played timeless games that didn’t require electricity.

Today the clearing was empty. Except for the Winslow twins, as had been reported. And, also as had been reported, they were both smoking. Each had staked out a bench and was sprawled out, sending smoke rings up into the hot wind.

Parking her Jeep close to the clearing, Alma got out and crossed over to where the twins were sitting. Her eyes swept over them and she nodded.

“’Morning, boys.”

Startled, one of the twins—Ken, the slightly shorter one—sat up straight. “’Morning, Miss Alma,” he responded somewhat nervously.

His twin, Kyle, said nothing. He merely glanced in her direction and nodded. Kyle had always behaved as if he thought himself to be the cooler one of the two. She’d come to favor Ken herself.

When she regarded the latter, he appeared not to know what to do with his cigarette.

Alma kept her voice friendly but firm. Her best asset when dealing with teenagers was that she could vividly remember what it was like to be that age. And how she had felt being chided by an adult. It helped temper her words.

“Put them out, boys,” she told the twins. “You know you’re too young to be smoking cigarettes, even if they were good for you, which they’re not.”

In defiance, Kyle took another long drag from his cigarette, then slowly blew out the smoke. As it swirled away from him, he smirked as he slanted another look at her.

“You gonna tell us that smoking cigarettes is going to stunt our growth?” The suggestion made him laugh. At sixteen, both twins were close to six foot six, like their father and older brother.

“No,” she said, walking up to Kyle and physically removing the cigarette from his hand, “I’m going to tell you that smoking cigarettes at sixteen is against the law.” She snubbed out the cigarette against the back of the bench.