Linda Conrad - The Sheriff's Amnesiac Bride

Shaking badly, she wondered if her voice would work anyway. But right then, the miracle she’d prayed for happened. Their car came to a complete stop, almost directly in front of the church.

She bit her lip and tried to guess whether it would be closer for her to head for the sanctuary of the church or to run for the policeman in the street ten car-lengths away. The truck in front of them inched ahead and she decided to break for the church—it was her only real choice.

For a split second she stopped to wonder if she might be the kind of person who made rash decisions and who would rather fight back than die with a whimper. But then, whether out of fear or out of instinct, she knew it didn’t matter.

If she were ever going to find out what had happened to her in the first place, she would have to go. Now.

Jericho heard a popping sound behind his back. Spinning around, he scanned the area trying to make out where the noise had originated.

“Was that a gunshot?” Fisher asked, as he too checked out the scene in front of the church.

In his peripheral vision, Jericho spotted a woman he’d never seen before. A woman seemingly out of place for a wedding, dressed in fancy jeans and red halter top. And she was racing at top speed across the grass straight in his direction. What the hell?

Another pop and the woman fell on the concrete walkway. From off to his left, someone screamed. Then tires squealed from somwhere down the long line of cars. When he glanced toward the sound, he saw a sedan with two men sitting in front as they roared out of the line and headed down the narrow shoulder of the highway.

Chaos reigned. Car horns honked. People shouted. And the sedan spewed out a huge dust plume as it bumped down the embankment.

Jericho took off at a run. He dropped to one knee beside the woman, checked her pulse and discovered she was breathing but unconscious and bleeding.

“Is she alive?” Deputy Rawlins asked, almost out of breath as he came running up. “I got their plates, Sheriff. But I didn’t dare get off a shot with all the civilians in the way. You want me to pursue?”

Son of a gun. It would figure that he didn’t have his weapon just when an emergency arose.

“Stay with the woman,” Jericho ordered. “You and Fisher get her to Doc O’Neal’s as fast as you can. My rifle’s in the truck, and…” He looked over his shoulder toward the church door. “Tell Macy…”

Right then Macy appeared at the top of the church steps and peered down at him. He was about to yell for her to get back out of the line of fire. But within a second, he could see her quickly taking in the whole situation.

“You go do what you need to, Jericho,” she called out to him. “Don’t worry about us. Just take care of yourself. The wedding’s off for today.”

It was one of those spectacular Texas sunsets, but Jericho had been too preoccupied to enjoy it. Now that the sun had completely dropped below the horizon, he retraced his steps to the Community Church and the prearranged meeting with his deputy.

“Sorry you didn’t catch them, Sheriff. I searched the grounds like you told me when you called in, and I came up with just this one bullet casing. From a 9mm. Pretty common, I’m afraid.”

Jericho felt all of his thirty-five years weighing heavily on his shoulders tonight. “Yeah, but just in case there might be anything special, send it off to the lab in San Antonio. Okay?” It wasn’t often that a trained lawman witnessed an attempted murder and couldn’t either catch—or identify—the perpetrators. So why him? And why on his wedding day?

The deputy nodded and put the plastic evidence bag back into his jacket pocket.

“What happened with the victim?” Jericho asked wearily. “Is she still alive?”

“Last time I checked she was sitting up and able to talk, still over at Doc O’Neal’s clinic. But she wasn’t giving many answers.”

That figured. Why make his job any easier?

“Did you run the plates?”

Deputy Rawlins frowned. “Stolen. Not the car. The plates were stolen in San Marcos day before yesterday.”

Jericho’s frustration grew but he kept it hidden as he rolled up the sleeves of his starched, white dress shirt. “When I checked in the last time, everyone else was okay. That still true?” He was concerned about Macy. How had she handled postponing the wedding?

“I never saw an assemblage of people disband so quickly or so quietly.” The deputy removed his hat and fiddled with the brim. “Mrs. Ward was amazing. Once we were sure the immediate danger was over, she told everyone to go home and that she’d notify them when there would be another try at the wedding. Had everybody chuckling pretty good…but they went.”

“I’d better call her.”

“Yes, sir.” With a tired sigh, Deputy Rawlins flipped his hat back onto his head. “Doc O’Neal needs someone to take charge of the woman victim. Says her condition is not serious enough to send her over to the Uvalde hospital, but she isn’t capable of being on her own, either. You want me to handle it, Sheriff?”

“No, Adam. You’ve had a long day and you’ve done a fine job. You go on home. I’ll clean up the odds and ends.”

The deputy nodded and turned, but then hesitated and turned back. “Sorry about the wedding, boss. Don’t you think that whole shooting scene was really odd for broad daylight? What do you suppose it was all about?”

When Jericho just raised his eyebrows and didn’t answer, Adam continued, “Wait ’til you try to question that woman victim. She’s a little odd, too. Wouldn’t say much to me. But she’s sure something terrific to look at.”

“Thanks. Good-night now.” Jericho would talk to the victim, and he would take charge of her and this case. But he had a mighty tough phone call to Macy to make first.

As Jericho stepped into Dr. O’Neal’s clinic, his shoulders felt a thousand times lighter. Macy had been wonderful on the phone—as usual. She’d tried hard to make him feel better about ruining the wedding. She had even told him that she’d been considering postponing anyway. When he asked her why such a thing would occur to her, she said they would talk tomorrow.

In a way, he was curious and wondered if he’d done something inadvertent, other than being the sheriff, to make her mad. But in another way, his whole body felt weightless. He had meant to marry Macy today. Still did, in fact. He’d given his word. Besides that, recently he’d come to the conclusion that it was important for him to become a family man in order to honor his father.

But before Macy had suggested it a couple of weeks ago, he had never planned on marrying anyone. He’d begun thinking of himself as a lone wolf. The idea of turning into the old bachelor sheriff had somehow taken root. He’d had visions of ending up like his father and having a girlfriend or two stashed away—ladies he could visit on Saturday nights. But in general the single life suited him just fine.

Now that Macy was hedging, Jericho felt ashamed to admit that her change of heart would seem like a reprieve. His only sorrow if they didn’t marry would be T.J. But maybe things around the county would settle down enough now for him to spend more time with the boy despite not being his stepfather.

“Sheriff Yates.” Dr. O’Neal met him just inside the front door. “I’d like to speak to you in private before you see the patient. Let’s sit out here in the empty waiting room.”

Jericho followed the doc. “What’s wrong? Did the bullet do serious internal damage?”

Dr. O’Neal sat down on the flimsy, fake leather couch and removed his glasses. “No. Her gunshot wound is superficial. The bullet went right through the flesh on her left side and completely missed her ribcage. She twisted her ankle when she fell, but it’s not broken or sprained. She also has some old bruising and a few nontreated cuts that appear to be at least twenty-four hours old. All things considered, her physical condition is unofficially ‘beat-up’ but not serious.