Ryanne Corey - The Sheriff and The Amnesiac

Jenny felt like someone had put her backward on an upside-down merry-go-round. She stared at sweet little Ella, who was suddenly deeply absorbed in her crocheting. Then she turned her stormy gaze back to the devil disguised as a lawman. She slammed her fists on the table so hard, her wallet jumped two inches with pure terror. “I don’t believe this! You knew all along, didn’t you? You conned me! You knew Ella had stolen my wallet, and you deliberately let me think—”

“I object,” he said mildly. “I haven’t seen you think yet. Besides, Ella isn’t really a thief. She just borrows things sometimes for excitement. She always gives everything back sooner or later. We thought we had her cured when she discovered crocheting. She loved it, never put it down long enough to pick anything else up, if you know what I mean. I guess we’ll still have to watch her.”

His casual attitude infuriated Jenny. “You deliberately tortured me, talking about dangerous women’s prisons and dead bulldogs. You had no intention of arresting me. I should have you arrested!”

His vivid eyes sparkled. “The dog didn’t die. He just rolled over a few times and ruined his hat. Anyway, I’m the only law this town has, so I can’t really arrest myself, can I? Think of the complications putting on the handcuffs.”

Through gritted teeth, Jenny told him, “I’ll help.”

“Oh, chill out. I was just teaching you a lesson. You needed an attitude adjustment.”

“An attitude adjustment?” She was up and out of the booth with amazing speed, facing him down with the light of battle in her eyes. Or rather, facing him up. He was extraordinarily tall. “I’m the victim here! The only thing I’m guilty of is having a rotten day. I’ve been wrestling with that wretched motorcycle all day, and I’m completely exhausted. All I wanted when I stopped here was some food and a rest room. Bam, before I know it, I’m being treated like public enemy number one!”

He took a moment before he answered. “So you admit you have a few problems controlling that monster outside?”

Jenny was too angry to be cautious. “A few problems? The thing is possessed by the devil. I’m lucky to be alive.”

His wide mouth quirked. “I believe you. I know a little something about motorcycles. That Harley is too much machine for you, Trouble.”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it?” She grabbed her wallet, opened it up and threw a twenty dollar bill on the table. “There. My criminal career is ended.”

“And a damn fine career it was,” he said.

“And now, amazing as this experience has been, I feel the urge to hit the road. Excuse me, Sheriff. It’s been a real treat.”

He blocked her exit, one hip braced casually against the edge of the booth. In the depths of his eyes, there was an unmistakable mixture of amusement and sympathy. He held her gaze, rubbing his square jaw for a lazy moment. “Let’s ponder those three words, shall we? Hit the road. Do you realize if you climb back on that motorcycle of yours, there is a very good chance you will do exactly that—splat.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Jenny replied with saccharine sweetness, “but I don’t want you worrying about lil’ old me. I’ve had a lot of experience taking care of myself. Now, is there anything else you would like to accuse me of, or am I free to go? Finally?”

He pulled a stick of Juicy Fruit gum out of his pocket, slowly unwrapped it and put it in his mouth, as if he had all the time in the world. “You forgot to stand in line when they handed out common sense, didn’t you? I’m afraid I can’t in good conscience allow you and your motorcycle out after dark. It would be a much better idea if you waited until morning to hit the road. That way other motorists would have a sporting chance of survival.”

Her eyes narrowed. It irritated her that he was standing so close, confining her, as if he had nothing to do for the rest of his life but make her life difficult. “It’s not dark yet.”

“Worse. It’s dusk. More accidents happen at this time of night than any other. It’s a documented fact.”

“Well, document this. I have places to go, and you’re holding me up.”

His blue eyes opened wide, as if he’d just had the most ingenious thought. “You know, you seem like an adventuresome girl. Why don’t you try something new? Be reasonable.”

“I’m not the one being unreasonable,” she snapped. “Are you going to let me out of here or not?”

“Lord, no.”

“Sorry, Mr. Sheriff, sir. It’s a free country and you don’t really have a say in it.”

He smiled, rocking back and forth on the heels of his well-worn boots. “Would you mind showing me your motorcycle license, ma’am? Just to make sure everything is in order?”

Silence. “My what?”

“License,” he said softly.

“I have a driver’s license—”

“Motorcycle license, ma’am.”

Jenny closed her eyes and counted to ten. “I haven’t gotten around to getting one yet. I’ve only owned the Harley for a couple of days. I’ll take care of it when I go home.”

“That won’t do,” he said almost apologetically. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you, ma’am.”

“You’re going to arrest me? For what? Forgetting to get a motorcycle license? Is that a felony around here?”

“It’s very bad,” Tyler said gravely. “Very bad.”

Jenny tossed back her hair defiantly. “Ha! You’re just trying to jerk my chain again. You’re going to put me in jail for a little oversight? That I’d like to see.”

But it happened so fast, she didn’t really see anything. His hands moved quickly over hers, there was a flash of silver and an ominous click.

She was handcuffed.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Tyler began. “You have the right to—”

“What?” Jenny was flabbergasted. A vein beat wildly in her throbbing temple, keeping perfect rhythm with her racing heart. “Are you nuts? You can’t keep me here, and you know it! I could sue you for false arrest. I could have your badge. I could—”

“Now you made me lose my place,” he grumbled. “I’ll have to start all over. You have the right to—”

“If you think for one second that you’re going to get away with this macho power trip, you’ve got another think coming. You picked the wrong—” Without warning, she felt herself being upended and tossed over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a single little Mexi-fry. The red-and-white-checkered linoleum floor filled her bouncing vision.

“Women never take advantage of their right to remain silent,” Tyler Cook said. He started to walk, one arm clasped tightly around the back of her knees. “I don’t know why I even bother saying that part.”

In high school, it hadn’t escaped Tyler Cook’s attention that the local girls had a weakness for a lanky cowboy with summer-blue eyes and an all-American smile. They enjoyed the way he walked, real slow and lazy, like he had no place to go and nothing to do when he got there. His appeal only seemed to increase when he put on his cowboy hat, and the ultimate drawing card seemed to be the bruises and abrasions and black eyes he got whenever he competed in a weekend rodeo. Riding mean-tempered broncos wasn’t exactly a safe or ordinary hobby, but he was young and relished the attention from the stands. Besides, he had a real talent for sticking like a burr to the back of a half-crazy bronco. Inevitably there were times when he ended up eating dust, but the sympathy he received from the buckle bunnies was ample compensation for a wide range of physical injuries. Tyler was young, curious and restless, and there were times when the pace of his small-town life got on his nerves. Like, all the time.