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Eight Second Ride
sixties sat on one side of the table. The sheriff closed
the door and leaned against it, folding her arms
across her tempting breasts.
 Sit down, Mr. Mitchell, she said.  This won t
take five minutes. Judge Harley will take care of
things, you can pay your fine and be out of my
sight.
His stomach clenched, a combination of the
aftereffects of the night before and the prospect of
what dire things a judge might decide.  Did you say
judge? He looked from one to the other.  What do I
need a judge for?
 I think we ll get through this if you just do what
the sheriff says, Judge Harley pointed out.
Kyle wondered if he d fallen into an alternate
universe. He lowered his aching body into one of the
chairs.
 Your name Kyle Mitchell? the man asked.
 Uh, I d say you already know that, Kyle said.
 Just getting it down for the record. All right,
then. Kyle Mitchell, you have been found guilty of
being drunk and disorderly and causing damage to
property. Fifty dollars for the fine and two hundred
for repairs. He smacked a gavel on the table.
 Dismissed. He s all yours, Jessie.
She unfolded her arms and opened the door.
 Not mine, Sam. I ll be happy to see the last of him.
 Wait a minute. Kyle was trying to make sense
of what was happening.  Wait just a damn minute.
Drunk? Disorderly? Damage? What the hell is going
on here? I don t even know what happened.
 Your friend s waiting outside for you, the feisty
blonde told him.  He can explain everything. Come
on. Let s get this over with.
Friend? What friend? Who had come to fetch
him? And where the hell was he, anyway?
He followed the sheriff through a door into what
looked like the main room of the sheriff s office. A
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Desiree Holt
dispatcher sat at a communications center against
one wall, four desks were arrange in the open space,
and tucked into a far corner was a miniscule office
that Kyle assumed belonged to the sheriff.
A uniformed deputy waited for him at one of the
desks, and lounging in a chair beside it was Gary
Handler, grinning like a fool.
 Enjoy your night out, Kyle? he asked and
winked at the sheriff.
Those full lips never cracked a smile.  Let s hope
he doesn t enjoy any more like them any time soon.
 Gary, exactly where the fuck are we? And how
did I get here?
 Better watch your language in front of a lady,
Gary told him, still grinning like an idiot.  You re in
Watson s Creek.
Where?
 How did I get here? Why did I get here?
Now Gary laughed, a loud sound that grated on
Kyle s nerves.
 You told the little buckle bunny you d follow
her anywhere. This was where she took you.
 Huh? He would have scratched his head, but it
still hurt too badly.  Then how did I end up in jail?
 You got in a fight with some& Neanderthal who
apparently wanted to take charge of your& buckle
bunny, the sheriff snapped.  It took four of my
deputies to break up the fight and poor Charley
Haggerty had to close the bar down. She looked at
her deputy.  Judd, give Mr. Mitchell back his
belongings so he can pay his fine and get out of my
jurisdiction.
The deputy handed him a large plastic bag with
his watch, his signet ring, his wallet and other odds
and ends he d had in his pockets. From a desk
drawer, he removed Kyle s prized black Stetson and
held it out carefully. Kyle clapped it on his head,
wincing at even that slight pressure, opened his
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Eight Second Ride
wallet and fished out the required money.
 I want a receipt, he told the deputy.
 Got one right here.
As pulled together as he could be, he turned to
the woman in charge.  I don t suppose you d care to
tell me your name, would you? Since I spent the
night in your fine establishment.
She glared at him.  Jessica Wade. Sheriff
Jessica Wade. But you won t be using it again.
Kyle grinned at her. Man, she sure was cute
when she got her temper up.  Well, Sheriff Jessie
Can I call you Jessie? It suits your style a little
more it s a pleasure to meet you.
 You may call me Sheriff, and I wish I could say
the same, she snapped.  Get out of here and don t
come back to Watson s Creek, Mr. Mitchell. We can t
afford your visits.
Gary tugged on his arm.  Come on, hot shot.
Let s get out of here before they decide to stick you
back in that cell.
 But 
 No buts. Let s go. He literally pulled Kyle from
the office, through the door and outside.  Get in, he
ordered, opening the passenger door to his truck
before jogging around to the other side of the vehicle.
He cranked the engine over and pulled out of the
parking lot, turning onto the street and heading
toward the Interstate.
 Whew! Kyle leaned back against the seat s
headrest.  She s a pistol, isn t she? Mmm-mmm. A
fine woman.
 Aren t you in enough trouble? Gary asked.
 Spending the night in a cell? I d wipe her from my
mind if I were you. Chasing tail s what got you into
this predicament in the first place.
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