FALLING FOR THE D EPUTY.
Amy Frazier.
Mack inhaled sharply as an
ugly thought began to dawn.
You were snooping around this afternoon, deliberately creating drama, which you knew would get back to me eventually, because you were ticked I wasnt giving you my full attention. Maybe you thought you could find something you could use asI hesitate to use the word blackmail leverage?
Chloe stuck her finger in the center of his chest. And pushed. Im not that kind of person. I was simply doing my job as best I couldaloneonce it became evident you werent taking my a.s.signment seriously. An a.s.signment, I might remind you, your boss requested.
When it looked as if she might poke him again, he took a step backward. Lady, dont try to throw your weight around. Im bigger than you by a good hundred pounds.
Chloes cheeks flamed red, making the freckles across her nose stand out. She pulled herself erect. Im not going away, Deputy Whittaker. Im staying right here in town.
Dear Reader, This was a difficult story to write. Quite frankly, my personal life has been in turmoil for the past year. Id get up every day and face the computer screen, wondering if I could help my hero and heroine with their lives when I was having such a difficult time with my own.
Deputy Sheriff Mack Whittaker is guilt ridden over an event in his past. His reaction is to shut down emotionally and throw himself into his job. Reporter Chloe Atherton harbors her own traumatic touchstone, but she feels confident that by pursuing the truth in the form of facts, she has her life under control. At one point in writing I found myself yelling at the computer screen, Wake up! Control is merely an illusion! Harsh. Even if youre yelling at fictional characters.
Soif I wasnt going to give these two the comfort of control, what was left to them? (And to me. Because, if you havent yet guessed, I was kinda countin on Mack and Chloe leading me out of my own personal wilderness.) The answer was as it always is: We surviveand thriveby first opening our hearts.
As I helped my hero and heroine grasp that particular lifeline, I pulled myself to safety, as well.
Now I wish you love, Amy Frazier.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR.
Having worked at various times as a teacher, a media specialist, a professional storyteller and a freelance artist, Amy Frazier now writes full-time. She lives in Georgia with her husband, two philosophical cats and one very rascally terrier-mix dog.
CHAPTER ONE.
T HE TOP OF HIS HEAD was about to blow.
His mother had just called himfor the third time this morningto ask if the reporter from the Western Carolina Sun had arrived in Applegate yet.
No.
Thank G.o.d.
Undeterred by his increasingly testy responses, Lily had insisted Mack bring the man or woman to supper at the farmhouse one night this week. For a nice down-home mix of business and pleasure, shed said. That wasnt going to happen. People, his mother chief among them, thought because Mack had joined AA and was back on the force, he was ready to rejoin the human race.
He wasnt.
He still struggled to stay sober. Doing his job helped. Period.
To that end, Mack pulled his sheriffs department cruiser to the side of the road behind a battered Yugo. He cast a glance over the wreck of a car. Primer paint in several hues covered all but one fender. The drivers-side taillight was broken. b.u.mper stickers, some faded beyond legibility, littered the cars sorry backside. Two caught his attention. The facts will set you free and Pray for peace; work for justice. Call him cynical, but it wasnt that easy.
At first hed thought the car was abandoned. It wasnt unusual in the mountains, valleys and hollows of Colum County, North Carolina, to find stolen cars stripped and ditched by the side of an out-of-the-way road. But this YugoMack doubted it would have appealed to a thief even in its heydayhad a current registration sticker on the plate. From his cruiser, he began a computer check.
As the door of the Yugo opened and the driver got out, Mack stopped mid-routine. Despite the glare of the midday sun, he instinctively ran a visual of the slender woman, who shaded her eyes with one hand. In the other she clutched a crumpled road map. She wore a b.u.t.ton-up sweater that looked as if it had shrunk during washing, a faded ankle-length dress that had church rummage sale written all over it and black lace-up boots, the kind his great-granny used to wear. When she finally took her hand from her eyes, Mack saw she was young. And pretty.
He stepped out of the cruiser and approached her. Can I help you?
She smiled, and her fresh face framed by tousled strawberry-blond hair, made him think shed never been disappointed in her entire life. Is this the road to Applegate?
One of them. He gave her cars interior a cursory inspection. Books, notebooks and loose papers filled the back seat. She was probably a student at the college over in Brevard, although she looked too young to be even a freshman.
One of them? Is that local humor? c.o.c.king her head to the side, she gazed directly at him. Mack blinked and discovered the proverbial shoe on the other foot. Usually he was the one who made other people uncomfortable because of his size and uniform.
But his presence didnt faze this young woman in the least. She stood almost toe-to-toe with him, so close he could see a dusting of freckles across her nose, and waited patiently, with an air of innocence he found disconcerting.
He scowled. Humor? No. Im told I dont have an ounce left in me. To prove the point, he added, Do you know your car has a broken taillight?
You should see the other guy. She grinned wickedly, revealing perfect teeth. Humor, she explained.
Its not a laughing matter. I could write you up Oh, please, dont, she said as she might say no, thank you to a second helping of cake. When I get to Applegate, Ill get it fixed.
Kids. Not a care in the world. Making it on looks and youth alone. Mack felt a jolt of envy. After what hed seen and done half a world away, carefree would never be a mood ascribed to him again.
He ran his fingers over the broken plastic of the Yugos taillight. See that you get this fixed. Take it to Mels on Main Street. He turned to go. And afterward, come to the sheriffs office with the receipt. To show me you kept your word.
Yes, sir. If nothing else, Im a woman of my word.
Was he mistaken or was there a hint of sa.s.s under the show of respect? He looked back at her. Her gray eyes revealed nothing but a clear, ingenuous light. A kid. That was what she was. A wet-behind-the-ears kid cut loose from her mamas ap.r.o.n strings.
And I should ask for whom? She squinted at his name tag, sounding suspiciously defiant.
Deputy Sheriff Whittaker. Without wasting any more time, he walked back to his patrol car.
Deputy Whittaker? Her voice, clear, high and musical, sailed through the air like birdsong on the spring breeze.
Reluctantly he turned to look at her again. Yes?
You said this was one of the roads to Applegate, but am I headed in the right direction?
Had he ever, even as a boy, exuded such a wide-eyed innocence?
Youreyoure headed in the right direction. He took a step backward and b.u.mped into his cars grille. When she winced, he added hastily, You cant miss Mels repair shop. Right next to the county courthouse.
She fluttered her fingers next to her head, a half-wave, half-salute that made him think she might be mocking him.
Settling behind the wheel of the cruiser, he waited for her to be on her way. That was his excuse. Actually hed have liked to sit on the side of the road indefinitely. Do nothing more than watch the wrens gather materials for their nests. But in an hour he had an appointment back at headquarters with that reporter from the Sun.
Another reason for the headache that originated at the base of his skull and pounded a path to his temples.
In a PR move to show the county residents how far the newly rehabilitated department had come, Sheriff Garrett McQuire had requested the newspaper interview. Mack saw the need. His boss and longtime buddy had worked ceaselessly, cleaning up the mess the former sheriff Easley and his cronies had left behind. What Mack hadnt foreseen was that Garrett would take off on his honeymoon and leave Mack with the reporter. He suspected the sheriff saw the handover of responsibilities as part of his deputys personal rehabilitation. If Mack didnt owe Garrett so muchboth as a boss and as a buddy, he wouldve rescheduled.
Instead, he put the patrol car in gear and headed back to town. If he was going through with this, he needed to be the first on-site for the appointment. He didnt need a member of the press waiting, unsupervised.
T HE Y UGO BUCKED IN complaint as Chloe drove in second gear down Applegates Main Street. Squinting against the sunlight, she searched for Mels repair shop. Ah, there was the domed courthouse and, in its shadow, a two-bay cinder block garage with kudzu creeping up one side. She parked in front, then pulled on the stubborn emergency brake. Reaching into the back seat, she grabbed a pad of paper to jot down a few notes and capture her first impression of Deputy Whittaker.
Thirty-something, he was handsomethe uniform automatically did that for a guy. Strong jaw. A nose that could have been considered cla.s.sically Roman if the deputy hadnt broken it. An old sports injury? From the barred and bolted look in Whittakers dark brown eyes, Chloe had an instinctive feeling hed reveal nothing he didnt want known. Either about his job or himself. If she had anything to do with him this week, he might prove problematic. A difficult lock resisting the pick.
The Colum County Sheriffs Department. Now there lay a potentially rewarding project. Her first feature story. Her first byline. A tiny shiver ran through her as she antic.i.p.ated the opportunity. Hastily she wrote, Deputy Whittaker. Humorless. Stickler for details, before tossing the notepad onto the pa.s.senger seat.
She wrestled with the door of the Yugo. Honestly, you are one more act of resistance away from the sc.r.a.p heap, she warned the mutinous vehicle when she managed to break free. She kicked the door shut behind her.
At the garages first bay, she gingerly stepped around a pick up to approach the bottom half of a coverall-clad mechanic leaning well under the trucks raised hood.
Mr. Mel? she inquired with well-practiced Southern deference. Deputy Whittaker sent me.
Mr. Mel! Now thats a hoot! The top half of the technician popped into view.
Chloe immediately recognized her error.
The person in the coveralls would never be mistaken for a man. She had wild red hair caught up in a bandanna, a movie-star smile and cla.s.sically feminine features, not to mention a voluptuous body. But the womans voice belonged to the racetrack pit or smoke-filled juke joints. Chloe didnt even hazard a guess at her age.
The mechanic stuck her greasy hands on her hips. So the deputy sent you over to see Mr. Mel. Maybe his sense of humors finally coming back.
It was my mistake. He said to pull into Mels auto repair. I jumped to conclusions. Sorry. Thats not my style.
Well, Im Mel. Short for Melody. My mama was hoping for a girlie-girl. She rolled her big blue eyes. But grease monkeys defy gender, honey. Come on in the office. Im due a break. She wiped her hands on a rag.
Chloe followed the woman into a cramped room no bigger than a utility closet.
Coffee? Mel raised a half-full pot from the automatic coffeemaker perched on a packing crate. Nectar of the G.o.ddess.
Please.
Youre new in town. The woman handed Chloe a mug of sludge-black liquid.
Im a newspaper reporter for the Western Carolina Sun, she replied, taking a sip of the bitter brew and noting the three-year-old SPCA calendar hanging on the wall.
A reporter? Mel paused, coffeepot in midair. The energy in the room shifted from positive to unnervingly negative.
Sheriff McQuire suggested we do an article on his revamped department, Chloe explained, trying to establish credibility. I have my first interview with him in a few minutes.
Thatll be difficult, seeing as hes on his honeymoon. Mels chuckle swelled to a roar. She slapped her thigh, spilling coffee on the cracked linoleum floor. I bet he did that deliberately.
Chloe clenched her mug in both hands, hoping the heat would defuse her rising irritation. And the reason would be?
Even though, as sheriff, Garrett would recognize the need for positive PR, personally, he and journalists arent on the best of terms after they hounded his wife. Mel thumped the pot back on the coffeemakers heating ring. Made the whole town miserable. Youd have to be living under a rock not to know about it.
Okay. The runaway heiress. ButI wasnt part of that feeding frenzy. No, shed been stuck on the garden-club beat.
Mel raised one eyebrow.
So in the face of this womans disbelief, Chloe forged ahead whos left to handle my interview?
While Garretts gone, Macks in charge.
Mack?
Deputy Whittaker.
Interesting. The lock in need of a pick.
The guy who sent you here forwhat? Mel prodded.
Yes. My cars broken taillight. The deputy ran into me outside town. Didnt cite me on condition I see you.
I gotta say this new departments been good for my business.
Do you have an arrangement? Chloe blurted out. She fumbled in her pocket for her notepad, then realized shed left it in the Yugo. Shed heard of small towns adding to their coffers with overzealous ticketing or costly kick-back repairs that targeted motorists pa.s.sing through.
Mel dropped a rag on the spilled coffee. As she bent over to wipe it up, she uttered a terse no. When she stood again, the sparkle had gone from her eyes. I merely meant this particular crew adheres strictly to the law.
So whats Deputy Whittaker like? Chloe asked, struggling to reconnect.
Mel tossed the coffee-soaked rag into a bin by the door. Lets look at that taillight, she said, all business now.
If this was the level of Applegate respect, cooperation and disclosure that Chloe could expect, she had her work cut out for her.
M ACK LEFT THE DOOR to the sheriffs office open. A symbolic gesture. Let the reporter see the department had nothing whatsoever to hide.
He placed his Stetson on a rack behind the door, then sat on the edge of the desk, feeling edgy himself. His headache had subsided to a dull throb. He relished the law-and-order part of his job, not the public relations. He examined his watch. Twice.
Garrett and he had talked about how they wanted the new Colum County Sheriffs Departments story told. To that end, theyd hoped to get a reporter without an agenda, whod write an unbiased story that would accurately portray both the danger and the drudgery of rural law enforcement. Theyd agreed the article shouldnt be about individuals, but about the team.
Thinking about the fishbowl position he was now in, Macks muscles went rigid. The pencil he gripped snapped in two.
Surely, the prospect of meeting with me cant generate that much tension.