Part 1 (1/2)
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 was.h.i.+ng, 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.