So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.  Her trailer has been vandalized and now, she fears that this little game of cat and mouse might put her loved ones in danger.

 

 

 

                     **************

 

Through the kitchen window I watch as Deputy Tyler Douglas  walks the perimeter of my yard.  He moves leaves and debris with his foot, occasionally bending down to check something out.  

 

Rita didn't press me for details when I called to tell her I might be late.  She sounded distracted.  Said the customers have been a nightmare.

 

I tug the comb through my hair before turning on the hair dryer.   I close my eyes and try to relax.  I know it's just paint.  No one was hurt.   Words are only hurtful if you give them the power to hurt.  

 

But someone came to my house in the dead of night and did this.  It was a message.  Translated it was loud and clear.  Back off.

 

The warm air of the dryer was nice.  It eased the tight, stressed muscles in my neck.

 

I need to call my momma and ask her if she will come stay with Waylon for a couple of hours after he gets off the school bus.  Once Aaron gets home from work, I'm sure Waylon can go hang out with him.

 

For the first time in months, I put on makeup.  Anything to camouflage the puffy eyes from crying.  Then I brush my hair one final time before grabbing my car keys and heading out the door.

 

Tyler looks over as I come down the steps.

 

"Find anything?" I ask.

 

"No.  You got a real crabgrass problem on the side though.  My dad puts down something from the hardware store.   Clears it up real fast."

 

"Thanks.  I'll pass that along to my gardener."

 

"Are you okay, Miss Miranda?  I know this must have been a shock to come home to."

 

I look over at him.  He's a handsome kid, trying to make a difference in the world and all I've done is berate him and be snarky.

 

"Thank you,  Deputy.  It's nice of you to care.  But I'm fine.  I know who did this and I'll deal with it.  You have a nice day."

 

The gawkers have dwindled to just a few and they move to the side as I back out and drive off.

 

 

 

                  **************

 

All but three of the twelve pumps are being used, and a chartered tour bus is parked in the lot of The Little Eagle.  It's usually busy like this during the height of tourist season, never in the off-season.  I feel certain that Rita is about to lose her mind.  She doesn't do well with crowds even when I'm there.

 

"Has it been like this all morning?" I ask as I drop my bag and snatch the vest off the counter behind me.  "I'll help the next person in line," I call out loudly.

 

She grimaces. "Yes.  There were people here before I could unlock the door.  Some kind of construction on the bypass has  everybody being detoured to this exit."

 

"You call Matt?"

 

She shrugs.  "He told me to handle it.  I'm starting to think he doesn't like me.  What do you think?"

 

I scan some candy bars and a glow in the dark phone charger.  I don't think he likes her, but what good would it do to tell her.  Hell, I don't know if he really likes me.  "Oh, it's just Matt."

 

"I guess.  Can you imagine being married to that grumpy old thing?"

 

"No.  And I'm not going to waste anytime on it."

 

The lines never seem to shorten for the next hour.  I need to pee, but I'm pretty sure, if I try to make a run for the restroom, this crowd will chase me down and they will be lead by Rita.

 

As I'm finishing up one of the tour bus people, I see Mitch, in uniform, come through the door.  He cuts in front of the next customer.

 

"May I speak with you, please?"

 

"You may, but you will have to wait in line.  You cannot cut in front of a paying customer."

 

I can tell by the look on his face, he's going to give me a lecture.  Most likely because I didn't call him when I arrived at my house.

 

Four customers later, he is standing in front of me.

 

"How can I help you?" I say with my best professional smile plastered on my made up face.

 

"Why didn't you call me?"

 

"Someone else called the cops, not me."

 

"Called the law or the police or the sheriff's department.  Stop saying cops.  You have my number.  Why didn't you use it?"

 

"I'm a big girl.  It's fine."

 

"Tyler said you were crying.  Doesn't sound like something a big girl would do.  Does it?"

 

"Don't take this the wrong way, I don't want to be that girl.  The kind that calls you every time I get spooked."

 

"My God, Miranda.  Stop being so stubborn.  My job is to protect and serve.  Let me do my job."

 

"Ok, officer.  Next time someone spray paints an obscenity on my door, I'll call you right away."  I walk my fingers across the counter and lightly run my thumb across his knuckles.  "Go get yourself an apple fritter and a cup of coffee.  My treat."

 

He doesn't return my flirtatious smile.   Instead, he heads for the front door.  He stops and turns around.

 

"Expect to have company this afternoon."

 

I frown, confused by his statement.  "What company?"

 

"Just look for a uniform."  With that, he's out the door.

 

"Be right back," I say to the next person in line.

 

I chase after him.  "Mitch, what does that mean?"

 

He opens his car door and gets in.  Slowly, he rolls down the window.

 

"Mitch.  What do you mean?"

 

"I'm putting one of my guys in this parking lot and he's gonna follow you home."

 

"That's ridiculous.  Aren't there other pressing things for the sheriff's department to do?"

 

"Someone is after you.  You are my priority.  As long as I'm the sheriff of this county, I'm gonna keep you safe.  Now, go back inside and wait on your customers."

 

I turn away and start my trek back to the door.  

 

"Miranda," he calls.

 

"Yes?"

 

"I'm gonna keep you safe whether you like it or not."

 

Each of us has our pride.  I don't want to be a helpless, crybaby.  He wants to take care of me.  Why is this so hard to sort out?

 

 

 

To be continued ...