Married to the Sheriff

by Kira Barcelo

  Looks like I’ll be eating my breakfast sitting down after all! she thought, giggling out loud.

  Debbie didn’t know what was the greater surprise: that her bottom wasn’t smarting as much, considering how much it had hurt during and right after the spanking, or the fact that she had also recovered emotionally, enough that she could laugh.

  What had hurt probably even more, if that was possible, was knowing she’d disappointed him. Mike had even said so, that she had. That had upset her deeply.

  That would not be happening again. Even though she felt the back of her throat constrict because she could just about cry, having disappointed him, she was also newly energized. Determined.

  She was going to be a good wife. She would make him proud of her.

  As she poured herself a cup and stood on the patio, looking out to their modest backyard, a memory came back to her. She was back in that car after her father’s funeral, when she and her mother had nowhere else to turn but her mother’s father. They had sat in her grandfather’s Studebaker. It was 1931; Debbie was twelve at the time. She had been sitting in the backseat, holding her mother’s hand, trying to be brave for her sake.

  And it was a hard time to be brave. The rest of the country, suffering during the Great Depression, was as destitute and misplaced as she and Mama. There sat her grandfather at the steering wheel, the same cold and uncaring man he had always been, berating them, pouring salt on the wounds inflicted by hardship and now the death of her beloved father.

  Margaret, you never did amount to anything. And you, you scrawny little ragamuffin. You’re never going to amount to anything, either, Deborah. You won’t be as lucky as your mother, though. Least your mother found some man stupid enough to marry her. No man is ever going to want you.

  Debbie sipped her coffee. Those words had stung like a scorpion’s tail. For so long, she’d believed that, too. How could she not? Her teen years flew by, then her twenties. Now and then a young man would appear interested in her, but nothing came of it each time. She wasn’t pretty enough; she was too thin in her youth; she was too shy. All her friends had boyfriends and married young.

  She had done the best she could. She’d taken typing and stenography classes in high school and became a fine secretary, landing a decent job in the secretarial pool of an insurance company.

  Naturally, she didn’t make much money. The men in the office saw the better raises, but then again, they had families.

  Her mother contracted polio in ’42, while the war was going on. When she died, Debbie’s world literally fell apart. The last thing she cared about was being courted by a man, let alone marrying one.

  She was still reverting into her shell by 1945. Already a spinster at twenty-six, and one who dressed as matronly as a sixty-year-old woman, she was cajoled into going to a dance by her younger secretary friends at the company. There’d be servicemen there, they’d said.

  Even if there are soldiers there who’ve come home, which one of them would bother with an old maid like me? she’d thought. She was a woman who had given up on all hopes of ever marrying and having a family of her own. That was a dream that belonged to other people, young women in their late teens and early twenties. Not a woman in her thirties who found that most men her age were already taken. The good ones, anyway.

  Debbie had spent most of that night sipping a Coke at the table while her friends danced and enjoyed themselves. Strange, how she could be in the midst of so many people and still feel so lonely. Yet toward the end of the night, fate brought a tall, strapping Marine to her side. Her heart raced at the sight of the 100--percent male, who absolutely did that dress uniform justice. As he drew closer, he removed the cap of his dress uniform, with its impressive stripes and metals, and graced her with a charming smile.

  “Hello, there, Miss,” he greeted her. “I don’t suppose you’d want to…give me this dance? Would you?”

  She could barely breathe. She’d looked around, not even believing he was speaking to her. He’d laughed nervously.

  “Say yes,” he coaxed. “Please. It’s taken me all night to work up the nerve just to come over here and ask you. You’re the most beautiful lady in the room.”

  Debbie had almost broken down in tears. Was someone playing a joke on her? A horrible, cruel joke, at that? How could she, with her hair up in that severe bun, and dressed in that old, drab brown dress, be the most beautiful woman he’d laid eyes on since entering the room?

  “I don’t even know you,” she stammered.

  “Yes. Yes, you do. I’ve seen you around town. You grew up here and so did I. I’m Mike Brandt. Sergeant Michael Brandt, to be exact. And you are Miss Deborah Phillips.”

  “Debbie. Call me Debbie. How did you know my name? Because I think I have seen you, but we’ve never really talked, you and I—”

  “I know. But I asked someone to get your name from your friends. So nice to meet you, finally…” While he shook her hand, his blue eyes danced. “Will you dance with me now, Debbie?”

  Somehow that night, she’d gotten over her shyness and danced with him. And what a dance that had been! She’d never known such happiness as those moments, as he led her across the dance floor, the band playing, “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered” with her enveloped in those big, strong arms of his.

  Even so, they didn’t begin dating until 1952. By that time, Mike had already begun working as a deputy in the Lighthouse Cove Sheriff Department. Two years ago, after the longtime sheriff retired, he had run for Sheriff himself and won easily, as a more beloved and respected member of the community than his shady opponent.

  He’d begun courting Debbie then and had, within a year, proposed marriage to her, presenting her with a heart-shaped diamond engagement ring. Tearfully, joyfully, she’d said yes, and she’d blossomed from a matronly old maid into a woman who suddenly remembered she was still young and vital.

  The telephone was ringing, but lost in her reverie, she hadn’t noticed. By the time she’d returned to the kitchen, it had stopped ringing. She picked it up but heard Mike talking to someone, a man, most likely Jesse, one of his deputies. Sulkily, she put the phone back on its hook without interrupting his call.

  Oh, dear! There goes our Saturday! she thought.

  Something had come up. Lovely. That was one drawback to being married to the sheriff. Plans, at any given moment, could be postponed by the call of duty.

  “Hey, baby! Did you save me some coffee?”

  She was at the stove pouring herself another cup when he came into the kitchen a few minutes later.

  “I made a whole pot full for us, honey!” she exclaimed. “Shall I fix you one?”

  “Please, sweetheart. Although I’ll only have time for one.” He kissed her cheek with a loud mmmmmwwwwwwaaaahhhhh!

  “You have to go in?” She sounded doleful.

  Mike chuckled at her cute pout. “No, not this time, honey. And you know you always come first, but I’m—”

  “Still the sheriff. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. So everything’s okay down at your office?”

  “Yes and no. I’m afraid we’re losing Aggie.”

  “Aggie? Oh, no! What happened?”

  She genuinely liked Mike’s secretary, the spritely and feisty, seventy-year-old Agatha Dawkins. But then again, who in town didn’t like that silver-haired, quick-witted lady?

  “She’s fine, don’t worry. Just finally going to retire. Long overdue, too, but that lady just likes to work.”

  “Oh, my goodness! What are you going to do? Oh, I know!” She became excited. “I could be your secretary for a while!”

  “You?”

  “Well, of course, me! At least until you find someone else, Mike, honey.” Debbie clapped her hands. “I’m a wonderful secretary. I have so many years of experience. I take shorthand, I type, I file, I can work a calculator—”

  “Hmmm. And think of what fun your boss would have, with you sitting on my lap while you take dictation.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and made
her laugh. “No, honey. I appreciate the offer, but you’re not available.”

  “Not available? But why?”

  “Because I don’t want my wife working outside of the house. Honey, don’t you have enough to do here at home? And you have so much leisure time. You wouldn’t be able to meet the girls for lunch if you’re working.”

  “Michael Brandt!” She frowned. “I don’t have so much leisure time. I am a housewife. I work very hard.”

  “That’s just it, baby. And I’ll be honest. I like seeing supper on the table when I come home from work. How are you going to do that unless you’re home at that hour, where a good wife should be?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t see why I can’t leave work early.”

  “You can’t because I want my secretary at her desk until five o’clock every evening. I’m as strict a boss as I am a husband, baby. And I also wear the pants in this family…” His tone dipped sternly. “And so if anyone’s going to be out there, bringing home the bacon, it’s going to be me.”

  “Oh, all right.” She wasn’t totally pleased, but neither was she looking to go from “warned” to “warmed” so soon after last night’s little fireworks, either.

  “Besides, who’s going to look after the children?”

  “The children? What children?” Wasn’t that just like Mike Brandt? Getting her to laugh after thoroughly trying her patience.

  “The ones we’re going to have. Someday soon. At least one, I hope. I want Mike Jr.’s mama home when the little fellow comes home from school.”

  “Or maybe it will be a little Debbie coming home,” she challenged playfully.

  “Ah, be careful what you wish for. Then you’ll have a daddy’s girl on your hands.” He kissed her and gave her a gentle spank. “Now I’ll take that coffee and we’ll get dressed. Then it’s off to breakfast!”

  “Oh, Mike—before I forget. Speaking of being late for dinner…” She poured him a cup of coffee and stirred in his cream and sugar. “I might be a little late in getting dinner on the table this Wednesday.”

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Well, I was invited by a neighbor, Beverly, for coffee and cake this week. I don’t think she has many friends. She’s divorced and raising her little boy by herself. I think she doesn’t get out of work until in the afternoon sometime. I’d like to just go and keep her company for a while. Maybe…who knows? Start a friendship.”

  Mike didn’t hesitate. “Of course you can, baby. As long as you don’t make a habit of getting dinner on the table late, and I know you won’t. Go and have a nice time with your friend.”

  How had she ever been so lucky, after so many years, to land such a sweet hunk? She responded by hugging his neck and kissing him.

  “Now can we go to breakfast?” he asked.

  Laughing, she gave him a salute.

  “Yes, sir, we can!” she piped up and hurried up the stairs to change.

  * * * * *

  Oh, boy. Debbie is not going to like this!

  Mike leaned back in his chair and chewed on the end of a pen. Staring back at him was his new secretary. Temporary secretary, all five-feet-five and bleached blonde hair of hers. With a body full of curves, truly a figure fit for a movie star, the twenty-year-old sat cracking her chewing gum and with her foot lazily kicking back and forth.

  “So, yeah, I type,” she was saying.

  “Um…okay. How fast?”

  “Oh, gee, Sheriff—how should I know?” She batted her long lashes, looking dismayed. “Eighty, ninety words a minute, maybe? At least half of them are spelled right, too.”

  Huh-boy. He forced a grin. He sincerely doubted she typed that fast, whether the words were spelled correctly or not.

  “I guess, uh, you take dictation, too?”

  “What’s that?”

  By some miracle, Mike managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. If he’d had the authority, he would have called the interview over and done the darn filing, typing, and other secretarial duties himself. At least until a suitable candidate, someone more mature and experienced, could be found.

  What was stopping him? Little Miss Blonde Betty Boop was none other than…the mayor’s darling daughter.

  I know you need someone a little more mature, he recalled Mayor Sutton’s words, spoken with a sharp slap on Mike’s back. But my little girl is, well, in between jobs right now. She finished high school and hasn’t gotten married yet, so this would give her some working experience, rather than having her sit at home all day. And, hey, you would have some help until your new hire comes along.

  “Yeah, forget dictation,” he said softly and shrugged it off. “I’ll just write what I need done in longhand and you can type it out.”

  The sound of Mindy Sutton cracking her gum for the twentieth time made him cringe.

  “Swell,” she drawled. “So I got the job?”

  No. I’m not going to hire you. I’m going to volunteer to be on your daddy’s bad list for the rest of my natural life.

  “Of course you do. Why wouldn’t I hire you? Just be here tomorrow at nine on the dot.”

  “Swell. Can I go now?”

  “Uh, well, yeah.”

  “’Cause there’s a sale on lipstick at Spencer’s. And I have to get my nails done. If I’m going to start working, I need to look nice.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. Well, welcome aboard.”

  “You’re welcome, Sheriff Brandt.”

  He blinked and watched her sway those hips, and everything else her mama gave her, on her way out the door.

  You’re welcome. That was the mayor’s kid’s reply to welcome aboard. Was he ever in big trouble. Something told him that Mindy didn’t have, as his cousin from down South would say, the common sense God gave a Billy goat.

  Jesse Vance, a deputy who was only a few years older than Mindy, stepped into Mike’s office.

  “Man-oh-man, that is a big change from sweet, little Aggie,” the deputy remarked.

  Mike mumbled in the affirmative. “Well, it’s only until someone bett—I mean, more qualified comes along. We’ll try to be positive.”

  “My wife’s not going to be too crazy about a girl who looks like that running around this place all day.”

  Neither is mine. Rather than give voice to that sentiment, Mike laughed.

  “Just remind her that you’re a professional.” Speaking of which, he got right back to business. “What’s going on with that guy who almost drowned in the harbor? He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “He got lucky. Drinking and boating—not a good idea.”

  “Absolutely not. He’s in the hospital?”

  “Just released about an hour ago.”

  “Good.”

  “And those three escaped convicts? They’re still at large.”

  Mike’s head shot up. “I thought Chapman County cops caught them.”

  “They escaped again. Sorry to tell you that, boss, but they’re still a problem.”

  Standing, Mike put his hands on his hips. “Great.”

  “They’ve been at large for a while now.”

  “They’re smart. Hate to say it, but they are. And they must have somebody helping them on the outside. Well…” He set his jaw. “They’re going to make a mistake. Desperate men always do.”

  “Let’s just hope they don’t take any innocents down with them,” Jesse wisely pointed out before heading back to his own desk.

  * * * * *

  Bad news traveled fast in a town as small as Lighthouse Cove. Even faster when the news reporters were the town’s wives.

  Evidently, that young, big-breasted, bleached blonde daughter of the mayor’s had replaced septuagenarian Aggie last week, yet Mike hadn’t mentioned a word of it at home. Marsha Kenilworth, who was married to Captain Donald Kenilworth, couldn’t wait to bring it up at the girls’ bridge game that Tuesday morning. Debbie had sat with her own cards in hand with Marsha across the table from her, Laura Dunaway to her left and Irene Murphy to her right, when she
first heard the news that should have come from her husband.

  Or in all honesty, would it have mattered? Either way, she still would have reacted the same way.

  “The mayor’s daughter, Mindy,” Marsha said, mimicking the younger woman with an exaggerated batting of her eyelashes. “Heaven knows, she doesn’t have too much going on upstairs, but the men all turn to mush when she passes by.”

  “Oh, come on. She can’t be that beautiful,” Irene said.

  Debbie looked from Irene to Marsha, whose own gaze met hers with unfeigned concern.

  “She looks like a younger version of Veronica Lake,” she insisted.

  “Okay. That’s pretty beautiful,” Laura agreed emphatically.

  “And with bigger—well, you know.” Marsha waved her cupped hands in the general vicinity of her breasts and cleared her throat. “Debbie, honey, she’s only twenty-two years old.”

  “Well, she’s only supposed to be temporary, too,” Laura interjected. “And twenty, Marsha. The mayor’s little hussy daughter is twenty.”

  Debbie turned on her but kept her voice level. “You knew about this and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn’t know who Mike hired. Sheila over at O’Brien’s just said the new secretary was supposed to be temporary. Speaking of Sheila, her birthday’s coming up next week. She’s such a dear. Why don’t we do a little something for her, girls?”

  “Forget Sheila right now, Laura. This is about that Mindy creature. So her job is only temporary? Good. Then maybe it should end now.” Marsha slapped her cards, face-down, on the table. “Debbie, I’m not one to tell you what to do, and heaven knows I’m not one to butt into other people’s business. But if I were you, I’d put a stop to that immediately.”

  “Yes. The nerve of that man!” Irene suddenly remembered her manners and gasped. “Sorry, honey, not meaning to criticize your husband, but—but shame on the sheriff for hiring a Veronica Lake-lookalike!”

  “But younger and with bigger boobs,” Laura pointed out helpfully.

  “Those deputies have to sit in the same room with that girl.” Irene shook her head and set down her own cards. “I bet those men aren’t getting any work done at all. All they’re doing all day long is drooling over Little Miss Hourglass. Who’s protecting our community in the meantime?”