The Texas Lawman's Woman

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  As he strode toward her, Shelley had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

  Handsome brow furrowed in concern, he asked, “Were you involved?”

  She nodded. “I was run off the road by that white sedan, just before those two vehicles crashed.”

  A siren blared in the distance.

  “Is Austin okay?”

  “I’m not sure. I—” Austin rested limply in her arms, and he looked awfully pale in the bright yellow headlights. He still wasn’t reacting much. She’d half expected him to be crying by now; there was so much chaos and confusion. The fact he wasn’t alarmed her.

  “He might be going into shock.” Colt went back to his squad car, got a blanket out of the trunk. He brought it back to her. “Here. Put this around him. Keep him warm. We’ll get him to the E.R., too.”

  The siren grew louder, then fell silent as another squad car arrived and parked horizontally to block off the opposite direction. Deputy Rio Vasquez stepped out. And still no paramedics, ambulances or fire trucks, Shelley noted in frustration, although to her relief she hadn’t yet noticed smoke or leaking gasoline.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Colt told Shelley firmly, wrapping a reassuring arm around her.

  Rio headed for the sedan to assess injuries. Colt took the SUV. While they did their jobs, Shelley paced, Austin cradled in her arms, turning him so he could no longer see the crash site. In the background she heard the blur of angry voices, apportioning blame. All the airbags had gone off, and had since deflated, but there were still possible injuries, so everyone was advised to stay put until the paramedics arrived. Unfortunately, the driver of the sedan got out of his car anyway. He pushed past Rio and the people trying to help him and wove toward Shelley drunkenly.

  “What the heck is going on here?” he slurred, a cut streaming blood from his scalp.

  Colt moved to assist. “Mr. Zellecky?”

  The elderly man lurched unsteadily. “No need for alarm. Everything’s fine.”

  “What’s the ETA on the paramedics?” Colt asked into the radio on his shoulder.

  “Another five minutes.”

  That was a lifetime! Shelley thought in despair.

  Colt turned to Rio. “I’m getting Mr. Zellecky to the hospital.”

  Colt took another look at her subdued, pale son and told Shelley, “You and Austin should come, too.”

  Seconds later, they were all strapped in and on their way.

  He drove them to Laramie Community Hospital. Shelley sat in back with Austin. Mr. Zellecky rode shotgun. He seemed roaring drunk when they started out. By the time they’d gone two miles, he was slumped over in his seat, unconscious.

  Colt was on the speakerphone with the E.R. “Got a shocky two-year-old and a seventy-something diabetic coming in. Terrence Zellecky.”

  A pause. “Mr. Zellecky whose wife just had a stroke?”

  “That’s him,” Colt confirmed. “He was apparently driving erratically and got in a car accident. He was belligerent at the scene, but is now unconscious in the front seat of my squad car.”

  “We’ll greet you at the door.”

  And a crew did.

  Faster than Shelley could have imagined possible, they had loaded the diabetic on a stretcher and were rushing him into the E.R.

  Colt followed with Shelley. When her legs proved too wobbly to move quickly, he took Austin from her and led her through the pneumatic doors. From there a triage nurse took over. The next thing Shelley knew she was in a treatment room with Austin.

  An oxygen mask was placed on Austin’s face, while he sat on her lap, blanket still wrapped around him, keeping him warm. The triage nurse took his vitals. A pediatrician entered soon after and checked for injuries. To Shelley’s relief, none were found. His stunned demeanor had been due to the shock of being in an accident, and the resulting rush of cortisol and adrenaline flooding his tiny system.

  “We’ll continue to keep him warm, make sure he’s breathing well, give him some juice to drink and he’ll feel better in no time,” the pediatrician pronounced, looking as happy as Shelley that Austin was going to be just fine.

  The doctor and nurse slipped out, and Shelley concentrated on soothing Austin. As her baby boy breathed in the oxygen rich air, his color returned—and so did his usual high spirits. Eventually, he had recovered enough to try to pull off his mask and say, “Sirens, Momma, sirens! Police car!”

  “Yes,” Shelley acknowledged softly, replacing the mask, “we saw sirens and a police car.”

  “Eeeee!” Austin reenacted the screeching and squealing, then gasped the way Shelley had gasped. He flailed his arms. “Boom!”

  “Like I said—” Colt appeared in the doorway to the exam room, still resplendent in his tan uniform, his hat slanted across his brow “—a lot to take in for a little guy.” He smiled over at Austin. “Everything okay here?” he asked gently.

  Shelley had never imagined Colt could be so tender. Heart in her throat, she nodded.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Behind Colt, another doc appeared in the hallway. “Good thing you brought Mr. Zellecky in when you did, Colt. Another ten minutes with his blood sugar that low and he’d have been in a diabetic coma. That coupled with his heart condition could have been fatal.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Colt turned to the doctor, concerned.

  “Yeah. But we’re going to have to do something about him driving.”

  “I know.” Colt stepped out into the hallway, his expression grim.

  “And good work for getting the toddler here quickly, too....”

  The murmur of voices moved off.

  A nurse came back in with a container of juice. “How about we move you two up to Pediatrics? You’ll be a lot more comfortable there until we get the discharge paperwork together.”

  More sirens sounded. Austin put his hands over his ears, suddenly looking completely stressed out again.

  “Good idea,” Shelley said. She’d no sooner gotten settled upstairs than Colt reappeared. “I’m headed back to the scene. Obviously, we’re going to need a witness statement from you, but it doesn’t have to be done now.”

  “Thank you. I’d prefer not to talk about it in front of Austin.”

  He met her eyes. “How about I come by your house tomorrow morning? Say around eight?”

  Shelley nodded.

  “And then there’s the matter of your car...”

  Shelley bit down in frustration. She’d been so concerned about her son, she hadn’t even thought about that.

  “Would you like help with that, too?” Colt offered.

  She swallowed hard, realizing it would be so easy to lean on him, now that she was back in town. “You can get it to me?” she asked, trying hard not to think about what had happened the last time she had let herself count on a man.

  He smiled as he locked eyes with her son, and then turned back to her. “In a strictly unofficial capacity, yeah, I can.”

  Despite herself, Shelley found herself really appreciating his propensity for going above and beyond the call of duty. “That would be great, Colt. Thank you.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He paused to bestow another tender smile on Austin, tipped his hat at her and strode out the door.

  * * *

  “A WORD WITH YOU, COLT?” Sheriff Ben Shepherd said late the following morning.

  Colt pushed back from his computer and followed his boss into his private office.

  Ben shut the door. A humorless brunette in her mid-forties was already there, waiting. “You remember Investigator Adams?”

  Hard not to. Ilyse Adams was the internal affairs officer for the department. Colt sat down in the chair indicated.

  Ben took a seat behind his desk. Ilyse, already sittin
g, opened up a notepad on her lap. A veteran of the Chicago police force, she had been hired after a traffic ticket and bribery scandal erupted the previous year in an adjacent county. Her job was to keep corruption at bay and ensure protocol was followed at every level.

  “What’s going on?” Colt asked, afraid he already knew.

  Ben steepled his hands in front of him. “There’s been a complaint you acted unprofessionally at the accident scene last night in not citing Mr. Zellecky for reckless driving.”

  Colt exhaled. He’d known, after talking to the others in the E.R., that there was going to be trouble. “It didn’t seem appropriate, given Mr. Zellecky’s medical condition.”

  Ben sighed. “The New York couple Mr. Zellecky hit feel otherwise. They allege deference was paid to the local resident who caused the accident over them.”

  Aware the complaint mirrored what actually had been going on in Spring County the previous year, Colt protested, “That’s not true. Rio and I tended to both of them on a priority basis.” They’d been nothing but helpful and accommodating.

  “I’d agree if you had cited Mr. Zellecky for causing the accident, but you didn’t.” Ben fixed Colt with a somber glance. “You will now.”

  Colt pressed his lips together. “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have a problem with that, Deputy McCabe?” Investigator Adams asked coyly.

  “Yeah, now that you ask,” Colt drawled, “as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “Go on,” Ilyse encouraged with her usual can’t-wait-to-gut-you smile. Although, to date, she had yet to actually charge anyone in the department with illegal or unethical behavior. Some were questioning the value of such a high-salaried employee when there was no corruption to be found.

  Colt looked the IA officer in the eye. “Taking Mr. Zellecky to court is a waste of time and resources.”

  As protective of his officers as he was determined to run a clean department, Ben Shepherd intervened sternly, “That’s not for you to decide, Colt.”

  Wasn’t it? “I beg to differ.” Colt leaned forward to make his point. “These kinds of decisions are what set us apart from big-city police forces. We know our residents. And this accident, as unfortunate as it was, wasn’t caused by deliberate carelessness—it was illness-related.”

  Although his boss listened intently, the internal affairs officer looked skeptical. Undeterred, Colt continued, “It’s no secret Mr. Zellecky’s recently been under an enormous amount of stress. Consequently, his blood glucose levels have been all over the map. Very low blood sugar levels cause acute disorientation, to the point the diabetic both acts and appears drunk.”

  “Exactly why he shouldn’t have been driving,” the IA officer said.

  Colt interjected, “I talked to Mr. Zellecky last night after he was stabilized. He said he felt fine when he started out on his errand. So there was no point in citing him with reckless driving since I did not think the charges would stick.”

  “So you’re judge and jury, is that it?” Ilyse Adams asked coolly.

  “I used my judgment and my common sense,” Colt affirmed.

  The IA officer consulted her notes. “Well, that judgment is suspect. We’re going to be confidentially reviewing every case you’ve handled in the last six months. Should this prove to be a pattern with you, you’ll suffer the appropriate sanctions.”

  Sheriff Ben Shepherd said nothing to counter the IA officer’s assertion.

  The knowledge he could face disciplinary action hit Colt like a blow to the gut.

  “And if it proves I’ve done nothing wrong?” he asked, taken aback that an outsider might hold the keys to his future. “Last night or at any other time?”

  “Then no one but the three of us and the department attorney will ever know there was an investigation,” the sheriff promised. “In the meantime...” Sheriff Shepherd retrieved a thick envelope from his desk and handed it to Colt. “You have a chance to prove you can do your job, no matter whom or what is involved.”

  Colt looked at the name and address on the papers due to be served. He swore inwardly.

  “Got a problem?” Sheriff Shepherd queried.

  They wanted to see him do his job no matter what? Then that’s exactly what he’d do.

  “No, sir,” Colt said crisply. “I do not.”

  * * *

  SHELLEY OPENED THE DOOR to find a uniformed Colt McCabe on the other side of it. A faint hint of beard shadowed his face, a hint of weariness in his midnight-blue eyes, but otherwise, he was as handsome as ever. Which was a true testament to his stamina after what had to be—if her calculations were correct—nearly fourteen hours on the job.

  “Thanks for getting my car back to me last night.” It had been in the hospital parking lot when she’d come out with her son.

  “The tow service delivered it. I figured you’d need it when Austin was released.”

  “I did.” She moved to usher him inside. “Here to take the accident report?”

  “That’s right.” He gestured toward the wicker furniture that stood opposite the porch swing and said, “Okay if we do it out here?”

  As grateful as she was feeling, maybe it was best he didn’t come in. Shelley nodded and brought Austin with her. He sat down to play with his toys.

  Colt got out his laptop computer. His eyes were calmly intense, his lips grim. “If you could start from the beginning...”

  Slipping into business mode, too, Shelley told him everything she remembered. When they finished, he stood, put his laptop back in the carrying case and then pulled out a thick envelope and a clipboard. “If you could just sign here indicating you’ve received this,” he said.

  Puzzled by the extraofficial sound of his voice and the coolness of his manner, Shelley did as requested.

  Colt took the clipboard back and looked her right in the eye. “Shelley Meyerson, you’ve just been served.”

  Chapter Three

  Shelley stared at Colt in confusion. “Is this a joke?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s not.” Colt took another paper with the words Notice of Eviction across the top and pasted it to the front door.

  Shelley ripped it right back off and stared down at the order demanding she vacate the property ten days from now. “And stop calling me ma’am!” she said, fuming.

  Austin toddled over to where Colt stood. He hooked both his arms around Colt’s legs and tilted his head back. “Up!” Austin commanded, giving Colt a toothy grin.

  For the first time since the police business started, Colt’s demeanor became more guy next door than lawman. He smiled down at Austin, then looked at Shelley.

  “Up!” Austin repeated, even more insistently.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could hold him for a moment,” Shelley murmured, trying to retain her composure.

  His manner as gentle as always, Colt complied.

  Anxious to read the papers, she sat down on the wicker chair and fumbled with the clasp on the envelope. Heart pounding, she scanned the legal documents. “This can’t be right! How can I possibly be evicted or my home foreclosed on? There’s no mortgage. That was paid off with the money I inherited. I’ve been paying the taxes and the insurance from the trust. Not that there’s much left in that.” Just enough to serve as a nest egg, until she started getting paychecks for her dance classes at the community center.

  Austin patted Colt’s shoulders and chest with the flat of his palms, testing the solid muscle beneath. Despite her distress, she couldn’t help but behold the sight of Colt standing there in his uniform, her toddler cradled in his arms.

  “What this?” Austin tugged on the laminated plate above the badge.

  Colt gently stayed the tiny fingers, explaining, “It’s my name pin. It says Deputy Colt McCabe.”

  “Deppity,” Austin repe
ated. He grinned at Colt. “Deppity! Deppity!”

  Returning to the business at hand, Shelley quickly went through the rest of the papers. “My house is being put up for auction in ten days? On the county courthouse steps? How can they do that when I never even heard of this collection agency?” She threw up her hands in frustration, stood and put the papers aside momentarily.

  She met Colt’s implacable gaze. To her disappointment, she found not an ounce of sympathy or emotion, just cool professionalism.

  Then again, given the fact he was here to do a job, maybe she shouldn’t expect any. “None of this makes any sense.” Sighing, Shelley held out her arms to Austin. He slid into them happily.

  Colt straightened the brim of his Stetson. “Sounds like you need to see a lawyer.”

  Shelley shook her head. There was no need for that. “I’m sure I can clear this up,” she stated confidently. Clearly, a pretty big mistake had been made. “All I have to do is make a few phone calls.”

  Briefly, his expression betrayed skepticism. “Well...good luck with that.” Colt tipped his hat at her and headed off.

  Shelley went back inside the house, into the kitchen she had just unpacked. She settled Austin in the high chair with a bowl of his favorite dry cereal and a sippy cup of milk, and reached for the phone.

  Unfortunately, the bank that had made the claim against Shelley’s childhood home wouldn’t talk to her—the matter had already been turned over to collections. The collection company wouldn’t speak to her, either, as the matter had already been settled in court via the claim against her home, and the foreclosure proceedings. As far as they were concerned, it was too little too late.

  But as far as Shelley was concerned, it was just the beginning.

  She called her attorney friend, Liz Cartwright-Anderson. Liz had a few minutes between appointments and asked Shelley to come in with the paperwork immediately.

  Shelley slid the papers into her carryall, scooped up Austin and headed out to her car. And just that quickly, the morning went from bad to worse. Her right front tire was flat as a pancake.