Miller Brothers in Love

by Erin Wright

  “So can I ask the obvious question?”

  “Which is…?”

  “Why not just declare this to be a conflict of interest and ship him over to Ada County?”

  “The last thing that I need is that jackass proving that I can’t run my own jail.”

  “Right,” Abby said. She really didn’t have anything else to add to the conversation, a new one for her.

  “What I need you to do, and I do realize that I’m laying a lot on you, is keep this all together and keep me out of trouble at the same time. Just take this on and act as you feel is appropriate. I’ll back you in whatever you do.”

  She nodded.

  “From afar,” he added.

  She left him sitting there and headed for her problem in the back.

  Chapter 3

  Wyatt

  Good hell, I feel horrible.

  He was sick and felt like he’d lost a fight with a grizzly bear, and to top it all off, he was dreaming about his brother Stetson yelling at him to wake up. If there was one way to ruin a day from the start, it was to deal with his sniveling little brother in his dreams. The snotty little bastard couldn’t even leave him alone when he was trying to sleep.

  Finally, his brain made the connection that Stetson wasn’t in his dream, but actually was yelling for him to wake up.

  His eyes finally opened and dear God, it was bright. His head roared in protest. What the hell had he done to himself?

  He didn’t recognize the room. He could hear Declan and Stetson arguing about something and he didn’t care what it was about. All he cared about was getting them to shut up.

  “This isn’t the time for your petty bull, so knock it off,” he heard Declan saying.

  “Whatever, Mom,” Wyatt managed to say but it didn’t sound quite right when it came out. “Where the hell am I?”

  “You’re in jail,” Declan said, in that patronizing voice he used when he was trying to calm his older brother down.

  Wyatt hated that voice so damn much, but he let his brother get away with it for some reason he couldn’t recall at the moment. It’d come to him later.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed he was lying on and tried to stand up. The whole world shifted to the right and Wyatt decided to sit back down instead. Just for a minute.

  “Why the hell am I in jail?” he finally got out.

  “You decided to be a one-man vigilante justice squad and beat the hell out of Richard Schmidt,” Stetson said, glaring at him, arms crossed across his chest.

  Oh.

  Right.

  He remembered that now.

  He was pretty sure that admitting this to a counselor or a judge would just prolong the time spent behind bars, but on the other hand, smashing his fist into Dick’s nose was the best Wyatt had felt in a long time.

  “He was drunk. I tried to talk him out of driving and he would have none of it.” Wyatt shrugged, which sent more pain surging through him. The world had gone red with that first punch, and looking back on it, he wasn’t quite sure what’d happened. It was all just a haze of anger and retribution. Maybe “tried to talk him out of driving” wasn’t exactly true, unless one considered “punching with fists” to be talking, in which case he did a lot of talking.

  Asshole called me Killer. He deserved every punch he got, and then some. If there was ever a shitty trick to pull, that was it.

  “Listen, I know after what happened, you two aren’t exactly bosom buddies,” Stetson said sarcastically. “But that doesn’t mean that you get to punch him when you get a hankering for it. Perhaps a phone call to the police would’ve done the trick.”

  “Why? So he could get thrown in jail for the night and then walk away scot-free, like he always does?”

  Declan pushed himself between the two of them. “Wyatt, we’ve talked about it and we think that maybe just having you hang out here for a day or two might be useful.”

  Wyatt swung his gaze back towards Declan. Out of all of the people in the world he thought would be on his side, Declan topped that list. Declan was that list.

  He never thought Declan would betray him like this.

  At the look on Wyatt’s face, Declan put his hands up defensively. “Wyatt, you put him in the hospital. He has three broken ribs and they’re probably going to have to do plastic surgery on his face to put the bones back where they’re supposed to go. I know you think that you were justified, but you can’t just let loose and whale on people like that.”

  “No one died and made you the king of the world,” Stetson said flatly. “You have to figure out that you can’t punch your way through life.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Leave me the hell alone,” Wyatt said. “You two just want me to fail and are using this as a chance to make that happen. God, even my own family is turning against me. Without me, you two would be nothing. I am the one who thinks about all the stupid shit you don’t even know about. Go ahead, leave me in here. You’ll be back in a day, begging me to save your sorry asses.”

  He turned his back on them and waited for them to leave.

  “I’ll watch your farm. Jorge is taking care of most of the work, so I’ll just make sure he gets the help he needs,” Declan offered. “You can get the help you need in here.”

  “Yeah, don’t do me any favors,” Wyatt said sarcastically and then changed his mind. “Actually, do me one favor. Keep Stetson off my place. I don’t need to clean up his messes when I get out of here.”

  Neither of them said a word. He waited for Stetson to have something smart to say, but he stayed silent. Finally, Wyatt couldn’t handle it anymore.

  “Just leave. You two are pissing me off.”

  He listened to the clicking of their cowboy boots on the concrete floor fade away and for the heavy clunk of a door shutting before he lay back on the cot and closed his eyes.

  Why do people always pull this shit on me?

  Chapter 4

  Abby

  Abby walked down the jail block to Wyatt’s cell. It was his big day, and she was the lucky officer who got to take him down to the courtroom. He’d spent the last week split between snarling at her every time she walked by, and reading western novels. She figured that this hearing was going to go as well as could be expected, which was to say horrifically awful.

  She wasn’t about to tell Wyatt this (or her father, for that matter), but she felt bad for Wyatt. Her dad would have a heart attack if he heard her say this, but since that first morning in his office, she’d discovered that her father’s recounting of why Wyatt had landed in jail was…missing a few pieces. A few important pieces. Wyatt hadn’t just blindly punched Richard for the hell of it ‘cause the sky was blue and the wind was blowing in from the west.

  Okay, sure, Richard didn’t deserve to end up in the hospital but she was beginning to see that when it came to Wyatt Miller, her dad wasn’t acting rational either.

  “Ready?” she asked, stopping at his cell door and holding up her keys and handcuffs. He grunted at her, swung his legs over the side of his cot, and tossed the Louis L’Amour paperback into the corner of his bunk. He slid his hands through the opening in the door so she could cuff him, and then after she unlocked the door, he began silently walking towards the front, as she followed along behind him.

  With such a winning personality, it’s hard to see why everyone just doesn’t love and adore him. She tried not to roll her eyes as they went. If Wyatt had half the likability that his looks had, he would have a lot more fans in the world.

  It was a short docket today – just Wyatt’s case and a couple of speeding tickets. Of course, Judge Schmidt put Wyatt last because if given even a small chance to be an ass to Wyatt, he was going to take it.

  Finally, it was Wyatt’s turn.

  “The State of Idaho Vs Wyatt Miller,” the court reporter called out. Wyatt shuffled forward, his lawyer by his side. Abby leaned against the wall of the courtroom, holding her breath. This could go okay, or it could be a trainwreck. Considering that it was Judg
e Schmidt and Wyatt, though, she was pretty sure that a betting man would count on the latter.

  “So you’re here on charges of assault and battery, huh?” the judge said, leaning down and staring at Wyatt over the top of his spectacles. “I always knew this day would come. Of course, I never thought that you’d lose it on my son—”

  “Judge Schmidt, we’d like to ask for a change of venue,” Wyatt’s lawyer interrupted. Interrupting the judge was almost never a good idea, but then again, this whole situation was just a circus and a half. There were no rules any longer. She wouldn’t be surprised to see the judge pole-vault over his bench and land some punches of his own. “I think it’s clear that there’s a conflict of interest here. We would like to get the venue moved to Ada County.”

  The judge sat back in his chair, smirking. “Fine by me. But I hear their dockets are pretty full this time of year, what with the holidays and all. You’ll probably be waiting a while for your hearing.”

  “Which is why we’d like to ask for bail for Mr. Miller,” the lawyer smoothly interjected. “It’s late fall and thus a farmer like Mr. Miller is still wrapping up his harv—”

  “But with such a high-flight risk,” the judge said with a twist of his lips, “I can’t let him out. Who knows where he’d go if let out of jail until his hearing in Boise.”

  “Your honor,” the lawyer said pleadingly, “Mr. Miller has only ever lived in Long Valley. He owns a farm here. His family is here. He’s the very definition—”

  “—of a high-flight risk,” the judge said, cutting him off. “I know Mr. Miller’s background quite well and don’t need to be reminded of it. If he wants to move his hearing to Ada County, so be it. But I won’t have him escaping justice under my watch. This case is hereby moved to Ada County; Mr. Miller is to be kept in the Valley County Jail until his case can be heard in Boise. Dismissed.” He rapped his gavel on the wood in front of him.

  Abby stared at the judge for a moment, horrified. She’d worried that the judge would take advantage of being able to preside over Wyatt’s hearing, but even she hadn’t expected him to pull this.

  If Wyatt couldn’t finish harvesting his sugar beets, then they’d rot in the fields and he wouldn’t be able to make his yearly payment to the bank. His brother Stetson hadn’t made his payment to the bank the previous fall, which, through a lucky twist of fate, was how he’d met his wife Jennifer, but somehow, Abby didn’t think that Wyatt would be half as lucky. This could ruin Wyatt financially, and the judge knew it. His dryland wheat had already been harvested, but he made most of his money from his beets, and the judge was well aware of that fact.

  Goddamn asshole piece of shit, screwing around with Wyatt like this. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The only way Wyatt escapes this mess is if his brothers step in and help him, and they have their own farms to run. Plus, I heard them that morning they stopped by the jail after Wyatt was arrested; I don’t know if they’re going to be inclined to do his farming for him. This judge is using his power to mess with his former son-in-law and there’s not a damn thing I can do about—

  She heard someone clear their throat right behind her, and then a touch on her elbow. She whirled around, finally breaking her stare from the retreating judge, to find Wyatt’s lawyer standing next to her. “I think my client is in need of your services,” the lawyer said softly.

  Right. She was supposed to walk him back to his jail cell. She shot a bland smile at the lawyer before putting the handcuffs back on Wyatt, trying – and most likely failing – to hide her inner turmoil. As she snapped the cuffs around his wrists, she couldn’t help noticing his muscular arms, tanned from a summer under the sun, and how his hair curled around his nape, just a little too long for convention but perfect for running her fingers through.

  She cleared her throat as she shook her head, making herself focus on her job.

  It was going to be a long few weeks.

  Chapter 5

  Wyatt

  He sat in his jail cell, waiting impatiently for the counselor to show up. That wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing – waiting for a counseling appointment wasn’t exactly something he did all the time, let alone finding himself looking forward to it – but here in jail, he was beginning to look forward to any changes to be had in his suddenly monotonous life.

  The truth was, he was bored out of his skull. This was the longest he’d ever gone without working since he’d turned eight and had started regularly helping his dad out in the fields. Even during the winter, he was able to go for rides on the horses or work on tractors out in the barn.

  So day in, day out of nothing but reading Louis L’Amour, eating food from Betty’s Diner, and walking out in the courtyard for 30 minutes at a time was, quite simply, slowly driving him insane.

  Well, that and watching Abby walk past on her rounds. And walking to his cell with his dinner tray. And then spending time bantering with her over whether or not tomatoes were really edible (which of course, he was right and she was wrong and tomatoes just weren’t edible, no matter how much people protested otherwise).

  But other than Abby and all Abby-related activities, jail was sheer boredom. He lay back on his bunk and stacked his hands underneath his head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. Talking to a counselor…he hadn’t done that since high school, and that was a career counselor, not a help-you-with-your-emotional-shit counselor.

  This counselor was 100% his lawyer’s idea, arguing that telling the judge in Boise that he’d been trying to get help while awaiting his hearing could only help his case. Wyatt didn’t think the judge would give a rat’s ass – his former father-in-law here in Long Valley sure as shit didn’t – but…

  He was bored.

  Bored out of his ever-lovin’ mind.

  Bored enough that talking to a counselor sounded like a fine idea.

  Which had to be the very definition of boredom.

  He was glad Shelly wasn’t there to see him in jail, rotting away. She’d be so disappointed in him. Of course, him punching her brother probably wouldn’t have helped matters any, either.

  On the other hand, if she was still around, he wouldn’t have had any reason to punch her brother.

  He heard the door open at the end of the cell block, thankfully interrupting that internal never-ending cycle of guilt. Abby’s voice floated down towards him as she walked beside who he guessed was the long-awaited counselor. “He’s back here – we have conference rooms you can meet in if you’d like.”

  Just hearing Abby’s voice was…nice. Wyatt swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched as she walked towards him, hips swaying as she did so. He’d always appreciated a little meat on a woman’s bones – whoever thought that sleeping with a bag of bones was sexy was just this side of completely insane – and Abby managed to have curves in all the right places.

  Not that he was looking at the sheriff’s daughter in that way.

  Of course.

  “Yes, that would be appreciated.” The counselor’s voice, cultured but friendly, finally had him turning towards his new distraction from insanity. She was a little older, maybe late 50s, with short brown hair peppered with gray, and square-rimmed glasses that gave her a bookish appearance. He’d never met a counselor in real life, and he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but now seeing her…

  She looked just like what he imagined a counselor would look like. If he’d ever bothered to imagine a counselor, which he hadn’t, of course.

  He stood up from the bed and moved towards the cell door. He put his hands through the door’s opening so he could be handcuffed, when the counselor put her hand up to stop Abby. “I prefer that my clients not be handcuffed while talking to me. It makes it hard to relax if you’re in metal bracelets. I believe that I can trust Mr. Miller to be a perfect gentleman while we talk?” She looked straight at him, her gray eyes assessing him as she spoke.

  He nodded without breaking eye contact. “I give you my word,” he said solemnly. No
t that he’d ever attack a woman, but considering his history of beating people up who didn’t agree with his viewpoint of the world, he understood her desire for assurances.

  “Good enough for me.”

  Abby shrugged and hooked her cuffs back on her belt. “Then I’ll just lead you two to the conference room,” she said, unlocking and swinging the cell door open for him. He brushed past her and unconsciously inhaled as he passed. Lemons. How was it that she always smelled like lemons? It was the damndest thing, in the most awfully perfect way. It was his favorite scent – clean and pure without being cloying – and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Abby picked it on purpose to drive him crazy.

  Which obviously she hadn’t, considering that she didn’t know it was his favorite scent.

  Which made the whole thing even more maddening.

  She walked behind them as they made their way to the front and to the right. After they got settled at the conference table, she pulled the door shut behind them, telling the counselor, “Just come get the officer on duty when you’re done,” and then disappeared behind the wooden door.

  Wyatt felt a sense of loss at her disappearance that he didn’t want to begin to explain to himself. Or anyone else for that matter.

  The counselor smiled at him, a friendly yet professional smile that told him that she would be a confidant, but not a friend. He respected that.

  “Mr. Miller, may I call you Wyatt?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’d be fine.”

  “You may call me Rhonda.”

  He nodded once. “Rhonda.”

  “Wyatt, I understand that you have some history with the man you beat up, a Richard Schmidt. Is that true? Or did you simply get a hankering for a good ol’ time, and begin swinging at him because you hadn’t punched someone lately?”