The Sheriff of Shelter Valley

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  But on center stage, beneath the white spotlight, was a beautiful black baby grand.

  Beth’s heart started to beat so hard she could feel its rhythm. In the semidarkness, Greg’s shadow took on a reddish hue. She could hardly breathe. Felt surreal, disconnected. Weak.

  And very, very frightened.

  She had to get out of there. Find a safe place.

  She had to breathe.

  “What is it?” Greg’s whisper in her ear startled her so much she jumped.

  “N-n-nothing,” she said, her voice loud, competing with the sudden thunder of applause as the band took the stage. “I need some cool air.”

  Without another thought, Beth slid from the booth and hurried out. She had no idea where she was going or what she’d do when she got there. She didn’t know how she’d explain herself. Or how she’d even get back inside the lounge.

  She didn’t care.

  She had to get out.

  Just outside the lounge wasn’t far enough. Beth barely heard the cacophony of slot machines, coins dropping, people cheering, bells ringing as she searched, frantic yet completely focused, for a way out.

  Fresh air. That was all she needed. She’d be fine as soon as she had air.

  It might’ve made more sense to stop long enough to seek a door, to read a sign, to remember the way she’d come in. Beth didn’t have time to stop. She charged in one direction and then the next, cutting through rows of slot machines, behind a tuxedoed woman dealing blackjack, through a series of roulette tables, back to what might have been the same slots. The room was filled with smoke and noise. She bumped into people and hardly noticed.

  Finally, she found a revolving door. She shoved through in her haste to get out.

  And then she was free. Outside. Sucking in balmy desert air. And choking back a deluge of tears she neither recognized nor understood. Beth didn’t ever sob. As far as she knew…

  Gasping, she ran down the sidewalk, not sure if she was heading toward the desert or the parking lot. Not caring. She didn’t have a destination in mind. She’d arrived. Nothing else mattered.

  “Beth!”

  Greg came running up behind her, and she realized then that it wasn’t the first time he’d called out to her.

  “What?” She turned.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

  “I see more than my share of adrenaline rushes,” he said, keeping pace beside her. “I know it when I see it.”

  She should slow down. Act normal. And she would. Just as soon as she got some air.

  “I’m seeing it now,” he went on.

  “You’re imagining things.” Her voice was too high. Too fake. She’d work on that next.

  “Should we check your pulse and see just how much I’m imagining? My guess is it’s running at about 220.”

  “I’m fine.” She was hyperventilating.

  Grabbing her arm, Greg pulled her to a stop, cupped his hand over her nose and mouth and commanded, “Breathe.”

  She had no choice.

  After a few seconds, she was no longer seeing stars. Red, maybe, but no stars.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” she asked, not pretending quite as hard that she was in complete control.

  “I’m a sheriff, Beth. I know CPR.”

  “Oh.” Yeah. She started to walk again, but more slowly now.

  Maybe, if she was really lucky, she could wipe away the impression of a raving lunatic she’d obviously given him.

  “It’s a nice night, isn’t it.” Her voice was sounding more normal.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve grown to love the nights these past few weeks. The days are still hot, but the nights are more temperate than they were during the summer. Reminds you of summer days as a kid, doesn’t it? Carefree. Playing hide-and-seek until ten o’clock.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  She didn’t know. “Yeah.” She hoped so. Had no idea why she’d said such a thing or where the thought had come from. It didn’t feel personal.

  But then, at the moment, her own feet and hands felt like they belonged to someone else.

  They walked for a while, neither of them speaking. Eventually Beth calmed down. She no longer felt as though she was going to be sick any second.

  “So what happened?”

  “Sometimes I have…memories.” She chose her words carefully.

  A double-wide sidewalk ran a large circle around the grounds of the casino. They strolled slowly through the darkness, not touching, but close enough to give her strength.

  “Memories of your life before you came here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they’re painful?”

  “Very.”

  “So that’s what happened back there? A painful memory?”

  Beth couldn’t think about what had happened back there. Not until she was safe at home, in her duplex, where she could fall apart in private.

  She’d remembered something important. Or at least she’d started to. Until panic had taken over and shut her down again.

  She’d been on a stage before. Much larger than the one in there. There’d been a piano similar to that baby grand. No other instruments, though. Only a piano.

  And then the spotlight had come on….

  Beth stumbled. She couldn’t go any further than that. It wasn’t there. Maybe she’d already lost the rest of what had come storming back.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said now, proud of how normal her voice sounded. “I told you I wasn’t ready—”

  “You miss him that much?”

  She shook her head. “I think I just hurt that much. It’s not all about him. At least, I don’t think it is. It’s just about the uncertainty, you know?”

  “The ‘no guarantee’ clause that comes with life?”

  “Yeah, only they don’t put it on your birth certificate. They wait until you’re in all the way before they let you know about the risks….”

  “But if we knew up front, we’d never take risks.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “If life involves change, it involves risk, too. Doesn’t it?”

  Beth didn’t, couldn’t, respond. Brushing against him as they turned a corner, she took his hand. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Not hauling me away in a straitjacket.”

  “There was no reason to. You were upset, not insane.”

  It sure felt insane.

  “It’s just that I go through so much of my life these days not feeling anything at all, and then suddenly I feel something so intensely, it hurts so intensely, and I don’t think I can stand it.”

  She couldn’t believe she was telling him these things. And yet, she felt completely safe doing so.

  “I think I get that. Only, instead of feeling hurt, I’m overwhelmed with anger.”

  “About Shelby?”

  “No, that mostly just hurt.” He sent her a wry grin. “I was talking about my father.”

  “Bonnie told me he’d been injured in a carjacking.”

  Greg nodded. “He was on his way home from Phoenix one evening after a round of golf with some of the guys he served with.”

  “He was a cop, too?”

  “Volunteer fire department. My father was an economics professor at the U.”

  “Wow.” She’d had no idea.

  “As far as we’ve been able to piece together, he was rear-ended about twenty miles outside Phoenix. When he pulled over, he was jumped. He remembered nothing else until he woke up in the desert, unable to move. The bastards had broken his neck and left him there to die. By some miracle, a couple of teenagers had gone out to the desert and stumbled upon him.” He stopped, and Beth, walking close beside him, squeezed his hand.

  “They were afraid to move him, but even more afraid to leave him there. Between the two of them, they got him to their car and drove him into Phoenix. He didn’t have any ID on him, but one of the guys I�
�d gone through the academy with answered the call.”

  “Were you close by?”

  “I was at his house, waiting to drive him to Tucson to see a choral performance Bonnie was in.”

  They rounded another corner and reached the back of the casino. Just the two of them among Dumpsters, empty boxes thrown out the door, the rancid smell of trash that should have been emptied.

  Beth figured that was a true metaphor for life.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said. It was weak. Useless. But there wasn’t anything else.

  “They never caught the bastards.”

  “Did they find the car?”

  “Oh yeah. So far, we’ve always found the car—eventually. But the interior had been burned out leaving no clues. Dad couldn’t remember anything. And eventually the case, considered a random carjacking, was closed.”

  “But it’s not anymore.”

  “It’s not anymore,” he said, conviction in every line of his taut body. “I’m going to get those guys, Beth.”

  “I believe you.”

  She tripped, a smaller surge of fear darting through her. She was pretty certain Greg Richards always got his man—even if it took him years.

  If the need ever arose, she hoped that would work in her favor. Not against her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GREG WAS WALKING beside Beth, talking to her about his job again. And then he wasn’t.

  A movement between two of the Dumpsters caught his attention. He’d just barely glimpsed a shadow in the dark, out of the corner of his eye, but whatever was there was too big to be a rat. With an arm in front of Beth to prevent her from walking into the path of whatever was just ahead, Greg slowed and put his finger to his lips. It could be a javelina down from the nearby mountains, and he didn’t want either of them to startle it. The four-hundred-pound wild pigs were not known for their placid nature.

  Motioning for her to back up, he slid his hand in hers and took a couple of steps with her.

  “Hold it.” A gravelly voice came from behind them.

  Greg froze, his only thought of the woman beside him.

  Beth stopped, her hand squeezing all the circulation out of his. He could feel her trembling and willed her his strength.

  He didn’t have to see the blade to know that he had a knife at his back.

  “What’re you doin’ back here, man?”

  “Trying to have a private conversation,” Greg said, shifting just a fraction of an inch, concentrating on his peripheral vision as he tried to determine whether there was only one knife.

  There was.

  Greg moved without further deliberation. Giving Beth a shove to get her safely out of the way, he spun around, his hand locking immediately and with force around the arm that was stretched toward his back.

  His assailant was young. Strong. Fast. Greg wasn’t intimidated. Martial arts, street-fighting, hand-to-hand combat, shooting—he could do them all. His body seemed to move instinctively, twisting, blocking, maintaining his iron hold on the hand wielding the knife.

  The man grunted, used the force of an attempted spin to knock the two of them to the ground. Hitting the hard earth with his shoulder, Greg rolled with the fall, knowing that if he was going to keep Beth safe, he had to make sure this man did not get loose.

  He couldn’t think about her beyond that.

  On the ground, he kept his eye on the potentially lethal six-inch blade gleaming in the darkness. The knife came close to his chest, and Greg rolled again, pinning the man beneath him. Then, with a swift lunge, he knocked his attacker’s hand against the dirt. The knife flew. Greg twisted, rolled one more time, and the man was facedown in the dust, his arm twisted behind him.

  Greg had his belt off and around the man’s wrists in one swift action.

  “Move and you die.”

  Heart pounding from exertion, Greg turned at the sound of the strange female voice.

  Beth was standing there, discarded knife in hand, pointing it at a second figure crouched and trembling beside the Dumpster.

  A teenager. Obviously strung out. A quick search of his prisoner revealed a vial of amphetamines that told Greg he’d just interrupted a drug deal. It was a classic. Some poor frightened kid, in too deep, and the intimidating dealer who owned him. There were few questions left to ask.

  Except where Beth had learned to be so tough.

  And how a woman who’d barely been able to stand half an hour before was suddenly single-handedly holding a drug addict at bay.

  Emotional battles knocked her off her feet, but apparently physical ones did not. He couldn’t help wondering what that said about the past Beth was so adamantly hiding.

  “YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY, MA’AM?”

  Standing on the outskirts of the small crowd that had formed around the blinking police lights, her arms crossed, Beth nodded. Greg was there in the middle of the fray, giving his report.

  “If there’s anything we can get for you—a drink, an extra sweater…”

  “Really, I’m fine.” Beth smiled at the casino manager, hoping to convince him she wasn’t going to fall apart. Or worse, sue him.

  Frowning, he maintained his protective position next to her.

  The truth was, at that moment, Beth felt better than fine. She’d been in danger and come up fighting. A huge entry for her notebook. But more, an enormous reassurance. She could count on herself; she could safeguard her child. She wasn’t some weakling who collapsed at any sign of trouble.

  She’d actually, without conscious thought and without hesitation, held someone at knife point.

  The impact of that realization was huge. Suddenly, the unknown dangers lurking in the darkness of her mind weren’t so threatening. There was a chance she was equipped to handle them.

  “What’s going to happen to that kid?” she asked the manager, as the Indian police led away the kid she’d found huddled by that Dumpster. He was just a fourteen-year-old boy.

  “If it’s his first offense, he’ll probably just be handed over to his parents.” The man shook his head. “You see this so much. These jerks hit up kids in schools with the promise of a cheap and completely harmless good time. Before they know it, the kids are addicted and doing anything for their next fix.”

  The harsh-looking man Greg had apprehended elbowed an officer as they led him to a patrol car. In one swift movement the officer had his hand on the back of the drug dealer’s neck and had shoved his head against the car.

  “He’ll be back on the streets before school starts on Monday,” the casino manager said, shaking his head again.

  Beth hoped he was wrong—and feared he was right. She had a feeling that was the way the world worked. So often, evil prevailed.

  “You, Sheriff Richards, are one hell of a fun date,” Beth teased later that night. He’d talked her into coming back to his house where he could take a shower and continue their evening. Maybe with dinner or a movie in Phoenix.

  Somehow they’d ended up staying at his place instead, grilling steaks in the backyard.

  “Yeah,” Greg said sarcastically, still kicking himself for how close she’d come to being hurt. He flipped the steaks, needing them to cook quickly. The potatoes he’d put on the top rack of the grill were almost done.

  Sitting on a lounge beside the pool, Beth sipped from a glass of wine. Her slim body was beautiful, and the landscape lighting spread a silvery glow over her, giving her a mysterious, almost fairy tale aura.

  “Next time I’ll just take you down to the prison and let you have your pick of criminal action.”

  “With you there to protect me, I wouldn’t worry a bit.”

  The night air was soft, cool against his skin. He was too agitated to enjoy it.

  “I’m flattered you think that, Beth, but what I did tonight was so dumb I can’t even come up with an excuse.” He rubbed his shoulder. “Never, never, never is it wise to walk into a dark alley at night. And especially not on a mostly deserted reservation.”

  “It was ha
rdly deserted with three hundred cars in the parking lot out front.”

  “Which was why we had no business not staying out front.”

  He absolutely did not understand what had gotten into him. Being aware of his surroundings was second nature—or should have been. He’d allowed them to stray into danger.

  “Let up on yourself, Richards.” Beth’s soft voice held no humor, just a hint of affection. “You risked your life to save mine. Enough said.”

  Taking a sip of beer, Greg checked a steak; the middle was still too red. He’d let the night’s fiasco go, but not before he made a silent vow never to lose perspective like that again. And to make sure that if Beth’s life were ever in danger, he would not be the cause.

  He vowed to protect her always—even if that meant protecting her from himself.

  He’d let it go, but he wasn’t going to forget.

  “I HAD NO IDEA that Indians have their own law enforcement and legal system,” she said later, as they sat at the white patio table eating steak and baked potatoes.

  He’d turned on the waterfall on the far side of the pool, and the gentle lapping of the water added a romantic ambience to the classical music playing softly from the outdoor speakers.

  “In some ways, the reservations are like countries unto themselves,” Greg said. “Thanks for waiting while I handed the guy over to them.”

  “No problem.” Her voice was light. Almost cheerful. Amazing considering the evening they’d had.

  He topped off her glass of wine. She was no heavier a drinker than he was; he was still nursing his first beer.

  “You’ve got this place looking great, especially since you’ve been here less than a year,” she said, looking at the desert landscaping surrounding them.

  Greg cut a big bite of filet mignon, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. “Thanks.”

  All she’d seen of the house was the front hallway and kitchen, which they’d walked through on their way to the patio. She’d opted to wait outside while he showered.

  Greg rubbed at his shoulder. “It was like this when I bought the place,” he admitted.