1
Willow Cartwright
"Gotcha!" I shout, curling my arms around Emma and tugging her onto the sofa. "Time for the tickle monster!"
"Aunt Willow! No!" she screeches, her eyes wide, cheeks pink.
I barely flick my fingers over her belly.
She twists under my grasp, squealing louder.
"Willow! The phone's for you," Dad announces.
I don't give Emma any relief. "Who is it?"
Laughter peals out of her.
Dad replies, "Sheriff's office."
The hairs on my arms rise. I stop torturing my niece to pin my gaze on Dad. "What's going on?"
Emma wiggles off my lap and darts across the room.
A mix of amusement and disapproval fills Dad's expression. He answers, "Sounds like a few of your clients misbehaved."
"A few?"
"Sheriff said two of your guys got into it with some other bull rider at The Buck and Bruise. They're all in custody, waiting to be bailed out."
Irritation fills me. I blurt out, "They got into a bar fight on Christmas?"
Dad's lips twitch, but then his gaze sharpens back into disdain.
I groan and rise, brushing past him as I mutter, "I should let them rot until the New Year."
A chuckle escapes him. He calls out, "Hallway phone."
I shake my head, releasing a tense breath. The last thing I want to do is go into town on Christmas night. It's one of my family's favorite holidays, and besides, it's almost the kids' bedtime. I glance out the window, peering at the multicolored glow of the festive lights through the blanket of white snow, and pick up the phone.
My stomach twists, but I put on my professional voice and offer, "Merry Christmas. This is Willow Cartwright. How can I help you?"
"Merry Christmas, Willow. I'm sorry to bother you," Sheriff Lorall states.
"It's okay, sir. Which of my riders decided to be the prize idiots?" I twist the cord around my fingers. I've done it since I was a kid, always letting it dig into my skin until I can't take it anymore, as if it'll protect me from whatever is coming.
He lowers his voice. "Jericho Boone and Colt Remington."
"Seriously?" I'm surprised. Jericho and Colt aren't clients who normally get into trouble, especially not petty bar fights. They're experienced bull riders who compete individually and in the 5-on-5 team format. They take their careers seriously and, if anything, stop the younger guys on the team from making stupid decisions.
"Yes, ma'am," the sheriff confirms.
"Is bail the usual two grand apiece?" I question, stepping closer to the cold glass.
He clears his throat. "Yes, that's correct. However, we can waive it since it's Christmas."
"Really? What's the catch?" I ask, focusing on a red lightbulb on the fence that flickers before it burns out.
Sheriff Lorall explains, "Danny's offered not to press charges if he's paid sixty thousand in cash for damages."
