"Oh, look, it's Sheriff Sunshine," I say, injecting sarcasm into my voice to divert him from my tears.
He narrows his eyes at me, and I do everything I can to avoid looking at him.
"Why are you crying?" he asks, his gaze locking with mine so intensely that my emotions run the gamut, and I want to tell him everything while also kicking him in the shin for making me feel this way. I go to battle with one otter, and suddenly I abandon peace for violence. No, no. It's him. He brings out the hell in me.
"Because the big bad sheriff arrested me and threw me into a holding cell." I'd rather he thinks I'm soft and spoiled than know I'm contemplating all my life decisions.
"Food," I gasp to change the subject and rush toward the bars. The aroma of melted cheese and pepperoni floods my nostrils and distracts my emotions.
Sheriff Crankyboots slips the box through the food slot along with a giant cup and a stack of napkins.
I wasn't really hungry, despite not having eaten anything since the night before. Has it really been close to twenty-four hours since my last meal?
Well, I didn't have time. I was too busy running away from home to think about food. I also asked for food because I didn't want to be left alone, and I would take even a grumpy, possibly six-foot-five cantankerous sheriff's company over solitude in the steel box. But now I'm starving.
"Thank you," I say sincerely, washing my hands with the most abrasive soap known to mankind at the little basin in the cell.
I flip open the box, peel off a slice, and take a huge bite. It's so good that I don't even stop to breathe in my quest to devour it all.
The sheriff doesn't take his eyes off me as he settles into a chair in front of a desk, clearly in my line of sight. He kicks his long legs up onto the desk, crosses them at the ankles, and leans back.
"Umm... do you want a slice?" I ask, politely offering him the box. I'm not completely a glutton without manners. He shakes his head.
"It's so good. What's in this?" I ask between bites, practically having a food orgasm right in front of him, and I'm too far gone to care.
"Real cheese," he murmurs.
"Yes. Yes. Yes," I nod, stabbing the lid of the cup with a straw and taking a sip. It's a lime milkshake. What?
"Oh my gosh, it's my favorite. How did you know?" I ask, taking a bigger sip and giving myself brain freeze.
"Suits your personality," he says softly. The gravel in his deep voice sends shivers down my spine and leaves me hot and flustered.
"Cool and calm under pressure?" I ask, trying to ward off his effect on me.
"Psychotic with a side of disrupting my peace."
I take a moment from feasting to stick my tongue out at him. I don't know if he saw that; his eyes are closed.
"Well, I'm sorry," I say. "Next time I'll just get into bed with the wet otter and maybe spoon the thing as well. " I nearly gag.
"Next time, do."
I don't know if he thinks I could consume an entire large pizza or what, but after a couple of slices, with no care about working it off, I close the lid and start dreaming about eating the restfor breakfast. Must be the fresh countryside air. Oh, who am I kidding? It's the sheriff and his stupid otter. I binge when I'm misplaced, but the sheriff misplaces more than the otter.
"When I see the judge tomorrow," I say, washing my greasy hands, "you're going to be the one who reimburses me for my thousand-thread Egyptian cotton sheets since I have to incinerate them now that they have otter on them. Obviously, after you deliver a heartfelt apology to me."
"You'll probably be facing more jail time, Ms. Evans," he says, sinking lower into his chair as a signal to end all conversation.
"We'll see about that, Mr. Sheriff Gloom," I mimic in his voice.
The dim light from the lone globe above his head casts a soft hue over his masculine features. Why is he so attractive, and why does my heart beat a little faster every time I look at him? Need I remind myself that the man arrested me? He's a real ogre for that.
In the back of my mind, I ponder the events of my evening. It's too surreal to comprehend. Maybe I'm dreaming. Yes, the giant rat was just a figment of a nightmare. Although I don't think I have the talent to have conjured the sheriff up in my dreams. He's nothing like I've ever seen before.
No, this is not a dream. It's actually a crazy small-town nightmare, yet I'm not as freaked out as I should be—or was after the sheriff came onto the scene.
Right now, I'm pleasantly well-fed, and as I lie down on the cot, I expect it to be as hard as a rock; surprisingly, it's not.
