“Complicated is one word for it.” Riley peered past me into the cramped space. “Why did you build it so small?”
“That’s a very good question. We hired a few outsiders to help, but they somehow forgot orcs would be using the space.”
“How do you even?—”
“Very carefully.” I backed out before I got stuck. “And with a lot of contortion that’s probably undignified for a law enforcement officer.”
Her laugh burst out, and the sound went straight to my head.Thiswas what I wanted. Her easy humor and the gradual relaxation of her defensive walls. A glimpse of who she might be when she wasn’t constantly looking over her shoulder.
“I suppose this is one of those times when being human-sized has its advantages,” she said.
I caught a teasing note in her voice, and it made flames sear through me.
I was in trouble.
“I’ve learned to adapt.” Turning, I gestured toward the jail cell area. “Shall we continue the tour? The tourist experience is what really brings in the revenue.”
The jail cell was as authentically Old West as the rest of our reenactment town, complete with iron bars and a narrow bunk that would be uncomfortable for anyone larger than a child. I’d designed it specifically to be intimidating enough to feel real, but safe enough that even the most nervous visitors could enjoy the novelty of being arrested by an orc sheriff.
“So how does this work exactly?” Riley asked, running her fingers along the iron bars. “Do people actually request to be locked up?”
“You’d be surprised how popular it is.” I pulled out my keys and unlocked the cell door, leaving them dangling in the lock. “Families love it. We do fake arrests for everything from disturbing the peace with excessive fun to aggravated tourism. The bail money goes to an animal shelter one town over.”
“That’s actually really sweet,” she said, steppinginside to examine the cell. “And clever. You’ve turned something that should be scary into a force for good.”
Her proximity was playing havoc with my concentration. This close, I could catch her scent, something clean and floral with an underlying sweetness that made my mouth water. The golden flecks in her brown eyes really stood out, and her hair caught the afternoon light filtering through the front windows. It was all I could do not to touch it. Touchher.
Best of all, I could see the way she was starting to relax around me. The tension in her shoulders had eased, and she no longer positioned herself near escape routes. She was beginning to trust me.
The realization made something warm and protective unfurl in my chest.
“Would you like to try it out?” I asked, gesturing toward the cell. “Get the full experience?”
“Are you offering to arrest me, Sheriff?” The teasing note in her voice came stronger now, and I had to bite back a groan at the images that question conjured.
“This might be the only way to keep you in Lonesome Creek.” I immediately regretted the words. Too much, too soon. She was running from something, and jokes about being trapped probably weren’t appropriate.
But instead of tensing up, Riley’s smile widened. “Is that your standard recruitment technique?”
“Only for special cases.” I was relieved that she was taking my clumsy humor for what it was and not seeing it as a threat.
She ran her hands along the wooden wall. “It’s quite well constructed. Authentic without being threatening.”
“That was the goal. We want people to have fun, not feel scared.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching as she sat on the narrow bunk. “Though I have to admit, the accommodations aren’t luxurious.”
“I’ve slept in worse places,” she said, then stiffened as if she hadn’t meant to reveal that much.
What kind of life had she been living, and how many nights had she spent in places that made a tourist jail cell look appealing?
Before I could figure out how to respond, the front door of the office burst open with enough force to rattle the windows.
“Sheriff! Sheriff, you gotta help us,” a young voice called out.
I turned to find an older woman and a youngling male about five-years-old entering the jail. The child bounced on his toes, his eyes wide with excitement as he took in the jail in general.
“What seems to be the problem?” I asked, automatically shifting into my professional façade.
“This is my grandson, Billy.” The woman gestured to the boy with fond exasperation. “I’m Cara Winslow, and I brought him here while his parents settle in with his new little brother.”
