Arrested by Love: A Long Valley Romance Novel - Book 3

by Erin Wright

  Declan looked at Wyatt, then at the floor, then back at Wyatt again.

  “Wanna tell me about the sleeping arrangements last night?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  Wyatt and Declan both slid out of their warm bunks and into the freezing cold air. Wyatt threw on his shoes and wrapped his blanket around himself as Declan got dressed for the day.

  “Hey Wyatt?” Declan said as Wyatt paused at the door of the cell, ready to let Maggie out into the courtyard for a morning bathroom run.

  “Yeah?”

  “Merry Christmas. Maybe next one will be better.”

  “Thanks. You, too.”

  Except as Wyatt walked with Maggie to the courtyard door, careful not to let the door swing shut behind him, he couldn’t help thinking that his Christmas morning hadn’t been too shabby.

  Chapter 14

  Abby

  January 3rd. After all of the waiting, the day had finally come. Thankfully, the roads to Boise had long ago been cleared after the Storm of the Century had raged through the valley, and they’d be able to make it there today. They could do a video linkup with Ada County if they had to, but that was always so awkward. People didn’t really feel like they’d had their day in court if they spent that day in a conference room instead.

  Abby looked at the schedule. Officer Rios should be coming in off patrols soon, which meant he could be the second officer required for the transportation of prisoners. Not that Wyatt was going to attack her and make a run for it, but it was official policy that two officers do a transport so that an officer was never left alone with a prisoner.

  Of course, in her and Wyatt’s case, that was a good thing, not because Wyatt was going to run for the hills or Abby was going to shoot him, but because then at least they could be sure they wouldn’t kiss.

  Because if they were in danger of doing anything, it was setting the sheets on fire with all of the sparks shooting off them. Something she really, really couldn’t allow herself to focus on, at least not while at work.

  “Abby, I’m going to be coming with you today.”

  Her father’s booming voice broke her out of her thoughts, and it took a moment for her to realize what he’d said.

  “What?” she asked dumbly, taken aback by his words. Surely her dad wouldn’t be coming on a transport. As the sheriff, he simply wasn’t involved in the day-to-day activities, like transporting prisoners to other counties. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out on a prisoner transport. Probably not since the day they pinned that sheriff’s badge to his chest.

  “I’ve been cooped up in my office for too long. Time to stretch my legs and get outside,” her dad said with a fake, jovial smile.

  Stretch his legs…by getting into a cop car for 90 minutes? Fresh air? It was bullshit, plain and simple. She simply arched her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms over her chest. She didn’t say a word, and she didn’t have to.

  He scowled.

  “Don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing personal. I just want to get out of my office for the day.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off each syllable like honey off a wooden spoon. “Okay, Sheriff.” As the sheriff, she couldn’t tell him what to do, and she knew it, and he knew that she knew it. And he was taking advantage of that fact, and they both knew that.

  “Go ahead and get the prisoner ready,” her dad said, brushing her off. She sighed and headed for the back. It was going to be a long-ass day. Her father and Wyatt in a cop car for an hour and a half, both ways?

  She might end up breaking up more than one fistfight today.

  When she came walking up to the cell door, Wyatt was already standing there, a big smile on his face.

  “Today’s the day,” he said, the happiness threading through his voice. This was the happiest she’d heard him since the day Declan had brought Maggie into the jailhouse. Speaking of…

  “You should probably take Maggie outside for a quick potty break before we leave,” she said, gesturing towards the snoring Maggie on the floor. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a long day for her.” It’s already going to be a long day for everyone else; it wasn’t right to torture the dog, too. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing Wyatt’s face when he realized that he was going to be stuck in a cop car for hours on end with her father.

  Wyatt flashed her a grateful smile. “Thanks, we appreciate it. C’mon girl, let’s go outside.” Instantly awake, Maggie stood up and shook out her coat, trotting over to the jail door. Abby unlocked it and swung it open, giving Maggie her mandatory pettings before letting them both out into the jail yard for a walk around and a pee break. Wyatt sent her another grateful smile as he walked past her, and the butterflies in her stomach went crazy, wilder than a bronco in a rodeo.

  Yup, a long day for sure, between a father who wanted to kill, and a prisoner who wanted to kiss.

  They made their way through the winding valley towards Boise, the river below only partially frozen over because of the speed and strength of the water flow, pine trees dusted with snow bending over the road above.

  It was a drive that Abby loved to take; most people in Long Valley dreaded the drive to Boise because of the hairpin turns and the much-too-skinny bridges that spanned the river every time the road crossed over it. Abby loved the views, though – the glimpses through the trees up into the endless blue skies, the rushing water over tumbling rocks below…it was wild and free.

  Everything that Abby was not.

  They got to the Ada County Courthouse and Abby helped Wyatt out of the car, holding his elbow as they walked towards the back entrance and into the courthouse. Her father walked along beside them, harrumphing as they went. He seemed upset by everything today – she was driving too fast. Too slow. Passing too many cars. Not passing enough cars. Her normally peaceful and gorgeous drive to Boise had been anything but. She was just happy to have finally gotten to stable ground, where she wouldn’t be told, “Stop riding the break so much.”

  Backseat drivers (or passenger seat drivers, to be completely accurate) were the worst, especially when they came in the form of her father, the sheriff, and her boss, all rolled up into one.

  Wyatt shot her a weak smile and she realized that he was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. She smiled back, putting all of the warmth she could fit into the gesture. She gave a gentle squeeze on his elbow, which was as much as she dared to do with her father breathing down their necks, but he gave an answering smile back, and she knew he realized she was on his side, even if it sometimes felt like the rest of the world wasn’t.

  The clerk at the counter got them checked in and registered, then sent them down the hallway and to the left, to the courtrooms. They were seated in the back to await his turn, but unlike that day in the Long Valley courtroom, this judge was quick to call Wyatt’s name. He moved forward into the defendant’s area, meeting with his lawyer for a quick whispered discussion, as Abby and the sheriff moved to the front pews reserved for the audience.

  C’mon, Judge, don’t be a jackass. See the man in front of you. She sent up a plea to anyone and everyone who might be listening. If there was someone who deserved another chance to do the right thing, it was Wyatt Miller.

  Then they did something Abby had heard of but had never witnessed – they swore in the whole courtroom. All of the audience, the prosecutor, the defendant, all in one fell swoop. Everyone was told that they were swearing to tell the truth, rather than making the audience say it in tandem with each other, and Abby had to smile to herself. Very efficient courtroom. So different from Long Valley County, where old traditions die hard.

  The prosecutor stood up – a lawyer assigned to the case from Ada County, it was clear from the start that he just didn’t care about it. “Your Honor, Wyatt Mister—”

  “—Miller,” Wyatt’s lawyer said, interrupting.

  “Oh yes,” the prosecutor said, pulling the paper closer to h
is face to peer at it, “Wyatt Miller beat a gentleman up at a convenience store in an effort to stop the man from driving drunk. He’s since spent seven weeks in jail. I think he’s done his time and I move to drop all charges against him.”

  Abby’s eyebrows shot up, as did everyone else’s in the courtroom. If she’d sat down and tried to imagine the words that would come out of the prosecutor’s mouth as part of his opening statement, she would’ve guessed a hundred other scenarios before she imagined this one. Chaos broke out in the courtroom as people began whispering to each other and Abby felt her father’s shoulders tighten up.

  He was pissed.

  “Your Honor!” he said, shooting to his feet, anger vibrating in his voice.

  The judge began banging his gavel. “Order in the court!” he practically shouted over the noise. The audience settled down, but her father remained standing. Abby looked around the courtroom, not recognizing anyone there except Wyatt and his lawyer, of course. The rest of the people must all be waiting for their turn to be heard, and thus had no stake in the situation. She wondered how often the Ada County prosecutor suggested that the defendant simply be let free. She was guessing not very often.

  “Your Honor,” her father said again as soon as the noise level died down, “I protest! This is not the first time that Wyatt Miller,” he sneered the last name, “has beaten up someone who got in his way. He’s assaulted an officer of the law – me! I demand that he be punished for his actions. He cannot act as a one-man vigilante, beating up anyone who he deems deserves it. That’s no way to run a town and I won’t let it happen in mine!”

  The judge just stared at the sheriff for a long moment, and the noise level in the courtroom dropped to dead silence. And still, he continued staring. The sheriff started shifting from foot to foot, unsure of what to say or do. “Your Hon—” he finally started up again but the judge held up his hand, stopping him.

  “Mr. Miller,” he said, turning toward Wyatt, “at the beginning of this hearing, everyone was sworn in, including you. Would you be willing to waive your Fifth Amendment rights and stand up and answer some questions?”

  Wyatt’s lawyer leaned over and began whispering in Wyatt’s ear, but Wyatt waved him away and stood up. “I would, Your Honor.”

  The judge nodded gravely.

  “Tell me what happened the night that you assaulted our sheriff over there,” he said with a jerk of his head towards her father. Her father flinched and she could practically see him biting his tongue, trying to keep his temper. He wasn’t used to people dismissing him so easily and it rankled. Hard.

  Abby knew that the judge saw right through him, and realized that he wasn’t an unbiased bystander in the situation. Obviously, he didn’t know anything about the rumors around town or Wyatt buying the Connelly family farm off the auction block after it was foreclosed on or any of the rest of their awful history together, but he knew enough to know that her father wasn’t going to give Wyatt a fair shake.

  It was strangely comforting to find an outsider who saw the situation the same way that Abby did. In a small town that acted like an echo chamber so much of the time, looking at a citizen differently than everyone else tended to make a person start to question their sanity after a time.

  “I came home from a long day in the fields,” Wyatt said, his voice even. “I was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed. My wife needed milk for breakfast the next day, and asked me to go buy it. She’d had a rough day with our daughter, and had just wanted me to go take care of this for her.” His voice started to waiver a little and Abby could feel the pain rolling off him in waves.

  “I told her no, that I was going to go to bed. Told her to take Sierra, our daughter, and go to the store to get the damn milk, that I was too tired to watch her while my wife was gone. She was angry with me, and they left together. I never saw them again.” His voice cracked completely, and he had to stop for a minute, until he could gather his composure. “I was asleep when the knock on the door happened. On their way back from Franklin, a drunk driver hit them head-on. I drove to the scene and I wanted to see them. I wanted to tell them how sorry I was, and how much I loved them.” His voice cracked again and his jaw trembled as he tried to gain control. Abby wanted to run to his side, slip her hand in his and tell him that it was going to be okay, but would it? They would never come back.

  How could it be okay?

  “The first responders were working on them, trying to resuscitate them, and I came running up in the middle of it. I shouldn’t have because I was just getting in the way, but that night…I wasn’t thinking clearly. The sheriff grabbed me and pulled me away, telling me I had to leave them alone and I took a swing at him.”

  “He knocked me on my ass and damn near broke my jaw!” the sheriff broke in, anger pouring out of him. “I ended up having to—”

  “Enough!” the judge roared. “If you interrupt these proceedings one more time, Sheriff Connelly, I’ll have you arrested for contempt of court! You may sit down.” He glared at her father over the half-moon of his glasses, the “request” no request at all, but a direct order.

  Her father sank down beside her on the bench, muttering under his breath. Abby tried hard to block his words out. Whatever he was saying, she wasn’t going to agree with him on it, so it was best if she just ignored him. He’d calm down…eventually.

  “You may continue,” the judge said to Wyatt.

  Wyatt nodded and said, “He’s right. I did knock him backwards. I didn’t meant to, but I was wild with grief and not paying much attention to what I was doing. I was simply trying to get to my babies.” He shrugged. “I was arrested for assaulting an officer but the prosecuting attorney in Long Valley County refused to press charges against me. My wife and daughter died that night, on the side of the road. I guess the prosecutor figured I’d been punished enough.”

  “What happened on the evening of November 13th, outside of Mr. Petrol’s convenience store?” the judge asked.

  “It was my wife’s brother. He and I had never been best buddies, but after my wife and daughter died, he decided to blame me for their deaths. I’m not entirely sure he’s wrong, because I made them drive to Franklin when I should’ve been the one to do it.” He swallowed hard and the lump in Abby’s throat only grew. Surely, after all this time, he didn’t still blame himself for his wife and daughter’s death. Surely he realized that accidents happen, and it was the fault of the drunk driver.

  It was the second wreck the driver had caused while being intoxicated, and he was driving without a license when it happened. The drunk driver was the kind of person who should be locked up, the key just thrown away.

  Not Wyatt. He was rough and spiky and testy, sure, but he was also loving and loyal and a damn hard worker.

  He continued, interrupting her wandering thoughts. “When he pulled up that night at the convenience store, I thought he was going to take out the plate glass windows. He skidded in much too fast and only just stopped in time.”

  “Did you know who it was when he pulled in?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor. He drives an orange camo Jeep. There are only so many of those in the Long Valley area.” He gave a little smile at that.

  The judge nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, he came in and bought a 24-pack of Bud Light. The clerk let him because his probation was almost up, and he didn’t want to piss off the judge’s son. I believe Dick knew that, and took full advantage of the situation. I went outside to tell him to not drive drunk, when he called me ‘Killer.’”

  The whole courtroom gasped, even her father. Abby felt like someone had punched her in the gut. Holy cow. Richard was lucky he was still alive. Somehow, in all of the rumors that had swirled around about the altercation that night, no one had mentioned that part.

  “That’s when I pulled him out of the Jeep and started swinging.”

  The judge nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Am I to understand that you’ve been undergoing counseling since this happen
ed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I’ve been seeing a counselor twice a week. She comes to the jail and we talk.”

  “Well son, you need to realize that you can’t keep punching your way through life.” Her father harrumphed next to her, pleased to hear that the judge was finally seeing reason. “However, you’ve also served much more of a jail sentence than you ever should have, under the circumstances, something our fine prosecutor here seems to have realized.”

  The prosecutor jerked his head up, surprised to have been brought into the conversation. Abby hid her smile. The man had promptly stopped paying any attention to the proceedings, as soon as the judge asked Wyatt to stand, and had instead been shuffling through papers and making notes. She was pretty sure that the paperwork in front of the man had nothing to do with Wyatt. In the largest county in the state of Idaho, she was sure that a brawl outside of a convenience store ranked just above “jaywalker” on his list of things to worry about, and it showed.

  “Yes, I agree,” the prosecutor said, jumping to his feet. The judge waved him away and the man gratefully sat back down and got back to work. Her father’s harrumphs promptly turned…less genial and if they hadn’t been in the courtroom, she was sure he would’ve given the lawyer a piece of his mind.

  “I hereby sentence you to three counseling appointments per week for three weeks, and 75 hours of community service. Perhaps you can learn to start solving your problems with something else other than your fists.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Wyatt said.

  “Now, we need to discuss the terms of your community service. You’ll need to drive here to Boise so you can check in with our probation officers – how far of a drive is it from Sawyer?”

  “It’s 90 minutes, Your Honor,” his lawyer said. “Through a narrow canyon.”

  The judge’s eyebrows drew together. “Certainly not ideal during the wintertime,” he mumbled. “Unless we can find someone local to handle your probation, however, I don’t see a way around it—”