Fried Pickles and the Fuzz

by Calico Daniels

  “I know.” She giggled and poked him in the stomach. “Hey, can you grab me a soda so I can talk to the good sheriff for a minute?”

  Billy winked at her and strode off toward a nearby street vendor.

  Beth Ann turned and pinned him with an assessing look. “Here’s the part where I tell you that I tend to get real protective over Heather. She’s my best friend. Been there for me no matter what, even when she was away at school, and I’ll do just about anything for her.”

  “Okay.” Unsure of where the conversation was heading, Bronson decided it was best to let the redhead say her bit.

  “What about you?”

  Bronson wasn’t exactly sure what sort of a question it was. “What do you mean?”

  Beth Ann rolled her eyes. “How do you feel about her?”

  “Heather’s a great woman. I’d never do anything intentional to hurt her. This whole thing with Gus isn’t about Heather. It’s about safety for him and everyone else in town.”

  She nodded. “Just so long as we understand each other.” She quickly glanced around as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear what she had to say. Stepping closer, she lowered her voice. “She’s been schmoozing folks, trying to find a place for Gus before your deadline. She’s working with Carl and Molly, trying to get leads on property in the area to buy, but things aren’t going quite as smooth as she’d hoped. Now, with that said… take it a little easy on her. M’kay?”

  He’d had no idea the lengths Heather had been going to, trying to get a permanent setup for Gus. Yeah, he knew she spent a lot of time worrying about him and taking care of him, but this information shed a new light on the situation. He needed to talk to her. Needed her to know he was on her side and would do pert-near anything to help her. “Where is she?”

  Beth Ann motioned over his left shoulder toward the town square. “Schmoozing.”

  He turned and immediately saw her near the gazebo, speaking with the local realtor, Molly. He murmured a quick thank you to Beth Ann and made a beeline toward the two women just as they parted ways.

  Trotting across the distance, Bronson caught up with Heather as she started making her way back to The Pickle. “Hey.”

  She turned and gave him a half smile. “Hi.”

  He tucked his thumbs into his front pockets. “How’s it goin’?”

  “Busy.” Heather didn’t look directly at him. She looked over his shoulder, down the street, and at the ground, but refused to make eye contact. “Look, I’m going to be real busy for the next couple days, and I’m not sure how much time I’ll have for chattin’ in the evenin’s.” She took a step backward toward the café. “I’ll send Erma over to the department with your dinner around six. ‘Kay?”

  Without waiting for a response she turned and pushed open the door to the café, leaving him standing on the sidewalk.

  Well, that coulda gone better.

  ****

  Ugh!

  Heather groaned as she watched through the front window at Bronson, who still stood on the sidewalk outside The Pickle. He remained there, staring at the door for a full minute before he turned and walked slowly back toward the crowds around the animal pens.

  She shouldn’t have been so abrupt with him. Deep down she knew he was only doing his job. Bronson was a good sheriff. No, a great sheriff. He took his job seriously and still managed to maintain his people skills. Everyone in the county liked him. Well, Mrs. Pearson might be the exception, but she didn’t like anyone or anything. The old bat wasn’t ever happy unless she was causing a stir with one thing or another.

  That aside, all Heather ever heard from the locals was nothing but the highest praise for Bronson and his capability as sheriff. He went out of his way to help folks. Of course, Heather didn’t need to listen to the local grapevine to know that about him. She spent nearly every evening with him right here in the café, chatting while he ate.

  She knew about the local scout group he’d taken on a campout when their troopmaster got sick. About the groceries he bought out of his own pocket every couple weeks for Mr. Beeson. All the little things he did, even the ones he didn’t talk about. Like the time he watched the Carters’s kids when they went to dinner for their anniversary. Those were the kind of things that made him the man she admired. The man she… loved?

  Oh, man. She hadn’t seen that one coming.

  Thursday

  It had been two days since Bronson had locked Gus up in the yard behind the office. Two long days. Each evening his dinner was delivered to the station by Erma, who handed it over with a stern look and nothing more. He’d made the mistake on day two of asking her how Heather was getting along with finding Gus a forever home and had been rewarded with a nasty look and a thumb inserted into his slice of apple pie. After that he’d kept his mouth shut when she dropped off his meals. It was safer. No sense in letting innocent food become a victim again. Especially when said food was meant to be his dinner.

  He needed to see her. Wanted to let her know about his progress on getting a place for Gus, but she’d been avoiding his calls by having Erma answer the café phone and say she was too busy to talk.

  Enough was enough. It was time for Bronson to take the bull by the proverbial horns. Shoving his hat down onto his head, he walked out the front door of the department and down the street to The Pickle, carrying his takeout box with him. Since Erma had already dropped off his dinner tonight, that meant the café was slow and Heather would be there alone. With only twenty minutes until closing time, and most of the townsfolk off participating in the scavenger hunt, he stood a pretty good chance of being able to talk to her alone without a bunch of nosey busybodies hanging on every word.

  The café was lit and the front door still unlocked when he arrived, though the dining room was empty. He made his way to his regular spot, opened the plastic carton and began to eat his catfish, which was now only warm, rather than hot the way he preferred.

  Heather’s voice drifted through the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the front of the restaurant.

  “Come on, Carl, I just need a little more time to get the down payment… Yes, I understand… No, it’s fine, I’ll just have to figure something else out… Yeah, thanks for your help.”

  Bronson forked up another bite of fish just as Heather marched through the swinging door. She stopped the moment she spotted him.

  “You. This is all your fault.” Anger flashed in her beautiful blue eyes.

  The fork froze on its journey to his mouth. “What’d I do?”

  Fists planted on hips, she strode over to him, jerked the fork from his hand, and tossed it over her shoulder. “You just had to be a cop. Just had to issue an ultimatum about Gus. You couldn’t just leave well enough alone, could you?”

  “I’m the sheriff. It’s my job to make sure that the laws are followed and the folks in Big Creek are safe.” He reached for another fork, but she beat him to it, slapping her hand down on the utensil, effectively blocking him.

  “Of course you are. But this isn’t the big city. Things work a little different out here in the boonies. We all look out for one another and sometimes we just accept what is, whether it’s against the law or not.”

  “I turned my head long enough about Gus, but come on, he was beginning to really irk folks in town with his constant wandering and getting into things.”

  Heather braced her hands on the counter and leaned toward him. “Who complained? Mrs. Pearson? She gripes about the Christmas lights on the square. Says they cast an unflattering glow on her car during the season.”

  “She’s not the only one. Bud called too.” He inched back in his seat, and she leaned closer.

  “Bud? Seriously? That old fart has a moonshine still in his basement. Who else? Tom Parker? Edna Stiles? You should check out their tomato patches in the spring. Bet you’ll find more than Beefsteaks growing in there.” She straightened and backed away from the counter. “If you’re going to enforce the law, then do it across the board, Sheriff.” />
  Silence hummed in the café. They stared at each other, neither saying a word.

  Finally, Bronson reached out and closed the lid on his dinner then stood. “I’m sorry, Heather. I didn’t realize that giving you a deadline for Gus was going to cause this many problems.” He picked up his takeout box and stepped away from the counter. “But I’m not backing down. It’s dangerous, not only for Gus, but for everyone in town, to just let him wander around. I would hate myself if he caused an accident or even a death because I did nothing. I hope you understand.”

  “Yeah, I hope you do, too.” She grabbed a cloth and started wiping down the counter.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Heather sighed. “I think you should either keep taking your meals at the station or find another place to have supper.”

  “But this is the only café in town.”

  She glanced up, her gaze locking with his. “I know.”

  Saturday

  “You banned the sheriff from The Pickle?” Beth Ann stared wide-eyed. “What in the world were you thinkin’? The man was really just doin’ his job when he threw Gus in the clink. I might not like the fact that it’s caused you this much heartache, but still.”

  “I know. I was just so tootin’ mad, and it’s obvious that I wasn’t thinkin’ clearly or I wouldn’t have blown up at him like that.” Heather groaned and rested her head against the cool surface of the stainless counter in the café kitchen. “I sent Erma over to the Police Department with his dinner last night, and she brought it back. Said he’d already eaten.”

  Beth Ann chuckled. “Likely story. The only place besides The Pickle in this town to get anything to eat is out of the hot box at the gas station.”

  Heather shuddered and raised her head. “Do you really think he would go that far to avoid me?”

  Her friend shrugged and began to file her nails. “I don’t see why not. You were pretty hard on him.” She pointed her emery board at Heather. “I saw him chatting it up with Molly over at the real estate office yesterday afternoon.”

  With another moan, Heather dropped her head into her hands.

  “Face it, girl, you blew it with the studly sheriff. Yep, the ladies will be swarming him. It’s no wonder he didn’t need your dinner last night. I’ll bet his calendar is full of home-cooked dinner invites.” The quiet rasping of the emery board continued. “Yep, I don’t think that he’s gonna have to worry about meals for awhile.”

  “Okay, I get it. I screwed up. Bronson was just doing his job and trying to make sure that everyone in town was safe, and I blew it way out of proportion and took it personal.” She raised her head and wiggled her fingers at Beth Ann. “It’s all my fault, I’m a moron, blah, blah, blah.” She drew in a deep breath. “Now, what do I do to fix it?”

  Beth Ann put her file down and smiled. “I say you grow a pair, march right over to the station, and tell that big hunk of man that he was right, you were wrong, and then lay a big wet one on him right there.”

  “Kissing is your answer to everything, isn’t it?”

  “If it’s a man problem? You bet.” Her friend winked and resumed shaping her perfect nails. “No man alive can resist a good kiss. Especially when it’s coming from a girl he’s got a thing for.”

  “Had a thing for. I think after banning him from the café, that ship might have sailed.”

  “Only one way to find out, now isn’t there?” Beth Ann glanced at her watch. “I’ve gotta run, doll. Billy’s taking me muddin’ down by Foster’s Creek tonight after the dance, and I’ve gotta go get everything ready.” She picked her purse up off the counter and slipped it onto her shoulder.

  “What on Earth do you need to do to get ready to go muddin’?”

  “Oh, you know,” Beth Ann said as she fluffed her hair, “gotta make sure we have water and snacks. Never know, we might get stuck and have to spend a quiet summer evening on the banks of the creek.” She sighed. “All alone and away from everyone.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “Yeah, what a hardship that’d be.”

  The other woman winked. “Maybe you should try it sometime. It’s a great stress relief. Not a care in the world. Just you and the man of your dreams alone to stare at the stars and talk ‘til dawn.”

  “At this point I’m not sure he’ll ever speak to me again.”

  Beth Ann patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t bet on it. Now, put a smile on your face, whip up a spectacular meal, and get your boxed lunch ready. The auction starts in a couple hours.”

  Heather stood and gave her friend a hug. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d fall apart, honey.” The redhead squeezed her. “Ain’t love grand?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Beth Ann chuckled. “You sure ‘bout that?”

  The two women stepped apart as Erma pushed through the kitchen door. “Breakfast diners are all gone and everything is cleared.”

  “Thank you.” The older woman was a fixture in The Pickle. More than once Heather wondered what she would do if she ever had to go it without her. “Go ahead and head home. I’ll see you at the auction.”

  Erma waved and left the two friends alone in the café.

  “I’m heading out too. Tons of things to do before this afternoon.” Beth Ann dropped a quick kiss on Heather’s cheek and darted out of the kitchen, leaving Heather alone in the quiet restaurant.

  With The Pickle closed for the rest of the day, the only thing Heather had to contend with now was her boxed lunch for the auction. Well, that and the auction itself. Knowing that Bronson would be there as the auctioneer sent her stomach rolling.

  They hadn’t spoken since Thursday, when she had gone all crazy-psycho on him after her depressing phone call with Carl, the local bank manager. The loan she had applied for to purchase a small farm on the edge of town had been denied. Unless she could come up with a bigger downpayment, she was out of luck. Now she was stuck trying to find another place to keep Gus that Bronson would approve of, and her week was almost up.

  She sighed. There was nothing she could do about it today though, so she might as well get in the Big Creek Days’ spirit and join in the festivities.

  In years past, the contents of her boxed lunch contribution had consisted of her double-battered fried chicken, fried yellow squash, and mashed potatoes, but this year she just couldn’t get in the frying mood. Instead of fighting it, she decided to just let her instincts kick in and see what her imagination would bring forth. Moving around the kitchen on autopilot, she prepared a lunch for two of BLTs on homemade sourdough bread with crispy hickory-smoked bacon and heirloom tomatoes, spicy jalapeno chips, and a decadent peach pie for dessert. Topped off with a half gallon of The Pickle’s sweetened peach tea, and it was a boxed lunch any southern girl could be proud of.

  Now if only she could come up with an apology to match, she might not be stuck eating crow.

  ****

  “Sheriff, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Bronson looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk and suppressed a shiver. Beth Ann stood just inside the office door, her fiery red hair pulled up in a haphazard ponytail that reminded him vaguely of Medusa. Not that he would ever breathe that comparison out loud, but Heather’s best friend was a veritable pit bull when it came to defending those she cared about. He’d seen it firsthand on a couple of occasions, and it left him wondering how Billy kept even a scrap of his masculinity intact when the two butted heads about anything. “I’m a little busy right now. Any chance it can wait until later?”

  Beth Ann walked up to his desk, planted her fists on the paper littered surface, and glared at him. “Nope.”

  “In that case, sure, I’ve got a minute.” Leaning back in his chair, Bronson folded his arms across his chest and did his best to look as intimidating as she did. Somehow he seriously doubted it was working, though.

  “Good. First off, when are you gonna open up your eyes and realize that what Heather’s doing for that ma
ngy old horse goes a lot deeper than just some bleeding heart wanting to take in strays?”

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  “Then pay attention, Sheriff,” she practically spat the last word, “because I’m only gonna say it once, and you sure aren’t going to hear it from anyone else in town. Granny Joy was sweet on Gus’s old owner. That crotchety old fart would sooner poke you in the eye as to look at you, but he and Joy had something special for about the last five years or so of Joy’s life. For some reason, that mean old man made her happy. Brought a sparkle back into her life that died when her husband passed on nearly twenty years ago.”

  “What does that have to do with Gus?”

  Beth Ann cast him a threatening glare. “I’m getting to it. Old man Tucker wanted to put Gus down about three years ago, just before Heather left for college, and Joy wouldn’t stand for it. Said she’d quit cookin’ for him if he did, so he kept him. Just to please Joy. To Heather, that horse is more than just a raggedy old bag of bones. He’s something special, flesh and blood that her Granny loved. You take that away from her, and you’ll have lost any chance you ever had with her.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bronson tilted his head and looked at the cocky redhead.

  “Oh, come off it. Everyone in town knows you’ve got a thing for Heather. You get all doe-eyed every time you’re around her.”

  “I do not.”

  “Yeah, you do, Sheriff,” Martin chimed in from his desk at the back of the room.

  “You keep quiet, Martin,” Beth Ann pointed a finger at the dispatcher, “or I’ll tell your girl what you really do on Tuesday nights when she thinks you’re playin’ poker with the boys over at the feed barn.”

  Bronson craned around in time to see Martin turn a deep shade of red and quickly return to his computer monitor.

  “Second off,” Bronson turned back only to find himself the focal point of Beth Ann’s full fury once again, “get off your duff and tell Heather how you feel before you do something too stupid to ask forgiveness for.” Beth Ann straightened and pinned him with a frosty glare.