Read Fried Pickles and the Fuzz Online
Authors: Calico Daniels
Fried Pickles and the Fuzz (4 page)
“Oh my word.” Beth Ann poked her hard in the ribs, jerking Heather from her Bronson
-
induced fog. “Heather, look!”
Heather followed the direction of her friend
'
s pointing finger to the Rodeo Club
,
currently making their way down the street. Laughter swelled in the crowd until the din was almost deafening. Right there in the middle of the parade, strutting his stuff like he belonged there
,
wasâ¦
“Gus!”
So much for a fantastic start to the week.
Â
Â
Bronson worked his way around the wall of hay bales
,
which
lined both sides of the square and acted as the protective
barrier
and
racetrack
boundary for the upcoming lawnmower race.
Day two of the festival was shaping up to be incident
-
free and all was running smoothlyâ¦
so far.
A disturbance of some sort had thrown a wrench in the parade
,
but for the life of him
,
he couldn't get a straight answer out of anyone
about
what had happened. He
'
d heard a few different versions
but no solid
,
reliable account.
The witnesses claimed everything from rampant livestock to an old man running through the middle of the Rodeo Club and then disappearing into the alley behind the feed store.
Since nothing could be confirmed
,
he
'
d put it on the back burner to investigate later.
His gut told him it was Gus, but without hard evidence
or someone willing to actually point the finger
,
there was little he could do. Everyone in town loved the old guy
,
and Heather had kind of taken him under her wing and
was
trying desperately to find a permanent living situation for him
.
For now,
he just stayed with whoever was willing to take him for a spell. Unfortunately, the list of good Samaritans was quickly running low as townsfolk were starting to run short on patience w
h
ere his shenanigans were concerned.
Passing in front of the bank, Bronson caught a
glimpse
of Heather seated in the branch manager
'
s office.
Even though she was smiling, it wasn't the radiant, light-up-her-face smile
she usually wore. This particular smile seemed to be only for show, not quite forced or strained but not genuine either. True, her lips turned up at the corners, her eyes crinkled a little
,
and the occasional flash of teeth would lead someone to believe that the action was heart-feltâ¦
save for one single thing. There was no twinkle in her eyes, and that itself was enough to tip Bronson off to the fact that whatever she and the manager, Carl, were speaking about had not been quite what Heather wanted to hear.
With a gentle nod s
he stood, shook
Carl's
hand
,
and headed
toward
the door. Bronson lingered just long enough to ensure they would reach the main door at the same time.
Maybe it wasn't the smoothest way to engineer a casual meeting
,
but he was willing to do almost anything to spend time with her outside the walls of the café
,
and since his nerves seemed to fail him every
time he attempted to ask her outâ¦
well, this would have to do. At least for now.
“Hey there
,
”
h
e said as she pushed through the front door of the bank.
Heather started, her left hand flying to her chest as she whirled around to face him. “Bronson, you scared the tar out of me.”
The bright summer sun lit her blonde hair
,
making it shimmer. Her blue eyes danced as she smiled at him. His heart thudded in his chest.
There was
the
sparkle that had been missing just moments ago.
“Sorry. You heading back to the café?”
She nodded. “Where else would I be going? It's about time to get started prepping for dinner.” She swept her hand toward the
makeshift
track. “I'll get flooded when this is over tonight.”
Curious but not really wanting to pry, Bronson took the opportunity to make a vague poke about her recent visit with Carl. “Yeah, but good business is nice for the bank account.”
A light blush tinted Heather's cheeks. “Yes, it
is
.”
Hmm, interesting. Everyone in town knew she didn't have a note on
T
he Pickle. Granny Joy had paid off the loan long before her passing
,
and with the small apartment above the café, Heather had no need to pay rent or a mortgage.
Bronson shook himself mentally. Heather
'
s business in the bank was none of his concern. He had decided when he accepted the position in such a small town that he wasn't going to get into the habit of nosing around in other people
's
affairs. Now that he
'
d lived her
e
awhile
,
he
saw
how eas
ily
it
could
happen
. Everyone knew everyone in a town the size of Big Creek. Personal business often ended up as front
-
page fodder for the sewing circles and the morning coffee crowds
,
but Bronson was determined not to join in on the trend if it killed himâ¦
and it likely would where Heather was concerned.
Call him a
lovesick
calf, but he wanted to know everything she did
,
from the mundane to the extreme. Not that she participated in anything extreme
,
unless one considered being a participant in the upcoming box
ed
lunch auction racy.
Speaking of auction
â¦
“So, I was over at the community center this morning and saw your name down for the auction.” Bronson tipped his
felt
hat back slightly and gazed down at Heather.
She released a small breathy laugh and nodded. “I used to participate every year
,
and now that I'm back in town I wanted to get involved again.”
“Better be careful, you might start a bidding war.”
“You've discovered my devious plan.” Heather winked at him.
Bronson laughed
and folded his arms across his chest
. “Yes, my astute powers of observation and all those years at the academy have finally paid off. It took me hours and hours to
deduce that the woman who'
s been deemed the best cook in the county might cause a brawl to ensue during the bidding for her super
-
secret box
ed
lunch.”
“Sheriff, are you teasing me?” She reached out and playfully swatted his forearm.
“Why, yes. Yes, I am.
So what are you cooking for the auction?
”
She waggled a finger at him. “I'm not telling. If you wanna know
,
you'll have to win the auction.”
The muscles in his cheeks twitched as he tried to contain his laughter. During the day it was so easy to tease and flirt a little, but when they were alone
,
he choked. Bronson
dragged
in a deep breath. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he needed to ask her out in the daylight
,
when the playful banter seemed to come easier for him. He cleared his throat and watched her face soften. She seemed to be gazing at him almost expectantly. Like she could read his mind and knew what he wanted to do. Maybe she wanted him to. “So, I was wondering
â
”
“
Dispatch to Sheriff.
”
Bronson closed his eyes.
Seriously?
Did Martin have some sort of sixth sense when it came to interfering with a man's plan?
He reached up to his shoulder and pressed the button on his mic. “Go ahead, Martin.”
“Just got a call that a couple of the racers were spotted boozing it up over at the Burro and are now en
route to the track.”
“
Ten-four
. Did the caller
give you a
description
of the vehicle they were driving?”
“Umm, yeah.”
Bronson sighed. “And?”
“Caller reports that two men are driving what appear to be
souped
-
up lawn tractors down Second Street toward the
s
quare.”
Heather burst out laughing. Bronson opened his eyes and stared at her.
She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“And the day started off so well.” He tilted his head back and gazed at the cloudless blue sky. “Are all Big Creek Days like this?”
“Well, understand that I haven't been here for one i
n
a few years butâ¦
yeah, this is pretty well how I remember them.”
He lowered his head and locked eyes with her. The lopsided smile gracing her beautiful face told him that while she found the situation pretty
amusing
, it was also true. He groaned. “I guess I better get to those guys before they do any damage.”
She motioned toward the opposite side of the
s
quare. “I don't think you'll have far to go.”
Sure enough, Bronson turned in time to see not two
,
but three race
-
ready riding lawnmowers bouncing along the barrier fence of hay bales that marked the racetrack down Second Street, one of them almost creaming the stop sign near Missy's Soaps and Sundries.
He turned back to Heather.
“I think that's my cue.”
“I'll save you some supper.” She gave him a little finger wave, turned
,
and made her way toward the café.
Tugging his hat back down on his head, Bronson turned and
walked to
the overenthusiastic racers. His buddies from the academy would never believe this.
****
By the time the evening rush finally waned, Heather was ready to drop from exhaustion. Between the spectators, the racers
,
and their entourage,
T
he Pickle had been hop
p
ing for the past four hours
,
seemingly nonstop.
All she wanted to do right now was go upstairs, take a long hot shower
,
and climb into bed.
After she saw Bronson
,
of course.
Erma poked her head past the swinging door into the kitchen. “All's clear up here. Sheriff's not here yet. Want me to lock up when I leave?”
“No, that's okay. You go get some rest
.
I'll lock up.”
Heather waved to the aging waitress and placed two large slices of meatloaf on a plate along with a healthy heap of creamy potatoes and green beans.
“Besides, it's meatloaf night. Bronson never misses it.”
“Alright. Night
,
hon.” The swinging door swooshed lightly as Erma pulled back.
No sooner
had
the front door closed behind Erma
than
the phone rang. Setting the plate of food to the side, Heather wiped her hands
on a
dishtowel
and picked up the receiver of the old
rotary
dial phone. “Fried Pickle.”
“Evenin'
.
”
There was no need to ask who was calling. The honey
-
and
-
whiskey voice drifted through the dated artifact and
washed
over her like a warm summer breeze. “Evenin'
,
Sheriff.
You're late for supper.”
“Yeah, I know, but something came up across town
,
and I got hung up.”
Heather laughed. “Another brawl at the Burro?” The local watering hole was the only bar in a
fifty-mile
radius and tended to get a little rowdy on payday when the cowboys came in from the local ranches.
“Or was it a case of overzealous racers pitting their man-mowers against each other in a drag race dow
n
Connors Avenue?”
“Uh, no, not tonight.” Silence hung thick on the line between them. “This is actually more of an official call.”
“Oh. What's going on?”
Her nerves stretched tight. There was nothing in the world that she could think of that would garner a call from the police. Since she lived abo
ve
T
he Pickle
,
she didn't drive her
car. She didn't own a house in town.
S
he didn't even have any family left since Granny Joy had passed. The only thing that she could think of wasâ¦
“We need to talk about Gus.”
Heather groaned and dropped her head to the
cool stainless counter. “What'
s he done
now?
”
“Well, he got away from Billy tonight and went callin' over to Mrs. Pearson's. She caught him peeking through her living room window
,
and when she went out to run him offâ¦
well, he relieved himself on her front walkway.
It appears that he's the mysterious prowler we've been huntin' for.
”
“Mmm
..
.”
Great. Just great.
“Where is he now?”
“I've got him locked up over at the station.”
Heather straightened and patted her jeans pockets for the keys to the front door of the café. “I'll be right over.” Without waiting for a reply
,
she dropped the phone in its cradle,
wrapped Bronson's dinner plate in plastic wrap
,
and bolted through the front door.
A quick jog up First Street
,
and she was pushing through the front door of the
p
olice
s
tation. Bronson sat at one of the two desks that occupied the small front room. Four cells were located down a short hallway that ran the center of the building. They didn't really need much space since crime in the area was usually limited to cow tipping and bar room beefs that were as good as forgotten by morning.
He glanced up from the pap
ers before him as she
entered the room.
Her heart battered the inside of her chest
,
and she fought to remain calm. It wasn't just her worry over Gus, but she
had been getting butterflies lately any
time she got around Bronson
.
Well, that and the fact that she'd never been in a police station for anything other than the occasional supper delivery o
r
cookie drop
-
off.
His felt cowboy hat lay upturned on the desk. A tangle of dark locks faintly retained the impression of his
hatband
. Dark eyes,
chiseled
cheekbones
,
and a strong jaw gave him a rugged, dangerous look that rivaled any cowboy movie star she had ever seen on screen.
“I brought you dinner.” She set the plate down near the corner of his desk.
He didn't take his eyes from her. “Thank you.”
Heather shoved her hands into the front pockets of her worn jeans.
“I guess he's in the back?”
Bronson leaned back in his chair and nodded slowly.
“Can I take him home?”
“Home where?” Bronson eyed her. “I know he doesn't live with you. Far as I can tell
,
he just moves around and stays with anyone who will put up with him for awhile.”
Her heart sank. “That's not fair, Bronson.”
“I'm sorry
,
but you've gotta understand where I'm comin' from.”
With a deep sigh
,
he sat up and braced his elbows on the desk. “How long are you going to try and keep this up? Tarnation, in the few months that I've been here
,
I've had at least a
half
-
dozen calls
about
him
,
and he doesn't stay in any one place for more than a week or so. Aren't you runnin' out of places to stash him?”
Anger bubbled deep in her stomach. “
What am I supposed to do? Wash my hands of him? Let someone else deal with him?” She sliced a hand through the air, punctuating her point. “Forget about him and just let him slip through the cracks?” Heather shook her head. “I can't. Granny Joy would want me to look after him the same way she would hav
e.
”
“I understand that, but your granny wouldn't have wanted you to be runnin' yourself ragged trying to find someone, anyone
,
who's willing to take him in
for a spell
.” Bronson scrubbed a hand over his face, the rasp of his whiskers
against
his
palm
echoing in the silent room. “
The only reason nobody'
s pushed the issue is because they know what it means to yo
u to look after him. You mean
a lot to this tow
n and the folks in it
, but this has got to come to an end.”
With a deep sigh, Bronson stood. “I'll give you a week to find him a permanent place, then as the
s
heriff, I'm gonna have to step in.”
“Fine.” Heather crossed her arms over her chest and gazed past him down the hall. “Can we leave?”
“You can, but I think it's best if Gus stays here until you have someplace to take him
.” He moved around the desk to stand in
front of her. “I'm sorry, but I can't risk anyone getting hurt.”
Her anger fizzled a bit. He was right. She would never forgive herself if someone got hurt because Gus was out and about when he shouldn't be. Bronson was right, it was his job and responsibility to make sure everyone was safe.
It ruffled her feathers that he was putting down his foot and giving her a time limit
,
but the rational part of her knew it was nothing personal.
“I'd still like to see him before
I leave.
”
With a nod, Bronson led the way down the dim hall toward the back of the building. At the end of the
corridor
, he pushed open a steel door that led into a courtyard at the rear of the small jail
,
which
at times doubled as the impound lot
.
Heather glanced around the space until her gaze landed on the cause for so much of the mischief in her life. There, near the far corner of the chain
-
link enclosed yard
,
stood the twenty-six
-
year
-
old gelding, Gus. His once
-
gleaming russet coat was now liberally dusted with grey. His head drooped a bit and his back sagged. Once
-
pert ears now reclined almost permanently, unless of course he thought there might be a yummy treat around.
Silently
, he stood dozing, swaying ever
so faintly as his horsey dreams
probably
took him to distant memories of younger
,
more carefree days. Well, at least that's what Granny Joy had always said old horses dreamed about. She had claimed that old horses couldn't be that much different than old people. Dreams were made for reliving the glory days.
A lone tear slid down her cheek as she watche
d
the old
guy
. His long life had been filled with
hard work on a cattle ranch.
Granny Joy had always said i
t was a shame that such loyal
animal
s
hadn't been loved nearly
enough in their liv
e
s
.
When his owner
died
, the county had taken the small ranch
due to back property taxes.
It
had been the only home Gus had ever known. He
had no one. Heather had done everything she could to try and find him a home, but the weeks had slipped by and no one in town
had been
willing to keep another mouth around for long
. The deep drough
t
had driven the price of feed and hay through the roof. Locals
had
a hard enough time keeping their own stock fed
,
let alone
a horse
that didn't belong to them. Granted,
Heather
had
paid for
most of
his
feed and hay, but that still meant someone had to be willing to house him
,
and the list of willing folks was getting pretty slim.
Most folks w
eren't real keen on having a ho
rse around that might die any time.
At times like this
,
she wished she had more of the spunk Granny Joy had been known for. Her scathingly brilliant ideas
had come
in almost every fashion, from helping to boost the Historical Society fundraisers to giving
marriage advice to those who
had
come
looking for answers
. She'd been a wiz with problems and had
had
a knack for charming folks and getting them to help out when they
'd
been
on the fence about whatever issue the grapevine
had been
currently buzzing about. It
had
helped that everyone in town adored her.
This would have been a snap for Granny.
“A week, you said?” Heather swiped the tear from her cheek and turned to face Bronson.
“Y
eah.”
“I'll figure something out.”
She turned and made her way back through the police department toward the front door with Bronson following close on her heels. It was getting late
,
and if she only had a week to find a
home
for Gus
, t
hat meant
the coming days were going to be busier than normal for her.
Big Creek
D
ays or not, she was going to have to make time to find a permanent solution.