4

John’s office and the jail were situated next to the courthouse. The two late nineteenth-century structures were united by a covered walkway. The two buildings remained mostly unchanged despite modifications, having existed for years.

He parked the car and stepped out to open the back door. For a moment, he thought Ms Lily wasn’t going to move. But then, she slid out of the car without a word, and he led her into his office. The defiance seemed to have faded from her, and he hoped that meant she was starting to grasp the seriousness of her situation.

They passed through the office and down the hallway toward the jail. The sharp click of her high heels echoed off the concrete floor. After uncuffing her, he opened the cell door. She stepped inside, the soft swish of her gown irritating him for reasons he couldn’t quite place. She jumped as the steel bars slammed shut, her eyes blazing with anger.

"You fool. Your hide will be mine to keep."

“You keep saying that,” John replied, his tone flat.

Her cheeks reddened. "I need my phone."

From the adjacent cell, a voice called out, “Hey, fancy lady,” followed by the sound of metal clinking as Tosin’s bearded face appeared between the bars. “Ya got a man?”

"Knock it off, Tosin," John ordered, his tone firm. "Leave the woman alone. She’s not interested in you or your marriage proposals."

Tosin was locked up for "drunk and disorderly." He lived on his own in the woods near the Little Colorado River, and occasionally came to town looking for a wife. Unfortunately, he didn’t exactly have the most pristine reputation—he probably didn’t even own a toothbrush. When women saw him, they ran in the opposite direction. Then Tosin would become drunk and act out violently, accosting women, and John would always have to lock him away to restore order for the residents of Holbrook.

The Marcus brothers were in the next cell over. They were a rough crew. The two families, each with a bunch of kids, lived in a cramped, three-bedroom trailer deep in the woods. They couldn't do honest labor. They’d been running a chop shop until John shut it down, and now they were into growing and dealing marijuana. John had a gut feeling the court would punish them this time.

"John, this ain’t fair," Richard grumbled from his cell. "We can’t even see her?"

"Yeah, Sheriff, that’s discrimination or something," Trae piped in, clearly upset.

"I’ll be sure to tell your wives when they come to bail you out," John replied dryly.

Trae groaned. "Ah, c’mon, Sheriff. You know Lydia’s meaner than a rattlesnake."

"Maybe you should remember that, Trae, the next time you start staring at other women," John shot back. "Now shut up."

He turned to leave before he lost all his patience with them.

Arthur, who had been watching the scene unfold, blinked at him, eyes wide. "Sheriff—" he nodded toward the cell—"that’s a woman."

"Notice that, did you?" John said, settling into his desk and trying to ignore Arthur’s dumbfounded look.

"But we don’t have a place for women here," Arthur protested.

"We do now," John replied dryly, reaching for a pen. "Now, what did you find out about that license plate number?"

"It's on your desk," Arthur said, pointing to the papers. "I was about to call, but then I heard you pull up."

John skimmed the details. The car was registered to Charlotte Lily from Naperville, Arizona. It wasn’t stolen, and there were no outstanding tickets, warrants, or prior convictions under her name. So what had driven her to break the law today?

Arthur jerked his thumb toward the cell. "Is that Charlotte Lily?"

John nodded. "Yeah."

"What did she do?"

As John filled out the paperwork, he relayed the events from the highway.

"She tried to bribe you?" Stuart’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"That's pretty much it." John took out the one hundred dollar bill from his pocket.

"Wow. That’s a lot of money. The last time I saw one of those was when I graduated high school. My grandpa gave it to me."

John turned the bill over in his fingers, the faint scent of gardenias still lingering in the air. With a sigh, he handed it to Arthur. "Tag it as evidence. The judge won’t be back until Wednesday to deal with her case. In the meantime, I’ll handle her bail."

Whenever the judge was away, John took over establishing bail since Holbrook had a population under two thousand.

Arthur tilted his head toward the jail. "But Sheriff, we’ve got some pretty rough guys back there."

"I know." John studied his pen, lost in thought. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Charlotte Lily in a cell with Tosin and the Marcus brothers, but what else could he do? She’d broken the law. He couldn’t give her a pass just because she was a woman. Still, something didn’t sit right with him about the whole situation.

"Grab some blankets and see if you can hang them from the bars to give her some privacy," John instructed. "That should keep the guys from staring. But first, grab her purse and case from my car."

He leaned back in his chair, pulling out his keys and setting them beside Ms. Lily’s. He tossed the patrol car keys to Arthur.

Arthur caught them with ease and glanced over his shoulder. "She sure is a looker, huh?" Like Matt, the deputy had a keen interest, but John was not going to pique it.

After a brief pause, Arthur enquired, "What's she wearing? It resembles a ballgown or something like that."

John repeated without lifting his gaze from his desk, "Just get the things out of the car, Arthur."

Arthur, a lifelong Holbrook resident like John, was a wiry guy, standing at five foot ten with the kind of strength that came from daily workouts at the school gym. He took his job seriously, but he also had a tendency to ask too many questions. In a small town, everyone knew everyone’s business, but John tried his best to keep things quiet.

Arthur rushed to the front door and soon returned with Ms. Lily’s things, holding them in his hands, fidgeting.

"Blankets, Arthur," John reminded him.

"Oh, right." The deputy hurried off to the back room.

John opened the case, checking for any weapons, and was immediately hit by the scent of something feminine, something silky. It was a strong, almost intoxicating fragrance, and the soft clothes inside made his chest tighten. He quickly shut the case, feeling his gut twist with discomfort.

The clothes, the scent—it reminded him too much of Sarah. Not the fragrance, but the kind of clothes she used to wear—underwear he had once undressed her from with care.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block the memory, but it was futile. Sarah’s image was seared into his heart, and it ached. Ached for what they had lost. Ached for what could’ve been.