Page 116 of Cowboy Heat

Nothing has changed since finding Alice inside. I’ve decided to give the shelter a wide berth until I can talk about its future with my brothers. Also until Alice’s attacker and case are closed. There’s dried blood still on the concrete floor where she was lying. Not cleaning it was definitely an oversight on my part, space or no space. The spot looks menacing while I walk around it to the hallway.

There are no lights on in any of the exam rooms. The hallway that splits between the back half of Low Low and the lobby, however, is lit up like a Christmas tree.

I bring the bat down to grip it in both hands and start that way.

It’s only by a chance of fate that Sheriff Roland doesn’t see me as he walks from his spot in the hallway to the door that leads to the lobby.

The door that starts to close quickly behind him.

I hurry as fast as I can to it, my limp pronounced but functional enough. Instead of grabbing for the handle, I grab the door itself with an inch to spare.

Whatever is going through the sheriff’s head it must be distracting him plenty. The door whines when I pull it open enough for me to slip into the room, but he doesn’t turn around.

Which is good considering there’s a gun in his hand.

Apparently, he’s on the phone, too, and I’ve caught him mid-rant.

“-isn’t on me. I’m the only one doing anything right. I can’t keep doing that right thing if I’m doing your chores!”

Mad doesn’t seem to cut it. The sheriff kicks the lone wastebasket across the room. It’s a journey considering how vacant and wide the lobby is. Once you clear the counter that makes a rectangle around the door, there’s nothing but windows along the walls and bench seats placed beneath them before you hit the double front doors. The recent storm and lack of cleaning have all of the glass fogged or gunked up. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz with the effort of lighting the place.

“I’m not some kind of damn errand dog. I’m the sheriff,” he roars.

I guess since there’s nothing for him to kick anymore, he decides to take it out on his phone. He presses the end button so hard, I can hear it from my spot behind the counter.

Then shakes his head and growls at no one.

I eye his gun and think about my options.

I don’t know that the sheriff is doing anything bad.

ButI really don’t know if he’s doing anything good either.

If he starts shooting at me? I can probably duck and make it back out the door I came through and evade until I can get the upper hand.

If he wants to talk and explain why he’s here and not out looking for answers? I should give him the chance.

I lower my voice to as deep and powerful as I can muster.

“Lower the gun.”

For a man who took to roaring less than a second ago, he sure goes still fast. I almost think he doesn’t place my voice until he responds. I can’t read his tone.

“Mr. Montgomery, it’s Sheriff Roland. Surely you know it’s bad form to threaten me.” The bat in my hands weighs heavy. I rather keep him thinking I have a gun.

“You may be the sheriff, but you’re trespassing on my property,” I bite back. “Now, holster your service weapon and turn around slowly.”

There’s only two kinds of people in this world.

Those who listen because they’re smart or because they’re afraid. And those who don’t listen at all because fighting is what they’re comfortable with.

I think Guidry would be the man who listens because he’s smarter, because it’s better than getting shot in the back. I think the man in the mask would try to shoot me quicker than I could blink. I think the sheriff is going to listen because he’s a man who quakes in his boots when those boots come up against anything difficult.

I’m right, at least on the last part.

“Fine,” he finally says and returns his gun to the holster on his hip.

I don’t lower my bat, but I relax my stance.