Page 6 of It's a Wonderful Knife

Movement out of the corner of my eye made me glance over. The driver of the red car had returned. He was leaning against his car, his dark hair slicked back, wearing a very expensive-looking suit with a red tie. He had his phone out, and he was playing around with it, frowning.

Clenching my jaw, I said, “I’ll be right back.”

Max looked curious about where I was going, but he didn’t say anything.

I strode toward the guy in the suit, steeling myself. He looked arrogant. He hadn’t even spoken to me yet, but I could tell he was going to give me attitude. I stopped in front of him, and he took a few seconds before he flicked his dark gaze up.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a bored voice.

“I’m Sheriff Royce Callum.”

He frowned. “Okay.”

“You passed our bus back on the main road.” My voice had an edge to it. “You were driving recklessly.”

He laughed. “You’re a sheriff riding on a bus?”

“What about it?”

“Well, that seems weird.” He scanned me from head to toe. “How do I know you’re a real sheriff? You’re not in uniform. I don’t see a badge.”

“I’m off duty.” Gritting my teeth, I tugged the small leather case that housed my flat badge and showed him. “You endangered not just your own life, but the lives of everyone on that bus, in addition to the semitruck you almost plowed into.”

Once he saw my badge, he looked slightly less cocky. “Look. I’m a good driver. I had plenty of time. Obviously, since we’re all still alive.”

“You were lucky. I could arrest you for reckless driving.”

He widened his eyes. “I wasn’t driving recklessly. The most you could accuse me of is driving fast.”

“Reckless driving means that you drove with conscious or deliberate disregard for the safety of others. That describes what you did to a T.”

“No.” He shook his head. “That’s just not true.”

I studied him, taking in the gleam of sweat now showing on his forehead. He wasn’t nearly as smug now. He was still argumentative, but he wasn’t as arrogant. “What are you doing here at Giggly Elves Farm?”

His gaze flickered. “I’m… I’m here for a holiday break.”

“You’re cutting down your own tree?” I arched one brow. He struck me as more of an artificial-tree kind of guy.

“I’m looking for some holiday cheer. I’m just spending a few days. I don’t need a tree.”

“Where are you from?”

He frowned. “Are you allowed to question me like this?”

I laughed. “Is it a problem to tell me where you’re from?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “No, I just don’t get why you care where I’m from.”

“I’m trying to get a sense of who you are so I can decide whether or not you should get off with a warning or if I should charge you with something.”

“Oh. Well, I’m from Nevada.”

“Your car doesn’t have Nevada plates.”

He swallowed. “It’s a rental.”

I frowned. “You put a bumper sticker on a rental?”