Page 8 of Rhett

“How do I know? I’ve never seen one in person.”

“Well, I’m not some damn alien.”

“Then what are you?” I asked.

“That’s none of your business, young lady.”

I scowled. “Are you on medication?”

He frowned. “Why you asking?”

“Because you’re acting insane.”

“Back in my day, we used to call this polite conversation,” he grouched.

Ignoring him, I stared at my cell, but it still had no signal. “What’s taking your sheriff so long to get here?” Right then I needed two things—a ride into town and a strong drink.

“What’s your rush, female?”

“My name is Nova, not female.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “All I know is you have no right pitching a hissy fit when I found you trespassing on my land.”

I tapped my foot. “Where are the markers telling me that it’s your property?”

He snorted. “I don’t need a stinking marker. It’s my land, missy.”

“Fine. Then I’m out of here.” I started to storm away.

“Hold your horses.” He stepped in my path. “I haven’t decided whether I’m pressing charges against you. I’m waiting for the sheriff to get over here to sort this shit out.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. “Are you really going to press charges?” The last thing I needed was to call my estranged grandmother to bail me out.

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?” I sassed back.

Ignoring my question, he scratched his chin. “You know, you look mighty familiar, but I can’t place the face. You can’t have kin here since you’re a—”

I cut him off. “Hybrid. You said that already.”

“Wowee, you’re one sassy filly.” He adjusted his cowboy hat. A hat that looked ridiculous because he was still buck naked. “I got it.” He snapped his fingers. “You look like a younger version of…” His words trailed off at the sound of a vehicle approaching. “Oh hey, that’s Sheriff Ward.”

“Thank God.” I turned around, waving my arms wildly, flagging him down. “I’d rather be locked up than spend another minute with your crazy ass.”

“I guess that’s the thanks I get for keeping you company.”

“Company?” My eyes widened. “You’re detaining me.”

He shrugged. “Tomato. Tomahto.”

“Is everyone in town as crazy as you?” I snapped.

“I’m sane compared to those uppity yahoos.”

“Shit. I’m in trouble,” I grumbled.

A black cruiser pulled up and parked. The driver’s door flung open, and a tall muscular man with a crew cut got out. Slapping a white cowboy hat on his head, he shot me the same challenging look a cat gives you before batting the fuck out of you.