Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97386 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Me: Fuck you, asshole.
Robert: Make it a cherry. Mary is craving it.
I rolled my eyes and got out of my squad car. Don and Nancy Gates’s teenage boys watched me. They looked scared as hell, and I knew they must have expected the sheriff to show up and not me. I decided to have some fun with the little troublemakers.
Turning on my heel, I headed their way. Even though I was dressed in my normal uniform of dress pants, a white dress shirt, and cowboy hat, you could see my gun belt as clear as day. I didn’t need to be dressed like the sheriff for these boys to know they were in a shitload of trouble.
With a tip of my hat, I nodded. “You boys know what happened to Mrs. Johnson’s pies?”
The one with the bright red hair smirked. “What if we do?”
I slowly grinned. “Well, hell, if you do you just made my job easier. The faster I make an arrest the better.”
His smirk faded. “Arrest?”
“They stole property; that’s a crime. Mrs. Johnson said it’s happened before, so I’m guessing it’s the same thief. They’ve brought me in to handle it. Think it might be linked with some other robberies in town.”
Sheriff Miller handled most of the things that happened locally. My jurisdiction was a hell of lot bigger than Oak Springs. As a Texas Ranger, my job was special investigations, apprehending wanted felons, suppressing larger disturbances, and assisting local law enforcement with crime and violence. For a small, almost crime-free town like Oak Springs, stealing pies off a windowsill was almost a fucking felony.
“Th-thief?” the light brown-haired kid said.
Narrowing my eyes, I stared them down. “You steal something from someone, you’re a thief. There are two types of people I can’t stand. Thieves and liars. You boys aren’t either of those, are ya?”
They both took a step back. “N-no, sir. We ain’t either of those.”
With a slow nod, I looked them over. “Good. Glad to hear it. I’m going to go interview Mrs. Johnson. See if she turned on those security cameras Sheriff Miller told her to put in.”
“Cameras?” they said at once.
“What’s the matter, boys? You done look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Um, we’ve got to go, officer,” the red-haired kid said.
“It’s Lieutenant Parker,” I said
They stumbled over each other and took off to their backyard. I was positive that if I followed them I’d find the damn pies.
Heading back toward Mrs. Johnson, I shook my head. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”
As I crossed the street, I saw Corina. She was walking down Mrs. Johnson’s sidewalk, heading to her front door. I paused and waited until she was invited inside. Something was up, but I didn’t seem to mind. Smiling, I made my way to the house.
Mrs. Johnson answered the doorbell with a wide smile. “Mitchell Parker, what in the world are they doing sending you over here for some pies?”
I wanted to laugh. “Your pies are just as important as any other stolen items, Mrs. Johnson.”
She tossed her head back and laughed like I’d said the funniest damn thing. “Now, don’t be sweet-talking an old woman, Mitchell Parker. Come in and have some sweet tea. I have company, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy the view.”
My mouth nearly dropped open as Mrs. Johnson winked and headed toward her kitchen.
“Corina, darlin’, pour Ranger Parker a glass of iced tea, will you?”
Her blue eyes met mine.
“Hey, Corina. Long time no see.”
Forcing a smile, she replied, “Twice in one day. I’m a lucky girl.”
“Oh my!” Mrs. Johnson exclaimed. “You are indeed.”
Glancing at the older woman, Corina went about pouring another glass of tea.
“What brings you over to visit Mrs. Johnson?” I asked while setting my cowboy hat on the table.
Corina answered without looking at me. “We met a few months back at the butcher’s, and Mrs. Johnson has been kind enough to give me cooking lessons.”
My brows pinched. “You don’t know how to cook?”
I didn’t even see Mrs. Johnson’s hand lift up, but the back of my head sure felt it.
“Mitchell Parker, your momma didn’t raise you to be rude. You say you’re sorry to Corina this instant.”
Rubbing the back of my head, I turned to Corina. She was trying to hide her smile and doing a piss poor job of it.
“I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “No worries. I would expect you of all people to think every woman should be born knowing how to wash clothes, keep a clean house, and cook for her man.”
My head jerked. “I don’t think that way. I was only surprised, that’s all. My sisters learned early on with my mom and grandmother.”
“God rest her soul,” Mrs. Johnson whispered.
“And granddaddy taught us boys to fish and hunt—”
“God rest his soul,” Mrs. Johnson added with more fire. Corina and I looked at her. “When you speak of the dead, it’s best to pay yer respect.”