A Sheriff in Tennessee (12 page)

Of course, being Belle, she wanted to keep going. Was tempted to start the CD all over again and exercise until she dropped. Tempted, but not insane.

She'd learned over the years that the inner mechanism that told most people when enough was
enough didn't work quite as well for her. Her logic was often skewed. If eating vegetables was healthy, then eating
only
vegetables was better. If running a mile was good, well then, running twenty had to be damn near orgasmic.

So even though the voice in her head was saying,
If you feel great now, imagine how you'd feel if you did the same thing twice,
she knew better than to listen to it.

Instead, she took a tepid shower, put on a nightgown, pulled her bed out of the wall and crawled in. Then she lay there wide-awake, remembering the taste of Klein's skin and aching for the touch of his hands.

M
EANWHILE
,
back at the station, disaster awaited the unwary sheriff.

The voice in Klein's head, which sounded suspiciously like the narrator from a
George of the Jungle
cartoon, signaled imminent exhaustion. Too bad he didn't have the time.

“I don't know where my baby went,” Miss Dubray wailed for the tenth time in the past hour. “That's what I want you to find out.”

“What was he wearing at the time of his disappearance, ma'am?”

Klein shot Virgil a dirty look, but the deputy was focused on the sniffling woman in their visitor's chair.

“Um, let me think.” She dabbed her eyes with a linen-and-lace handkerchief. “The last time I saw him he had on his sailor suit. With the blue captain's hat.” She smiled at Virgil through her tears. “Does that help?”

“Yep. Now I know why he ran off.”

Her mouth trembled and she glanced at Klein, who barely managed to keep from cursing. As usual, Virgil's victim-side manner left a lot to be desired.

“Virgil, quick, go see if you can find him around town.”

“If I were him, I'd be in Knoxville by now. Naked.”

A choked sob came from Miss Dubray. Clint, who had been sniffing her shoes unmercifully ever since Klein returned, and probably before that, too, lifted his head and howled.

Klein's patience snapped. “Quiet!”

Miss Dubray jumped and clamped her mouth shut. Virgil grumbled and slammed out the door. Clint dropped his head between his paws for an instant, then stretched his neck out until his nose touched Miss Dubray's toe.

Klein rubbed his eyes. What he really wanted to do was go home and get some sleep. Maybe dream some more about Isabelle. A man had to have a hobby. But he was going to be stuck here, or maybe out there in the dark, searching for an AWOL Chihuahua all night long. Sometimes duty sucked.

He dropped his hand. “Does T.B. have a license?”

“No, Sheriff, he's too young to drive.”

For a moment, Klein just stared, waiting for her to smile or even wink. When she didn't, merely contemplated him with damp eyes and a serious expression, he resisted the urge to bang his head against the desk. He went on to the next question.

“How about a tag with his name and your number?”

Her brow creased. “But everyone in Pleasant Ridge knows him. Why would he need that?”

“In case—”

Klein snapped his own mouth shut. There was no reason to get Miss Dubray any more upset than she already was, by mentioning that T.B. could have wandered out of town where no one knew him. Because out of town there were all sorts of things that wouldn't be reading his tag. They'd be spitting it out after they ate him.

“Why don't you just go on home and get some rest. We'll bring T.B. by as soon as we find him.”

“Oh, no. I couldn't sleep. Not without T.B. right next to me.”

Clint grumbled and stood up, fixing Klein with a reproachful stare. Klein never let him sleep on the bed.

“Well, you can at least go home and try to relax.” Klein came around the desk and helped Miss Dubray to her feet. “I'm sure Virgil will find T.B. directly, and I'll send them both to your place.”

She put her hand over his. “Do you really think so, Sheriff?”

He could feel her trembling, so he smiled and then he lied. “Sure I do.”

 

B
Y MORNING
they'd searched every inch of Pleasant Ridge. There was no sign of T.B.

Miss Dubray returned at dawn. That she wore a dressing gown and slippers instead of her usual day dress, heels and pearls, revealed her state more clearly than did the paleness of her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked as if she'd slept as little as Klein and Virgil had.

Clint, however, had had no such compunctions. He snored with his head on Miss Dubray's ankles,
drooling onto the floor. She didn't seem to mind, so Klein let him be.

He and Virgil stood by the coffeepot, out of Miss Dubray's hearing, filling their cups with more coffee that they did not need.

Virgil had just returned from delivering Jubel to the courthouse, where the man would be arraigned as soon as court convened. Which left the members of the Pleasant Ridge police force free to tackle other problems.

“If T.B. was in town,” Virgil murmured, “someone would have called in a 10-91 by now. With him, maybe a 10-91A. But as long as it isn't a 10-91C or D, we've got to keep searching.”

Klein was too tired to decipher the codes. “Again. In English.”

“You need to study, Chief.”

“What for, when I have you?”

The deputy's sigh was long-suffering, but he complied. “Someone would have called in a stray animal, or with him maybe a vicious animal. But as long as they didn't call in an injured animal or a dead one, we should keep looking.”

“Why didn't you say so?”

“I did.” Virgil added sugar to his coffee.

Klein resisted the urge to snatch the sugar and the coffee away from him. The old man was practically bouncing on his heels, he was so ready to rumble.

“Should we take the squad car? Maybe head out toward the mountains?” Virgil asked.

“I guess that's the logical choice. You get the car. I'll tell Miss Dubray where we're going.”

Virgil started for the exit, then stopped abruptly. His shoulders sagged and he turned around. “No. I'd better tell her.”

Klein frowned. What difference did it make who told her?

Before he could ask, the door opened and they all held their breath. But Isabelle entered, with no T.B. in sight. A collective sigh of disappointment whispered around the room.

“Well, you don't all have to jump up and down, but you could be a little happier to see me.”

Klein glanced at his watch. It was barely seven a.m. “You're about five hours early.”

Isabelle shrugged. “Couldn't sleep.”

“Join the club.”

His voice was hoarse from a night spent calling “Tid Bit! Here, boy!” He coughed, and the sound woke up Clint, who caught sight of Isabelle. The dog came to his feet with a welcoming
woof
and hurried toward her with all the joy he was capable of—which wasn't much—taking a good long whiff of her designer running shoes.

Once Clint met someone, he never forgot the face, or perhaps shoe. The dog sat at Isabelle's side, her friend for life just because he knew her, and she absently rubbed his ears as her gaze wandered over Klein from head to toe.

He could imagine what he looked like—blood-shot eyes, pale skin, dark shadow of a beard. He probably smelled even better, after living in the same uniform since… He couldn't quite recall.

“You were up all night, weren't you.”

“What was your first clue?”

To her credit, she didn't even blink at his sarcasm, which only made him feel smaller for resorting to it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It's been a long shift—or three.”

Isabelle waved away his apology, her eyes going to Miss Dubray, who still sat poker stiff in the visitor's chair by his desk, then flicking to Virgil, who still hovered halfway between the door and Miss Dubray. Concern washed over her face, and she returned her attention to Klein.

“What happened?”

“T.B. is missing.”

“The Chihuahua?”

Klein shrugged.

“You've been up all night searching for a stray dog?” Her voice was incredulous. “Both of you? After all that happened yesterday?”

“He was lost yesterday. I certainly couldn't wait and hunt for him next week when it was more convenient for me.”

“That's not what I meant. But—”

“He's not just a dog,” Miss Dubray whispered. “He's my baby. The only one I'll ever have.”

Klein spread his hands wide. How could anyone argue with that? He certainly couldn't, and from the expression on Isabelle's face she couldn't, either.

“Let me help,” she said.

He nodded. Another pair of eyes wouldn't hurt. “We were just about to—”

“Chief!” Virgil interrupted. “Could you and—” he waved a bony hand in Isabelle's direction “—get the car?”

Klein shrugged. “Sure.”

He crossed the room, and Isabelle opened the door. Clint trotted outside; Klein let him go. He'd drop off the dog at home on their way out of town.

He turned back to ask Virgil to leave his pistol in the desk, and froze with his mouth half open. The deputy stood next to Miss Dubray, staring down at her bent head as she dabbed her eyes with a similar, though fresh, handkerchief. The softness of the man's expression was completely foreign to Klein.

“Hey,” Virgil murmured, and went down on one knee next to her chair.

Klein had never heard that tone of voice from Virgil before—gentle, almost caring—and while he
should
leave, all he could do was listen.

“We're goin' to look outside of town now. You go on home.”

“I know you don't like him.”

“No one does.”

Klein winced. Couldn't Virgil lie just once? Probably not.

“But that doesn't mean I ain't gonna find him if I can.”

Miss Dubray drew in a deep breath that hitched several times. Virgil patted her knee and stood.

“I'll be over for my mint julep, same's always.”

Miss Dubray stiffened. “How can you think of mint juleps at a time like this?”

Virgil's face crumpled in confusion. “Every day at three you give me my mint julep. We've been doing it for thirty years now. Why would today be different?”

“Because today my baby is missing.”

“But—”

“Don't ‘but' me.” She stood and poked the deputy in the chest. “There'll be no sex until you find him.”

Now Klein's mouth fell all the way open. Sex?
Them?
What the—?

Isabelle grabbed his arm and tugged him outside, closing the door quietly behind them. Then she collapsed against him, and she was shaking so badly Klein had no choice but to hold her up.

Concern had him forgetting for an instant what he'd just overheard. He rubbed Isabelle's back, instantly fascinated with the long line of her spine and the play of the muscles along her shoulders. Man, he had it bad if all he could think of was her body while she was crying in his arms.

“Shh,” he murmured. “What is it? What's the matter?”

She lifted her head. She
wasn't
crying but laughing—until tears ran down her face. “They—they—” she pointed at the station “they're—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He really didn't want to talk about that.

“Mint julep.”
Snort.
“Thirty years.”
Giggle.
“I can't stand it.”

“That makes two of us.”

She glanced into his face with surprise. Her laughter not yet under control, she pulled away from him and sat on the station steps. Clint, who had been looking back and forth between them, tongue lolling as if he were laughing, too, took the opportunity to slobber on Isabelle's shoes.

A few moments of deep breathing and Isabelle
could speak, though her eyes still chortled. “What's the matter? It's kind of sweet, once you get over the shock.”

“I'll never get over the shock. I think I'm scarred for life.”

“Now, now. It's not the end of the world.”

“The end of the world as I know it. It was bad enough when I thought my deputy was drinking every day at three, but now to find out that he was—”

Klein couldn't finish the sentence.

“Having a quickie.”

Klein groaned.

“A little afternoon delight?”

“Don't.” His throat got tight.

“Slap and tickle?”

“Please.” He coughed.

“Wham, bam, thank you—?”

He couldn't help it. He started to laugh, and then he couldn't stop. He had to sit down on the steps next to Isabelle because he could no longer stand up.

After a few seconds she put her arm around his shoulders and tugged him close, almost like a hug, except she did not release him—and he didn't want her to.

Klein hadn't felt such a lightness of heart or freedom of being in far too long—perhaps ever. He'd always been too aware that he was often laughed at, and therefore laughing for him was minimal—especially around women.

He liked to see the humor in life, but far too often no one saw it along with him. His job was serious.
His friends and acquaintances were, too. But he'd never had a friend or an acquaintance like Isabelle. How could he feel as if he'd known her forever when he'd never seen her before Wednesday?

His laughter slowed. Her arm slid off his shoulders, but when he turned to look at her, she was still grinning.

Her smile disappeared as the door opened behind them, and they both jumped to their feet to face Miss Dubray and Virgil.

The elderly lady marched out of the station. At least she wasn't crying anymore. She nodded at Klein and stomped off in the direction of the museum.

Klein glanced at Virgil, who appeared as happy as Clint on a bad day.

“Let's go,” the old man grumbled. “We're wastin' daylight.”

He hustled toward the squad car, which was parked a few storefronts away.

“He doesn't know that we heard,” Klein said.

“No.”

“And I don't want him to.”

“Why not?”

“Because then I might have to hear all about it.”

“Come now, the details of…” She paused, thought, then smirked. “A little roll in the hay never hurt anyone.”

“My mother said listening to such things would make me go blind.”

“I doubt that.”

“You doubt I'd go blind?”

“I doubt your mother would say it.”

“You don't know my mother.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her glance at him, then away.
Damn.
He must have let some telltale emotion slip into his voice when he spoke of his mother. And he was usually so careful, too. But Isabelle seemed to see things in him that others did not.