Rocky Mountain Cowboy

“I want to rent a house.”

“I’m sure we can fix you up. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“I’d like the one that you were supposed to lease to Rebecca Simpson.”

Jason’s face paled and he stepped backward, once again effectively putting the desk between him and Joe. “Sir, I don’t recommend that you get involved in that situation.” Tiny beads of perspiration popped out along his upper lip.

“What situation is that, Jason?”

The man swallowed hard before darting to the front door and switching the sign from Open to Closed. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’m closed for the day.”

Joe followed him, getting squarely in the man’s personal space, towering over him with as much intimidation as he could muster. “Off the record, Jason, tell me what’s going on.”

Jason swallowed again as if he was desperate for a glass of water and a way to get rid of Joe.

“Can you tell me why you just turned down a paying customer?”

“I... I...”

Joe shook his head and growled, “I don’t like this, Jason.”

“I don’t much like it either, but I have a wife and a new baby to think about.”

Joe turned on his boot heel and left the office. Though he did his best not to slam the door, the bells were once again ringing a dissonant tune behind him as he put distance between himself and a sour situation.

It was time for a little chat with the sheriff of Paradise. Joe started toward his truck and then changed his mind. Walking was just what he needed. He headed in the other direction, cutting through the park in the center of town and past the gazebo toward the office of Sam Lawson, where he pulled open the heavy wooden door.

This wasn’t about Becca, he reassured himself. It was the principle of the thing. No one should be treated unfairly. Especially in Paradise.

Bitsy Harmony MacLaughlin, the administrative assistant, sat at a huge battered desk, guarding the entrance to Sam’s office like a geriatric bouncer.

“Sam available?” he asked.

Bitsy stood and realigned the silver braided knot on the top of her head. “The sheriff is on the phone. Give him five minutes.”

Joe nodded. He wasn’t eager to lose the momentum of his purpose by chitchatting with Bitsy, so he turned to examine the bulletin board.

“Cup of coffee, Joe? It’s fresh.”

He eyed the pot and sniffed the air. “What do you have brewing?”

“Vanilla caramel pecan.”

He did his best not to grimace. “Um, no. I’m going to pass. Thank you very much, ma’am.”

Bitsy poured herself a mugful from the carafe, all the while shooting him inquisitive glances. “I heard you’ve got some Hollywood people coming out to your ranch next week to film a movie.”

His eyes widened with surprise. “Hollywood? A movie? Where did you hear that?”

“Here and there.”

Joe met her gaze. “I never told anyone they were coming.”

“They did.” Bitsy’s blue eyes were unwavering. “Made reservations at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast and chatted with the clerk. She mentioned it to me.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Except your source got it wrong. It’s not a movie. They’re coming out to film ranch life and take a few pictures. In and out. No big deal.”

“They don’t need any extras?”

“Extra? Extra what?”

“You know. Like actors. Walk-on parts.” She offered him a knowing smile. “I had high hopes of becoming an actress myself, once upon a time.”

Joe ran a hand over his face. “Bitsy, I’m telling you, it’s not a movie.”

“If you say so, Joe.” She glanced down at the lights on the desk phone. “He’s done. Let me buzz him.” She picked up the receiver. “Joe Gallagher here to see you, boss.”

Moments later, Sam Lawson came out of his office and crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me ‘boss’ anymore.”

Bitsy shrugged. “Coffee’s fresh.”

The sheriff’s expression made no effort to conceal what he thought about the coffee. Joe nearly burst out laughing.

“No, thanks,” Sam finally said. He looked to Joe. “Come on in.”

The two men walked into his office. Sam shut the door and took a deep breath. “The woman would try a saint. No doubt she’s listening at the door right now,” he muttered.

“I figured as much.”

Sam turned on the tower fan in the corner.

“You’re warm?” Joe asked.

“White noise. She can’t hear us when the fan is on.”

“Ever thought about replacing her?”

“Only about three dozen times a day, for the last four years.” His eyes narrowed. “But that’s for cowards. I am no coward. My plan is to wait her out. She has to retire eventually.” Sam sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath. “What can I do for you?”

“Rebecca Simpson is back in town,” Joe said as he eased into the banged-up oak chair.

“The woman who was in all the newspapers? I heard she was found innocent.”

Joe’s head jerked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Rebecca Simpson. Isn’t that who we’re discussing? I’ve never met her, but I read about it in the Denver Post.”

“Read about what?” Joe asked, becoming as agitated as he was confused.