Free Fried Pickles and the Fuzz by Calico Daniels Page B

something , but the information wasn’t something he appeared to be willing to turn loose of easily. “Unless you wanna start taking your meals at the gas station hot box, I think you might wanna part with what you do know.”
    Martin swallowed audibly and sucked in a deep breath. “Sheriff met the county livestock officer here this morning. They loaded the old fella up and left. That’s all I know. Please don’t make me eat those hot box burritos.”
    The heat drained from Heather ’ s face. Today was Tuesday. The county auction barn ran stock through on Tuesdays. “Where’s Bronson?”
    â€œI don’t know. I think he said something about heading out to his new place just outsida town.”
    Heather snatched a scrap of paper from a pile on his desk and handed it to him. “I want the address.”
    ****
    Bronson pushed his hat back and swiped the back of his hand across his sweat - soaked brow. August in West Texas was brutal. Nearly every day the mercury soared into the triple digits , causing even the hearty acclimated wildlife to seek out cool spots and wait for dusk. Considering it was just past eight in the morning and the thermometer on the wall by the barn door already boasted a temperature in the low nineties , it was shaping up to be a hot one yet again.
    He stepped into the doorway of the barn and gazed out at his new home. The small ranch - style house sat nestled in a small clump of scrubby oaks that looked as though they were only surviving by sheer willpower and determination, but the well was deep and the surrounding thirty acres were his. He had heard old - timers talk about the feeling a man got when he stood back and looked at the land that he owned , and he’d never really understood what they meant until now. Pride swelled in his chest. Home. It was a good feeling.
    Now, if he could get the rest of the cards to play out like he hoped , he’d be the happiest man in the entire Lone Star State.
    A cloud of dust billowing up in the distance caught his attention. Bronson stepped outside the barn and looked toward his front gate. An older model brown pickup bounce d up the long drive toward him at a speed that clearly indicated the driver was in a hurry.
    The truck slid to a halt in front of the house, a shower of fine dust surrounding it , temporarily obscuring the driver. Bronson tugged his hat back down and started for the vehicle, whispering a quick prayer that no one in town had been hurt.
    â€œWhere are you, Sheriff?”
    Bronson recognized Heather’s voice instantly. The truck door slammed shut as the cloud of dust around the aging vehicle began to settle. “Hey.” His steps faltered as she whipped around , and he caught a good look at her face. A blush flushed her cheeks and her eyes sparkled… and it didn’t appear to be the good kind of sparkle.
    She marched toward him, her index finger slicing through the air before her. “Who do you think you are? You waltz into town and think you know what’s best for everybody here.” She stopped short of running smack into him and poked him hard in the middle of the chest. “You must be thinkin’ just because you’ve got some job to do that the people ‘round here are just dumb hicks who don’t matter. That their feelin’s don’t matter. Well, I’ve got news for you, Sheriff,” she spat the last word like it left a bitter taste in her mouth, “we’ve got feeling s and we don’t cotton to liars.”
    â€œ What in Sam Hill are you talkin’ about?” He reached out to cup her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her , but she slapped his hand away.
    â€œDon’t you dare touch me. How could you? You said I had a week, and I’ve been bustin’ my tail, callin’ everyone I can think of , but I haven’t been able to find a place for Gus yet.” Tears welled in her eyes as she continued . “Then,