Curves and the Sheriff

Libby checked her watch as she drove past the sign welcoming her to Coldwater Springs. Three o’clock. Not bad, considering she’d left Laramie at lunchtime and stopped for gas along the way.

She smiled to herself as the frosty outskirts of the small town whizzed by. A new year and a new beginning were exactly what she needed. And she couldn’t wait to catch up with Sarah.

She’d missed her cousin since she’d moved back to Coldwater Springs five months ago. It had been fun hanging out with Sarah in Laramie, where they’d both lived and worked. Then Sarah lost her job and had been fortunate enough to find one in her hometown - as well as the man of her dreams. Libby hoped that one day she would be as lucky.

A siren wailed in the distance and became louder. She checked her rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of her green-flecked hazel eyes and curly blond hair in the process. Her eyes widened as she saw the sheriff’s vehicle on her tail. The driver made no attempt to pass her, instead dogging her small SUV with an intensity that unnerved her. Libby checked her speed - just under the speed limit, thank goodness. So why was the sheriff right behind her?

Sighing, she slowed down and pulled over. Once she’d come to a complete stop, she turned off the ignition and placed her hands on the steering wheel. And waited.

Libby glanced in her rear-view mirror. The officer spoke into a hand-held radio and she clenched her hands around the steering wheel, telling herself to be patient. “Come on,” she muttered. She’d planned to move in to her furnished cottage today and Sarah was coming by to help.

The officer stepped out of his vehicle and approached. Tall, with dark brown hair under his western hat, his measured strides told her he meant business. His broad shoulders filled out a zipped up tan jacket, while dark trousers and boots completed his outfit.

Libby reluctantly wound down the window. Why on earth had he stopped her?

“Ma’am, I need you to step out of the car.” His deep voice held a hint of gravel.

“What’s wrong, officer?” She frowned as she waited for his answer.

“Just step out of the car, ma’am.”

Libby looked into his dark brown eyes. Hard. Implacable. Her heart started to pound. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so why was she feeling scared?

Unfastening her seatbelt, she reluctantly opened the door and exited the vehicle. Standing on the hard-packed gravel shoulder, she looked up at him. He dwarfed her height of five foot five by a good six or seven inches.

“Where have you come from today, ma’am?” he asked curtly.

“Laramie.” She guessed he called every female he met ma’am, but it grated. Did she look like a ma’am at twenty-six? Considering he looked to be in his mid-thirties, it seemed particularly galling. Smoothing down her sky blue swing car coat over her curves, she waited for his response.

“Two hundred miles away.” He pointed at her car. “Is this your vehicle?”

“Yes.” She spied the gold star emblazoned with SHERIFF on his chest. “Sheriff.” Maybe if she was super polite to him, she’d be on her way in a minute or so.

“Where are you headed to?”

“Coldwater Springs.” She decided to ask him a question. “Was I speeding?”

“No.”

“Then why--”

“I’ll ask the questions, ma’am.” A muscle ticked in his strong jaw. His nose looked like it had been broken at one stage, but it suited his tough good looks.

Libby raised an eyebrow at his tone. Fine. She’d let him ask the questions. But she wished he would hurry up.

“Do you have the paperwork to prove you’re the owner of this vehicle?”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her brow, trying to think where the registration papers were.

“I’ll need to see it.”

His gruff voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She bit her lip, trying to think where the registration papers were. In the dash? Or in her file folder where she kept important papers - the file folder now bundled in one of the boxes in the backseat.

“They might be in the glove compartment.” Libby hoped they were - it would be too embarrassing if she had to search through the boxes in the back while he watched her every move.

“Stay here, ma’am.” The lawman pierced her with a hard stare before opening the driver’s door of her vehicle. He took the keys out of the ignition and then opened the glove compartment, conveying the impression that although he was focused on his search, he would know the instant she moved a muscle.

Her shoulders tensed as she watched him search for the paperwork. Why had he pulled her over?

“Are you Libby Grant?” He looked up from the piece of paper he held in his hand.