Arrested by Love: A Long Valley Romance Novel - Book 3 Page 2

  She wasn’t about to tell Wyatt this (or her father, for that matter), but she felt bad for Wyatt. Her dad would have a heart attack if he heard her say this, but since that first morning in his office, she’d discovered that her father’s recounting of why Wyatt had landed in jail was…missing a few pieces. A few important pieces. Wyatt hadn’t just blindly punched Richard for the hell of it ‘cause the sky was blue and the wind was blowing in from the west.

  Okay, sure, Richard didn’t deserve to end up in the hospital but she was beginning to see that when it came to Wyatt Miller, her dad wasn’t acting rational either.

  “Ready?” she asked, stopping at his cell door and holding up her keys and handcuffs. He grunted at her, swung his legs over the side of his cot, and tossed the Louis L’Amour paperback into the corner of his bunk. He slid his hands through the opening in the door so she could cuff him, and then after she unlocked the door, he began silently walking towards the front, as she followed along behind him.

  With such a winning personality, it’s hard to see why everyone just doesn’t love and adore him. She tried not to roll her eyes as they went. If Wyatt had half the likability that his looks had, he would have a lot more fans in the world.

  It was a short docket today – just Wyatt’s case and a couple of speeding tickets. Of course, Judge Schmidt put Wyatt last because if given even a small chance to be an ass to Wyatt, he was going to take it.

  Finally, it was Wyatt’s turn.

  “The State of Idaho Vs Wyatt Miller,” the court reporter called out. Wyatt shuffled forward, his lawyer by his side. Abby leaned against the wall of the courtroom, holding her breath. This could go okay, or it could be a trainwreck. Considering that it was Judge Schmidt and Wyatt, though, she was pretty sure that a betting man would count on the latter.

  “So you’re here on charges of assault and battery, huh?” the judge said, leaning down and staring at Wyatt over the top of his spectacles. “I always knew this day would come. Of course, I never thought that you’d lose it on my son—”

  “Judge Schmidt, we’d like to ask for a change of venue,” Wyatt’s lawyer interrupted. Interrupting the judge was almost never a good idea, but then again, this whole situation was just a circus and a half. There were no rules any longer. She wouldn’t be surprised to see the judge pole-vault over his bench and land some punches of his own. “I think it’s clear that there’s a conflict of interest here. We would like to get the venue moved to Ada County.”

  The judge sat back in his chair, smirking. “Fine by me. But I hear their dockets are pretty full this time of year, what with the holidays and all. You’ll probably be waiting a while for your hearing.”

  “Which is why we’d like to ask for bail for Mr. Miller,” the lawyer smoothly interjected. “It’s late fall and thus a farmer like Mr. Miller is still wrapping up his harv—”

  “But with such a high-flight risk,” the judge said with a twist of his lips, “I can’t let him out. Who knows where he’d go if let out of jail until his hearing in Boise.”

  “Your honor,” the lawyer said pleadingly, “Mr. Miller has only ever lived in Long Valley. He owns a farm here. His family is here. He’s the very definition—”

  “—of a high-flight risk,” the judge said, cutting him off. “I know Mr. Miller’s background quite well and don’t need to be reminded of it. If he wants to move his hearing to Ada County, so be it. But I won’t have him escaping justice under my watch. This case is hereby moved to Ada County; Mr. Miller is to be kept in the Valley County Jail until his case can be heard in Boise. Dismissed.” He rapped his gavel on the wood in front of him.

  Abby stared at the judge for a moment, horrified. She’d worried that the judge would take advantage of being able to preside over Wyatt’s hearing, but even she hadn’t expected him to pull this.

  If Wyatt couldn’t finish harvesting his sugar beets, then they’d rot in the fields and he wouldn’t be able to make his yearly payment to the bank. His brother Stetson hadn’t made his payment to the bank the previous fall, which, through a lucky twist of fate, was how he’d met his wife Jennifer, but somehow, Abby didn’t think that Wyatt would be half as lucky. This could ruin Wyatt financially, and the judge knew it. His dryland wheat had already been harvested, but he made most of his money from his beets, and the judge was well aware of that fact.

  Goddamn asshole piece of shit, screwing around with Wyatt like this. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The only way Wyatt escapes this mess is if his brothers step in and help him, and they have their own farms to run. Plus, I heard them that morning they stopped by the jail after Wyatt was arrested; I don’t know if they’re going to be inclined to do his farming for him. This judge is using his power to mess with his former son-in-law and there’s not a damn thing I can do about—

  She heard someone clear their throat right behind her, and then a touch on her elbow. She whirled around, finally breaking her stare from the retreating judge, to find Wyatt’s lawyer standing next to her. “I think my client is in need of your services,” the lawyer said softly.

  Right. She was supposed to walk him back to his jail cell. She shot a bland smile at the lawyer before putting the handcuffs back on Wyatt, trying – and most likely failing – to hide her inner turmoil. As she snapped the cuffs around his wrists, she couldn’t help noticing his muscular arms, tanned from a summer under the sun, and how his hair curled around his nape, just a little too long for convention but perfect for running her fingers through.

  She cleared her throat as she shook her head, making herself focus on her job.

  It was going to be a long few weeks.

  Chapter 5

  Wyatt

  He sat in his jail cell, waiting impatiently for the counselor to show up. That wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be doing – waiting for a counseling appointment wasn’t exactly something he did all the time, let alone finding himself looking forward to it – but here in jail, he was beginning to look forward to any changes to be had in his suddenly monotonous life.

  The truth was, he was bored out of his skull. This was the longest he’d ever gone without working since he’d turned eight and had started regularly helping his dad out in the fields. Even during the winter, he was able to go for rides on the horses or work on tractors out in the barn.

  So day in, day out of nothing but reading Louis L’Amour, eating food from Betty’s Diner, and walking out in the courtyard for 30 minutes at a time was, quite simply, slowly driving him insane.

  Well, that and watching Abby walk past on her rounds. And walking to his cell with his dinner tray. And then spending time bantering with her over whether or not tomatoes were really edible (which of course, he was right and she was wrong and tomatoes just weren’t edible, no matter how much people protested otherwise).

  But other than Abby and all Abby-related activities, jail was sheer boredom. He lay back on his bunk and stacked his hands underneath his head, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. Talking to a counselor…he hadn’t done that since high school, and that was a career counselor, not a help-you-with-your-emotional-shit counselor.

  This counselor was 100% his lawyer’s idea, arguing that telling the judge in Boise that he’d been trying to get help while awaiting his hearing could only help his case. Wyatt didn’t think the judge would give a rat’s ass – his former father-in-law here in Long Valley sure as shit didn’t – but…

  He was bored.

  Bored out of his ever-lovin’ mind.

  Bored enough that talking to a counselor sounded like a fine idea.

  Which had to be the very definition of boredom.

  He was glad Shelly wasn’t there to see him in jail, rotting away. She’d be so disappointed in him. Of course, him punching her brother probably wouldn’t have helped matters any, either.

  On the other hand, if she was still around, he wouldn’t have had any reason to punch her brother.

  He heard the door open at the end of the cell block, thankfully inte
rrupting that internal never-ending cycle of guilt. Abby’s voice floated down towards him as she walked beside who he guessed was the long-awaited counselor. “He’s back here – we have conference rooms you can meet in if you’d like.”

  Just hearing Abby’s voice was…nice. Wyatt swung his legs over the side of the bed and watched as she walked towards him, hips swaying as she did so. He’d always appreciated a little meat on a woman’s bones – whoever thought that sleeping with a bag of bones was sexy was just this side of completely insane – and Abby managed to have curves in all the right places.

  Not that he was looking at the sheriff’s daughter in that way.

  Of course.

  “Yes, that would be appreciated.” The counselor’s voice, cultured but friendly, finally had him turning towards his new distraction from insanity. She was a little older, maybe late 50s, with short brown hair peppered with gray, and square-rimmed glasses that gave her a bookish appearance. He’d never met a counselor in real life, and he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but now seeing her…

  She looked just like what he imagined a counselor would look like. If he’d ever bothered to imagine a counselor, which he hadn’t, of course.

  He stood up from the bed and moved towards the cell door. He put his hands through the door’s opening so he could be handcuffed, when the counselor put her hand up to stop Abby. “I prefer that my clients not be handcuffed while talking to me. It makes it hard to relax if you’re in metal bracelets. I believe that I can trust Mr. Miller to be a perfect gentleman while we talk?” She looked straight at him, her gray eyes assessing him as she spoke.

  He nodded without breaking eye contact. “I give you my word,” he said solemnly. Not that he’d ever attack a woman, but considering his history of beating people up who didn’t agree with his viewpoint of the world, he understood her desire for assurances.

  “Good enough for me.”

  Abby shrugged and hooked her cuffs back on her belt. “Then I’ll just lead you two to the conference room,” she said, unlocking and swinging the cell door open for him. He brushed past her and unconsciously inhaled as he passed. Lemons. How was it that she always smelled like lemons? It was the damndest thing, in the most awfully perfect way. It was his favorite scent – clean and pure without being cloying – and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Abby picked it on purpose to drive him crazy.

  Which obviously she hadn’t, considering that she didn’t know it was his favorite scent.

  Which made the whole thing even more maddening.

  She walked behind them as they made their way to the front and to the right. After they got settled at the conference table, she pulled the door shut behind them, telling the counselor, “Just come get the officer on duty when you’re done,” and then disappeared behind the wooden door.

  Wyatt felt a sense of loss at her disappearance that he didn’t want to begin to explain to himself. Or anyone else for that matter.

  The counselor smiled at him, a friendly yet professional smile that told him that she would be a confidant, but not a friend. He respected that.

  “Mr. Miller, may I call you Wyatt?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’d be fine.”

  “You may call me Rhonda.”

  He nodded once. “Rhonda.”

  “Wyatt, I understand that you have some history with the man you beat up, a Richard Schmidt. Is that true? Or did you simply get a hankering for a good ol’ time, and begin swinging at him because you hadn’t punched someone lately?”

  He couldn’t help the small smile that grew around the edges of his lips. “I’m sure it depends on who you asked,” he said blandly. “I’m sure there are people in this town who’d believe that’s exactly why I was punching Dick.”

  “Dick? I thought he preferred to go by Richard.” She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. He grinned boyishly at her.

  “Oh, he does. Which is exactly why I call him Dick. It’s just a lot more appropriate for his personality.”

  She cracked a smile of her own at that. “Well, why don’t you tell me about your relationship with Richard. We can start there.”

  Wyatt settled back in his chair. “How long do we have?” he asked sarcastically.

  “As long as we need,” she responded without missing a beat. “Normally, I schedule my clients in one-hour increments but I don’t have anyone else in Long Valley to see today, so I can spend the afternoon chatting with you if that’s what you’d like.”

  She was purposefully pushing back at him; she knew he wouldn’t want to spend all afternoon talking to a counselor any more than he’d want to spend all afternoon taking ballroom dancing lessons.

  She had a spine. He liked that.

  “I married Dick’s sister, Shelly, seven years ago. I got along with Dick and his father, Mr. Schmidt, fine in the beginning but it quickly became apparent that they didn’t think I was good enough for her. Which I probably wasn’t, but truth be told, what husband is good enough for their wife?”

  “So your father-in-law is Judge Schmidt?” she asked.

  “Ex-father-in-law,” he corrected.

  “You got a divorce?”

  “No.” He heaved a sigh, and shifted in his seat uncomfortably. This was the hard part. This was the awful part. It was the one good thing about living here in Long Valley – everyone knew his story. He didn’t have to tell it over and over again. He didn’t have to face these facts that made up his shattered life. “She died. Car wreck. One year ago. My daughter was in the car with her. They both died at the scene.”

  She just stared at him assessingly, nodding once to indicate she’d heard him, so he continued. “My father-in-law and brother-in-law blamed me for it.”

  “Were you driving?” she asked.

  “No. I was at home.”

  “Then why did they blame you?”

  “Because I’d asked her to go get the milk that night. I’d just gotten home – it had been a long day – and Shelly told me we were out of milk. Normally I’d go and get the milk because you don’t want to buckle in a five year old to drive to Franklin just to buy milk but I was tired and didn’t want to make the drive. I was being selfish.” He stared at the far wall, a nondescript print of a seashore hanging there, and felt his throat tighten with frustration and tears.

  No, not tears. He didn’t cry.

  Just frustration.

  “What time was it?” the counselor asked softly.

  “Time? Evening. Maybe around nine or so.”

  The counselor let the silence fill the small room, expanding, pushing down on him, but he didn’t say anything and so she finally, blessedly, continued. “So when you saw your brother-in-law—”

  “Ex-brother-in-law.”

  “Your ex-brother-in-law at the convenience store, you decided that it was time to discuss this…with your fists?”

  He nodded. It may not be politically correct to admit it, but yeah, that was exactly how it went down.

  “Did he do anything to provoke this…discussion?”

  “Yes!” He stopped, realizing that his voice was overwhelmingly loud for the tiny room they were in. He breathed in, trying to reign in the feelings washing over him, but the injustice of it all had been gnawing at him for weeks now. It was time for someone other than his lawyer to hear his side of things, dammit.

  “He was driving drunk. He almost took out the front side of Mr. Petrol’s. He was there to buy more beer, and the cashier let him. Told me that he wasn’t about to piss off the judge’s son, not when his probation was almost up. Dick was already in his ugly-ass orange camo Jeep when I came outside to stop him from driving away. Things got out of hand pretty quickly.”

  “Why didn’t you call the cops instead?”

  “That’s what everyone says I should’ve done, but I say bullshit. The cops would’ve come, arrested him, and he would’ve been out by morning. His dad would’ve made sure that he got off scot-free from it. That would’ve been the end. Dick Schmidt w
ould’ve gotten away with it. Again. I couldn’t stand the thought. This whole valley…it’s like that everywhere, for everyone. Special treatment if you know the right people, can pull the right strings.”

  “Have you thought about moving away from here?”

  “Away?” he echoed dumbly. “And go where? My farm is here.”

  “I’m pretty sure that there are farms elsewhere,” she said with a quirk of her lips.

  “But my family is here. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I couldn’t leave Long Valley.” He felt panic welling up inside of him at the idea, and he was surprised by the strength of it. He’d spent most of his life hating Long Valley, hating the good ol’ boys club that was so prevalent in the area, but when faced with the idea of leaving it, he was terrified. This was his home. His great-great-grandparents helped settle the area. He couldn’t leave it.

  “Okay, so if you don’t want to sell and move elsewhere, what can you do to make your time here in Long Valley more pleasant? If you won’t change your circumstances, how will you change your outlook on those circumstances?”

  That stopped him in his tracks. “Change his outlook”? That too had never occurred to him.

  He was beginning to realize that there were many things that hadn’t occurred to him, and he wasn’t particularly sure he appreciated that insight.

  Chapter 6

  Abby

  Chloe stirred her coffee and looked at Abby over the rim of it as she took a sip. “So, what’s been happening in your world? Anything exciting?”

  “I wouldn’t call it exciting,” Abby said with a grumpy sigh, “but Wyatt Miller has been happening.”

  “Oh, I heard about that! Is it true that he beat up Richard Schmidt in the parking lot of Mr. Petrol’s?”

  “Yes.” Abby knew she wasn’t strictly supposed to gossip about the jail inmates, but she couldn’t help herself. She had to talk to someone about it, and the other choice was her dad, and that so wasn’t happening. Chloe was her closest friend, and thus by default, was immune from the rules about what she was and wasn’t allowed to be told. The best friend version of “spousal privilege.”