Page 34 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
He was nearly back to Quinn when a shuffling, snuffling sound from the back seat startled him so much he almost went off the road. And then he did, pulling onto the shoulder and stopping the car.
Twisting around, he looked behind him.
There on the floor, next to a shredded paper bowl that had, no doubt, held food, was Frankie Miller’s puppy. And there on the seat, was a little dog bed, a chew toy, and a sheet of paper torn from a notebook.
* * *
Dear Jeremiah,
My grandparents say Beans has to go. They’re too old to deal with a dog like him and my sisters are always hurting him. Not on purpose. They just get excited, you know? Grandpa was going to take him to the pound, but when I saw you in the diner, I knew just what to do.
You are a good person. I know that because you saved Beans once. Now I need you to save him again. Please don’t let me down.
Maybe you can let me know how he’s doing. Maybe I can even visit him some time. My address and our phone number are below.
Thank you,
Frankie Miller
Jeremiah reached down to the floor and picked up the pup, who was all head and paws and long skinny legs. He had a brindle pattern coming in, brown with black and gray, an entirely black face, and huge puppy brown eyes, currently looking up at him.
“Beans, huh?”
The pup farted aloud.
“Ah, I see.” He leaned back to roll the window down a bit.
The puppy leaned up and licked his face.
Chapter Seven
Willow and Drew were sharing a basket of french fries from the local dive bar. Willow was in uniform, and feeling guilty as hell for spying on Jeremiah. Of course, she wouldn’t be spying on him unless he went back to the Bluebonnet Inn looking for his treasure. In which case, he deserved spying on.
Right?
“Too bad about the sketch this morning.” Drew dragged a fry through a puddle of ketchup on the way to her mouth. “You uh…worked with that sketch artist before?”
“Joshua Stone, you mean?”
“Oh, was that his name? I didn’t remember.”
“You’re not s’posed to be interested in men at the moment, according to what you’ve been saying for the past?—”
“Yeah, well, you’re not s’posed to be spyin’ on your boyfriend, so?—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
‘Cause you slept with him just the one time.” Sarcasm dripped like ice cream in the Sonoran.
Willow shifted her gaze left, shrugged one shoulder, and said, “So far.”
Drew burst out laughing and Willow grabbed a French fry. The pile was dwindling. Her text beeped. She looked at it and muttered, “Speak of the devil,” and showed Drew the phone.
Hot Gringo: I have a problem.
“You have him listed as Hot Gringo in your contacts?”
“His ringtone’s that gunfighter riff. You know the one I mean? Wait, I know.” She texted Jeremiah, “Call me.”
