Author note: OK, my peeps - thank you so much for the kind reviews. But, please leave me reviews that have a nice little reply option! Like any self-absorbed and slightly neurotic fanfic writer, Tonygirl enjoys talking about her fics to complete and total internet strangers - and apparently talk about herself in the third person! Carry on!
"Who's the new girl?" Walt asked as he sipped his Rainer, motioning towards the brunette putting beer in glasses from the tap.
Henry didn't even bother to glance up from his paperwork. "She has been here two weeks. I would say she is no longer considered 'new'."
"Well . . . I haven't noticed her."
"Shows something of the self-absorption of our county officials, does it not?
"It only shows that she's law abiding."
"Well . . . it has only been two weeks."
Walt couldn't argue with him there and took another sip of beer. In fact, arguing with the Cheyenne Nation usually never turned out well for anyone.
The waitress breezed by him with a tray full of frothy beers. Walt watched her as she expertly avoided the pincher fingers of two of the more unruly patrons. In fact, most people never would have noticed the dark expression that flitted across her face as they made drunken passes at her.
But, Walt wasn't most people. "She's done this before."
Henry did look up this time, glancing at him over his glasses he wore the read, one of the few concessions to age he recently had to make. "Most women in bars deal with drunk patrons, yes."
That wasn't quite what Walt meant. But, he really wasn't quite sure what he meant, so he kept his mouth shut.
The waitress breezed by with an empty tray, her boots echoing on the old scuffed wooden floors, scowling to herself.
"Annie? Are those men bothering you?" Henry asked. "Because the sheriff would like to arrest them for harassment."
She stopped at the bar and slowly put down the tray, reaching for a rag to wipe it down before putting it back in the stack for reuse. Walt had to chuckle. She looked like she was actually considering the offer.
"Is it really that slow around here that you have to scare up business?" Although it sounded like she was joking, she chose her words carefully, deliberately.
"You'd be surprised," Walt replied with what he hoped was a friendly smile. The way she was eyeing him, maybe it wasn't as friendly as he thought.
"The Sheriff is also disappointed that you are law abiding," Henry added.
Her back froze as she reached for a clean glass, but only for a moment. She recovered nicely, but not quickly enough for Henry and Walt to notice her hesitation. They glanced at each other before she turned back around. "Who says?" she said with a tight smile. "I could be the worst criminal set loose in your county in a century."
Walt watched her short fingernails nervously tap on the counter as she filled another glass with her other hand. "I somehow doubt that."
She filled another tray and hefted it with little effort. "Tell me if you still feel that way when you get to your office in the morning." This time, her smile was genuine. With her features relaxed, she really was pretty, not gorgeous, but enough to give you pause.
"Chicago, right?" Walt asked.
Some of the wariness returned, and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her serious brown eyes never leaving his. "How'd you know?"
Walt shrugged and took another sip of beer. "I've seen 'The Blues Brothers.'" His Chicago accent was decidedly a poor effort.
She relaxed and smiled. "Don't let the workings of the Cook County Sheriff's Department on the big screen fool you. In real life, they are actually quite adept at their jobs." She picked up her tray and trotted as far away from him as she could get.
Boy howdy.
Walt wondered what exactly had her so uptight.
And what exactly would be waiting in his office in the morning.
XXXXXXXXX
"A tire?" Henry sounded confused over the phone.
"Yup. A tire." Walt propped his boots on his desk to get more comfortable as he watched the scene outside, a smile playing on his lips.
"Why?"
"Apparently, she had a run in with one of my deputies yesterday . . ."
"Vic?"
"Good guess. But no."
"Branch." It was a statement rather than a question.
"Bingo."
"What did the nefarious progeny of our former sheriff do to piss her off?"
"Made her change his tire."
There was silence on the other end. "That is even lower than his usual low standards."
"She works for Fred Ray."
More silence.
Walt couldn't help but grin. "You didn't know?"
"No. I was not aware." Henry paused. "Perhaps I will have her look at Rezdawg."
"You need to scrap that piece of junk. Besides, how do you know she's any good?"
"Fred Ray would not have hired her." Henry's tone suggested that any imbecile would know that.
Walt shifted a little as he watched Branch on the curb, wrestling with the lugs and jamming his finger in the process. He had to grin at the sight. "She must keep to herself if even the Cherokee Nation was kept in the dark."
"She does. Hard to do in this county."
"Yup."
"So, you will not arrest her for littering your office with car tires?"
"Oh, she had an accomplice." Walt's gaze drifted out his door into the main floor. Ferg was clearly enjoying the scene on the street just as much as he was.
"Vic?"
"Once again, good guess. Although Vic would have been more likely to slash his tires."
"True. Ruby?"
Walt snorted at the thought. "Wrong."
"Hmmm . . . I did not know that Deputy Ferguson had it in him."
"Oh, he'll surprise you sometimes," Walt admitted.
"Especially when pretty women are involved."
"There is that."
XXXXXX
Ferg found himself curious about the brown-eyed woman from Chicago who worked on cars by day and served drinks at night. Whose intelligent eyes took in everything around her, but managed to keep everyone at arm's length at the same time.
And who also didn't like the snow. Or Branch, apparently.
He couldn't help but be pleased by this little fact.
And that pretty much summed up what he knew about her.
Yet, he couldn't get her out of his mind. It was something that would sneak up on him at the most inopportune moments. And he couldn't help but smile.
To only have met her once, he wondered why he couldn't stop thinking about her.
Then, he wondered if she ever thought about him.
Probably not. He helped her pull a fast one on Branch. It wasn't like he saved her life or anything.
He still found himself scanning the parking lot for her old truck each time he drove by The Red Pony. Sometimes he saw it. And sometimes, he didn't.
He wasn't brave enough to stop. Sure, he always went in Henry's – you often had to if you wanted something halfway decent to eat after a certain time at night. But, he knew if he stopped now, it was just to see her, and he was a little afraid of how creepy that might be.
Not that she'd know or anything. He could just say hi and leave it at that.
Maybe she wouldn't even remember him.
That would definitely suck considering the time he spent thinking about her.
Briefly, he thought about Cady and sighed. She never saw him as anything other than good ol' Ferg. So why should Annie be any different?
She had to have men after her all the time. She probably wouldn't even give him the time of day. Or maybe she'd just be polite.
That would be even worse.
He wondered why she was so standoffish. He noticed her usual reaction to anything he said was suspicion. Generally an optimist and a trusting soul – a fact that had landed him in hot water on more than one occasion – he was curious about people who seemed to be the total opposite.
Not that he could waltz into Henry's and ask her if she was always so suspicious of people or was it something she had learned to do . . . boy, what an idiot he'd be then!
But, he found he wanted to know.
A sharp whistle brought him out of his revelry.
Vic was standing right by him, her hand on her hip, obviously a little more exasperated than usual.
"You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?" she said, shaking the file at him to emphasize her point.
Ferg figured he'd better listen. The wrath of Vic was something he'd rather avoid at all costs.
