Sweet Southern Trouble (Sample Only)

Sweet Southern Trouble: Chapter 3

Chapter 3:  A Cop’s Intuition

If she hadn’t told him that she was twenty-nine years old, he might have believed that he was sitting across from a five-year-old.  Becky had that childlike honesty, but he was finding out how it made her so lovable.  But normal women didn’t spill their life story to the first man to come their way.  Then again...normal women had never held his attention for this long either.

“I’m fine, Becky.  And don’t be sorry.  I’m coming to like your honesty.  It’s a rare treat in this world.  So tell me more about your family...this Uncle George for instance.  Why're you running from him?”

Becky eyed him with that smirky twinkle and said, “What makes you think I’m running from him?”

“A cop’s intuition,” he said evenly.

“Ahh,” she commented.  “And what else does your intuition tell you, Chief Harris?”

He looked right into her eyes and answered, “That you’re gonna be trouble.”

Her lips twitched.  “Has this got to do with you protecting your town from outsiders, and all that?”

“Maybe.”  He sipped his iced tea.

“Alright then,” she said, raising her chin.  “Uncle George...well, it's better to understand him if you knew the back story.  In the early 1900's, my great-granddad left New York with his family to get away from the congestion in the city, wanting to live in a place that reminded him of Ireland – though I don't think Rhode Island really counts...but it's lush and green with rocky coastlines, not like New York, so I guess that was his goal. Gran swears my great-grandad was running from the mob, which is why he left the city, but then again, Gran had a vivid imagination and came up with the wildest stories.  Bedtime was a favorite activity for Gran.  The stories she’d tell me and Ginger!  Well, anyway, my great-granddad bought this Rhode Island estate at an auction -- Gran said that he won it in a card game, but again, Gran’s imagination running amuck.  The main house had been burnt to the ground, but that didn't phase my great-granddad any.  The O'Shea's are stubborn to the core.  In fact, Gran would tell me this story about when Grandpappy was a little boy and he'd--”

Nick held up a halting finger.  “Are you gonna jump ahead to the present anytime soon?”

Becky chuckled deep in her throat, and the warm sound sent a warmer sensation through his veins.  Hell, the woman's laugh affected him on a primal basis.

“I'm getting to that.  Just bear with me, alright?”

Nick sighed and nodded...wishing for another sultry laugh to come out of her.

“Anyway, over the years, the O'Shea's land and home grew and because of a certain male-dominant frame of mind in my family, the whole estate is entailed and solely passed down to the oldest son.  Grandpappy inherited, and then my dad, because Daddy was the oldest son.  And that's what got Uncle George’s temper riled up from the beginning.  See, Daddy and Uncle George are twins, with Daddy being two minutes older.  Gran used to laugh about how Uncle George fought tooth and nail to emerge from the womb first, but Daddy was the truly stubborn one and wasn't having any of it.  Gran said that Daddy popped out with a smartass grin on his face and Uncle George came shortly after, pitching a crying fit that could have woke the dead.  And they grew up that way – Daddy always coming out on top and Uncle George falling behind in a close-but-no-cookie second...in school, in sports, even with girlfriends.  Daddy always got the prom queen; Uncle George, the prom queen after Daddy ditched her.”