Sweet Southern Trouble (Sample Only)

Sweet Southern Trouble: Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Just Passing Through

The pretty, plump dispatcher, called Lucy Puckett, according to her desk plaque, looked dumbstruck, but Becky was used to that kind of reaction to her personality...especially the part where she tended to ramble on nonsensically when nervous, and stopping by a police station after recently getting herself arrested was enough to make anyone a bit jittery.

“So, as I was saying,” Becky went on, stuffing her belongings back into her purse and smiling in a friendly, I’ve-done-nothing-wrong way, “My Gran used to say that you're supposed to ask cops where they eat to find out the best place in town.  I haven't had a really good meal in a couple of days, so here I am, asking the local cops.  I’m hungry and want something other than McDonald's.  I’ve eaten so many chicken nuggets lately, I’m starting to grow feathers.”

Lucy Puckett blinked at her like a mouse trying to figure out why the cat was being so nice to her, and lazily fingering a gold locket around her neck.  “Um, sure, miss.  There’s a diner down the street.  It’s just about the only place in town to eat unless you drive up the highway a bit.  Don’t try the meatloaf, but the ribs are pretty good.”

“Excellent!  I saw a diner earlier, so I think I remember where it is,” Becky exclaimed.  “And I’ll be sure to take your advice on that meatloaf.  Never could stomach the stuff actually.  Ground meat just isn’t natural, you know.”  She shouldered her bag and held out her hand to the dispatcher.  “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Lucy grasped and shook Becky's hand and uttered the same sentiment.  Suddenly, a tall, dark haired man loomed behind the counter.  Becky froze in mid-shake and looked up into the deepest pair of brown eyes she’d ever been blessed to witness.

Holy Moly.

“I’m with you there, Twinkie,” her grandmother’s voice echoed in Becky’s brain.

“Hey, there, ma'am,” the man drawled in a deep, rumbling voice that left a hint of warm mischief in her ears. Becky almost let out a helpless, schoolgirl giggle.  “I’m Chief Harris.  Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Lucy let go of Becky’s hand and explained, “Oh, Miss Becky here, broke down outside of town.  Bubba towed her in, but she’s having to stay for a while until her truck’s finished.”

“Is that so?" the pair of brown eyes asked.   They even sparked with acute interest when Lucy said she had to stick around for a bit. "It’s a pleasure to meet you…Becky, is it?”

Becky regained her senses and smiled at the handsome police chief.  “Oh, Becky O’Shea,” she offered and gripped his large hand in greeting.

“O’Shea, huh?  That Irish?”  His gaze flicked over her red hair.

Becky’s helpless giggle emitted, and she precariously hoped no one here would recognized her name.   If Uncle George knew where she was...  “Yeah, it is.  But I’m from Rhode Island, born and raised.”

Well, crap, Becky...just paint a neon sign over your head...”Hey, Uncle George!  I’m right here!”