Page 2 of Whisk Me Away

"In here," Mom's voice floated through the house as I crossed the front room to the kitchen.

Turning the corner, I found Mom loading the remaining dishes into the dishwasher. The counters were clean, indicating that I had arrived at the tail end of her baking session. Mom always emphasized cleaning as you go to avoid overwhelming messes. Memories of Mom and me laughing and dreaming in this kitchen flooded my mind, bringing tears to my eyes. I cherished this moment with the incredible woman I was fortunate to call Mom. I silently prayed for many more years of baking together.

"Oh no, none of that, missy! Come over here and hug your momma!" Mom scolded gently as she noticed my teary eyes.

I walked into her open arms, finding solace in the embrace of a mother's love.

"I'm so glad you're home, honey!" Mom whispered in my ear as I pulled back to search her face for any signs of pain or fear. If she was experiencing any, she didn't show it.

"I'm glad to be home. Now, where are those lemon bars I was promised?" I joked, trying to lighten the mood while secretly checking on Mom's well-being.

CHAPTER 2

BRANT

“Iunderstand, Mrs. Beechman.” I tried to keep my face free from the annoyance and frustration I was undoubtedly feeling.

Wilma Beechman was an 82-year-old lady who called the sheriff’s station at least once a week. You know the people they called frequent flyers at the hospital because they were always showing up for one reason or another? She was our frequent caller. Sometimes it was because her cat climbed the tree in her front yard, again, or she called to complain about her neighbor’s dog barking too loud and scaring said cat. Noise complaints, rowdy teenagers down the street, cars driving too fast, the list goes on and on.

Normally, I was able to send a deputy out to deal with her but there was an accident over by the local diner, leaving no one in the office, but me, to take her call.

“I can’t garden in peace if those boys keep making a raucous,” she chided.

“I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Beechman.” By take care of it, I meant I would walk down the street and ask the Lenard boys to keep their volume down while they play 3 on 3 on the street in front of their house.

By the time I finished up the call, I was exhausted and ready to go home but I still had a few hours of paperwork I needed to get done before the end of the night. Instead of heading back to the station, I took a right and drove to the diner and to make sure everyone was okay. Days like today made me wonder why I stayed here but if I was being honest with myself, I wouldn’t change it. These were the things that made Ashwood Falls unique, and while the hard days made me question my sanity for taking this job, the good far outweigh the bad. Sometimes my brain just needed the reminder.

Ten minutes later, I pulled up behind deputy Randle’s cruiser. From the looks of it he was just wrapping up the fender bender and nobody looked seriously hurt.

“Hello, Sheriff Landon!” Jim called from the front steps of his diner. Jim had owned Sunny’s since I was in high school. His dad, Sunny, handed it off to him a few years before he passed away and from what I remember him saying, Jim planned to keep it in the family.

“Afternoon, Jim,” I nodded my hello and walked over to where Randle was standing. “Everything going okay over here?”

“All good, boss. Just some teenagers not paying attention. How’s our favorite little lady?” Randle asked with a smirk.

“Oh, you know, she can’t garden with a full-blown basketball game going on down the street,” I responded trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone.

Randle chuckled as we headed back to our cars. “Meet you back at the station, Sheriff.”

I nodded and slid behind the wheel. I needed to get the paperwork done without staying too late. My grandmother would never let me hear the end of it if I was late to church two weeks in a row.

The Ashwood Falls Police Station was an old building that had been around for decades and definitely looked like it. One of these days I would love to renovate the place but for now that was just a pipe dream. I parked my car in my designated parking spot and headed through the front doors.

“Evening, Dawn,” I gave a polite smile to our receptionist.

“Evening, Sheriff,” she gave me a little wave.

I rounded the bullpen and headed to the back left of the building where my office was located. My office wasn’t very large, but it fit my desk and chair, a filing cabinet and two chairs across my desk. I dropped down into the black leather chair and pulled out the mountain of paperwork I needed to finish. It was going to be a long night—and Gram was going to have to deal with me being a few minutes late in the morning.

The clock on the dashboard of my truck taunted me with its bright neon green light, relentlessly reminding me that I was 7 minutes late. I whipped my truck into the church parking lot, slamming on the brakes when I noticed someone occupying my spot. Granted, the sign merely said "reserved," but it was a well-known fact that it was reserved for the Sheriff—me. I realized that made me sound like a complete tool, but I was late, and I needed that parking spot.

Movement in the front seat caught my eye, prompting a reaction without much thought. Before I could stop myself, the window of my truck was rolled down, and I found myself yelling at the petite blonde who was quickly climbing out of a little white Honda.

“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice was low and rough.

I must have startled her because she jumped and a hand flew to her chest as she whirled around.

“Excuse me?” the little spot-thief squeaked.

---