Page 1 of The Crime of Intensity

CHAPTER ONE

– KATHLEEN –

“Dammit,” I mutter and give some pressure with my legs to urge Ten, my Quarter horse, on.

Up ahead I see old Mr. Hemwig stomp across the road with a shotgun in his hand.

I finally reach the ranch across the road from the old man and lean back to bring Ten to a stop as I jump off. Wrench, my Australian Cattle dog, starts to bark at Hemwig. Wrench is a trained cadaver dog who’s also my deputy from time to time; he has my back no matter what.

“Okay, Mr. Hemwig, put the gun down,” I calmly tell the old man.

He narrows his eyes and aims the shotgun at my chest. “Why are you here? How did you get here so fast? He called you, didn’t he? Fucking chicken.”

A sigh rips from me and I grab the barrel and angle the aim up and away from all of us as Hemwig pulls the damn trigger.

“Motherfucker,” I snap.

A jolt of adrenaline mixes with my blood. Wrench barks while my horse doesn’t so much as twitch. Ten is the mellowest horse on the planet until I’m in the saddle, then he’s lightning on hooves.

Hemwig’s eyes pop wide open. “Oh, shit. I didn’t pull the trigger.”

I know the old fart uses shells filled with rock salt. He’s harmless…most times.

“Sure you didn’t,” I grumble and unload the shotgun.

From the corner of my eye, I catch movement and throw the shotgun to the ground to palm my own gun while Wrench is running forward. My anger skyrockets when I see who is stalking our way; Marvin Wolffield.

He’s law enforcement, like me, but also unlike me. I’m the town sheriff while Marvin is a Cowboy Bikers MC Lawmen. It’s a special division of the government. They are basically above the law, but uphold it to bring down criminals in their own way.

Ever since I requested the Lawmen’s help a few months ago, and Marvin being the one who showed up, he’s been nothing but a pain in my ass. Okay, Marvin did help solve a case. With his help we were able to bring down a gang along with other men who hurt members and old ladies of the Iron Hot Blood, the motorcycle club my father’s a member of.

Though, Marvin has been randomly showing up since that day, and tries to meddle in crime cases in my town for no good reason other than to annoy me.

Ignoring Marvin–like I’ve been doing ever since he entered my life–I focus on Hemwig as I put my gun back into the holster strapped to my leg. “Go home, Hemwig. You can come pick up your shotgun when you’re sober.”

Which I know won’t be any time soon with the old man drinking around the clock. Annoyance spikes when I notice Wrench getting his ear scratched by Marvin. Cheating, asshole dog.

Hemwig shoves a bony finger in the direction of the ranch behind me. “He stole my moonshine.”

It’s too damn early for this shit. “Right. You’re talking about the moonshine he made and gave to you? Which I’m sure you either drank already or spilled ’cause you’re too drunk to hold a cup steady.”

Hemwig’s shoulders sag. “I’m not drunk. It happened to fall when I wanted to grab the jar. But it’s his fault for putting it in a stupid jar. If he’d put it in a bottle, I would still have it.”

“Enough. Go home,” I tell the old man with a stern voice.

He bobs his head and starts to turn but stops to tell me, “My Daisy was as stern as you. I miss her.”

My heart squeezes painfully for the old man who lost his wife four years ago. “I know, Hemwig. She was your sunshine that could give your ass sunburn if you didn’t butter it up.”

The old man shoots me a grin when I give him the words he’s told me over a hundred times. This isn’t our first encounter and I made it a standard thing to swing by his ranch during my morning ride.

“That she was. Shame my sunshine isn’t here anymore…all I’ve got left is moonshine and the memories of my lovely wife,” Hemwig murmurs and has a sad smile on his face. “Sorry, Kathleen. I didn’t mean–”

“I know,” I tell him, cutting him off because excuses always follow this old man’s spur of the moment actions. “Sleep it off and we’ll call it even.”

He waves at me and wanders back to his house. I pick up the shotgun and shove it between the straps of my western saddle.

“What the fuck, Kathleen? You could have gotten your head blown off,” Marvin snarls.

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