Page 3 of Big Daddy Sheriff

I’m going to Big Cedar.

CHAPTER TWO

Quinn Hardin hunkered low, getting out of the line of fire just in the nick of time.

The bullet sizzled overhead before plunking harmlessly into a tree a few yards behind him.

“I’m going to get you!” the big man with the rifle yelled. “You hear me? I’m coming for you!”

Quinn sighed. “Don Haley,” he said under his breath.

He’d figured as much.

Quinn had gotten the call about a man waving a gun around, taking random shots as he walked along a stretch of road just outside of town. It stood to reason that it would be Don, even though Quinn hadn’t gotten a good look at him upon arriving. There hadn’t been time for that.

He’d stepped out of his patrol unit, called out in a friendly voice, only to have the man swing around and level the rifle in his direction. Quinn barely had time to dive into the ditch, but he made it—with not a second to spare.

Now, just by hearing the gunman’s voice, his hunch was proven correct. Sure enough, that was Don Haley.

“Why are you shooting at me, Don?”

“Who are you?” Don’s slurred voice boomed back. The question was followed by a loud belch.

Quinn swore he could smell the alcohol on the man’s breath even from a distance.

“Don,” Quinn yelled. “It’s me. Marshal Quinn Hardin!”

“Quinn?” The man hiccupped. “Ah, hell. I shot at Quinn?”

“Yes.”

Don raked his fingers through the silver stubble on his double chin and said, “No. I was trying to hit a deer! I had me a big buck lined up. Been chasin’ him all up and down this here road and you ain’t gonna trick me. I know you’re him!”

In the ditch, still crouched as low as possible, Quinn stifled a groan. “Don, think about it. Can deer talk?”

“Well, I dunno. Maybe they do when you’s as drunk as I am.” He burst into uproarious laughter before falling straight down, landing on his butt in the middle of the street. He kept laughing, not even caring that he’d dropped his rifle.

Thankfully, the thing didn’t go off from the impact of smashing into the asphalt.

“Hell, Quinn. You know this ain’t anything personal.”

Quinn slowly raised his head, just enough for his eyes to clear the top of the ditch. Once he confirmed that the gun was on the ground, he rose a little more, keeping his movements calm and deliberate.

“I’m going to come out now. And I’m taking that gun. You’re not going to fight me, are you?”

“Quinn, you know how I feel about you. Heck, I only tried to shoot you because I thought you were that damn buck I’ve been eyeing.”

“Don, do deer drive SUVs?” Quinn said, patting the hood of his police cruiser as he strolled by.

“You drove up in that thing?” Don said, rearing his head back with a look of bewilderment in his bloodshot eyes. He’d clearly just now noticed the vehicle for the first time.

“How else would I get here?” Quinn said.

Don pondered it for a moment. “Huh. Quinn, honest—my lips to God’s ears—I didn’t even think about that.”

Quinn believed him. Don wouldn’t intentionally shoot at him. He wasn’t a violent offender. But he was just as dangerous as one when inebriated.

Quinn scooped up the rifle and secured it in his patrol unit. He then stood over Don and surveyed him.

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