Page 1 of Christmas with Three Cowboys

1

Melissa

“Inmate Carson!” Bucky calls out.

I’m in my cell, curled up with a book, passing the time without letting my brain rot. It’s been a good strategy for the past three years. Losing myself between the pages of a book has kept me from spiraling into madness. It has also kept the panic attacks under control—relatively. They’re fewer and less often.

“Yeah,” I reply, slowly getting up. I hide the book under my pillow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky says, half-smiling as he unlocks my cell.

Bucky’s one of the nicer guards. He knows how to keep the other women in the correctional facility in check—especially the ones with gang affiliations. I’m pretty sure he was the one who made sure I didn’t have a cellmate. Bucky knows I’m better off on my own, keeping my distance from everyone else. I just want to finish the last two years of this prison sentence so I can start over.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my brow furrowed.

“Yeah, the warden wants to see you.”

“There’s nothing wrong, but the warden wants to see me?”

“It’s a little too soon for panic, Melissa. Deep breath, girl. Chill.”

Deep breath, Bucky says. It usually helps, but the warden’s attention on me always triggers an unpleasant feeling. I stay out of trouble. I keep my nose clean. Hell, I shouldn’t even be here in the first place, but I keep my head down and tread carefully every day.

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know, Mel, but for what it’s worth, he didn’t seem angry when he called me into his office earlier. If anything, he was pretty upbeat.”

I follow Bucky down the hallway, feeling momentarily safe behind his burly figure. This part of the cell block is always a hot mess. The inmates get into fights a lot; they’re cranky and itching for conflict, lashing out. I often take the stairs at the other end of the corridor to avoid running into them.

Passing by one of their cells, I see Ramona, my nemesis, and she sees me. She smirks, but she knows she can’t touch me anymore. The last time she tried to rope me into one of her so-called turf wars, she ended up spending two weeks in solitary.

“Lookin’ good, Mel,” Ramona snickers. “On your way to the principal’s office, huh?”

“Give that bitch detention!” Gloria, one of her acolytes calls out from the neighboring cell.

She’s a big lady with tattoos everywhere and rabid pink hair. “Nice to see you too, Gloria,” I mumble.

“Fuck you, bitch!”

“Mind your business, inmates!” Bucky shouts, and there’s instant silence in his wake.

I can almost hear them growling from their cells, but they can’t touch me. Not today, anyway.

“You’ve been a model prisoner,” Bucky tells me as we continue walking.

“I was a model citizen, too,” I scoff. “Look where that got me.”

“Good behavior might still get you an early release,” Bucky says.

“I’ve got two years left on my sentence and a shitty lawyer who hasn’t even returned my calls the past couple of months.”

Bucky gives me another smile before he opens the door to the warden’s office. His teeth are stained from coffee and cigarettes, but his pale blue eyes and rosy cheeks liven him up when he smiles. He has a way of reassuring me without saying anything.

Bucky has often been kind and patient with me although he intimidates most of the other inmates. Then again, he’s right. I have been a model prisoner, avoiding conflict and keeping to myself.

“You’re gonna be alright,” he says, then nods at the warden. “Got Melissa Carson for you, Warden Jeffries.”

“Ah, Carson. Come in,” Jeffries says.

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