Page 2 of Ridin' Solo
“A bit?” I snapped.
My nose said he shit his pants something awful.
I pulled my little Grom motorcycle under the carport next to my house in the woods and cut the engine. I’d been saving all my money while working for the sheriff’s department to get this house. Having a vehicle seemed a little unnecessary, especially when I spent most of my time in a government-issued cruiser. The Grom was all I needed to get around in the small town of Auburn Hill.
Pulling off my helmet, I noticed a light on at my neighbor’s house. One of the deciding factors on my house purchase had been only having one neighbor close enough to see daily. I liked my privacy, okay? Old man Jim had been a good guy. Never caused any trouble, but sadly, he’d passed away a few months ago. His kids hadn’t wanted to move to a small town, so they’d had it on the market. The For Sale sign had come down last week, so I guessed my new neighbor had moved in, though I hadn’t seen anyone around.
I walked closer, not because I was nosy, but because it was neighborly to monitor the goings-on in the area. A huge black truck sat in the driveway, obscuring the front of the house from my view. I snorted and grabbed my cell phone from my back pocket to text my sister, Amelia.
I held up my pinkie and took the shot, the truck in the background.
Oakley:Uh-oh. The new neighbor moved in. Seems like he might be compensating for something…
Amelia:What’s with micro-dicks buying jacked-up trucks??
I snickered and headed back inside my house to make some dinner. I knew Amelia would get my reference. We’d been more like best friends since we were the closest in age out of all the Waldo sisters. In high school, we’d had a game where we tried to guess the guy’s personality based on the car he drove. The flashier the car, the bigger asshole he typically was. And invariably, the bigger the vehicle, the smaller the dick size. Since high school, I hadn’t been proven wrong yet. It was science, y’all.
I threw my helmet and keys on the tiny kitchenette table and hurried to turn the heater on. My home may have been old and drafty, more cabin than house, but it had charm you couldn’t manufacture in a master-planned community. While throwing a frozen lasagna dinner in the microwave, my phone rang. It was my parents. They likely memorized my work schedule and called the second they knew I’d be home.
“Hello, Mom,” I said, putting the call on speakerphone so I could strip out of my uniform in my bedroom.
“Hey, doll. How was work? All in one piece, huh?”
Mom always worried about me, but I guessed she was used to that state of being. My father was the chief of police in Auburn Hill.
“I’m just fine. Trying to scrounge up some dinner and relax. How’d your day go?” I tossed my shirt over the antique chair I’d found in the attic of this house after I’d moved in. My boots and pants were next, though my boots went into the tub in the bathroom and my pants went into the clothes hamper. I took all sanitary precautions in case that code brown had spread. I’d learned that the hard way.
“Oh, it was fine. Just caught up on the gossip at Coffee today. That Penelope Fines is getting stranger by the day. I asked your father why he hired her and where she came from. You know what he did? He basically hustled me out of the room! That’s strange, don’t you think?”
I rolled my eyes, but the smile came just hearing my mom’s voice. “Sounds like you need to let Dad do the detective work.”
She made some clucking noise only mothers of five daughters can make with their mouths. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s talk about what you’re having for dinner. Is it another one of those nutrition-less frozen meals?” She didn’t even give me a chance to answer. “I told you I’d be happy to make some extra each time I make dinner and drop it off to you. I can’t have you withering away on me. You’re so slight as it is.”
I shook my head and pulled on sweats and a tank top. “Mom. I’m short, but I could take most women in an arm wrestle.” In my mom’s eyes, if a woman didn’t have rounded hips, ample bosom spilling over, and a thigh-rubbing problem, they weren’t hardy women.
“Well, I think I’ll swing by tomorrow and drop off a few things.” She ignored my logical defense, as usual, but her heart was in the right place—and I really wouldn’t mind some homemade meals—so I didn’t call her on it. “Your father wants to speak to you.”
Loud ruffling filled the air as they handed off the phone without a care for the eardrums of the person on the other end of the line. I took the call off speaker and pressed the phone to my ear. The microwave dinged, and I moved back into the kitchen to eat.
“Oakley?”
“I’m here, Dad.” The lasagna proved a little cold in the middle, but I wasn’t one to complain. I needed adequate sustenance. It didn’t have to taste like a gourmet meal. I sat down at the kitchenette table and dug in.
“I’m still concerned they haven’t assigned you a new partner yet. It’s been three months. That’s plenty of time to hire from outside if need be.”
I shoved in a big bite and talked around it. “I know, but what can I do? I’m kind of enjoying being on my own.”
“Oakley.” The word was a rebuke. “It’s not safe for you to be out there on patrol on your own. Downright negligent of them.”
This was familiar territory. Dad criticized the county sheriff’s department. The county sheriff’s department criticized the small-town police force. It was a merry-go-round of disapproval we’d never get off.
“I can ask the sheriff about it again tomorrow.” I knew it wouldn’t do any good. Sheriff Locke remained an immovable force, but perhaps it would get Dad to settle down for another week.
“You do that, honey.” There was a pause, and I braced myself for it. “You know, it would have made things a lot easier if you’d just been a police officer. I would have made sure you always had a partner.”
And there it was. The guilt trip that had nipped at my heels since the day I got accepted into the sheriff’s academy and broke my father’s heart. I’d chosen a different department and he couldn’t seem to reconcile the fact that my doing so didn’t mean I loved or respected him any less. I just wanted to know that I succeeded on my own, not because my daddy was the town chief of police.
“I know, Dad. Well, I gotta go. My food’s getting cold.” All the satisfied feelings of a job well done left to die a slow death in the shadows of my father’s disappointment.
