Page 65 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Mrs. Molly Nash strolls into the hallway. She hasn’t changed much over the years. Clear blue-gray eyes, a graceful mix of silver and ash blonde hair framing her face, and fine lines touching the corners of her eyes. She’s aged with elegance and still has that sunshine wrapped in floral prints vibe.
And she’s the sheriff’s mother, the station’s secretary, dispatch, and the reigning champion of baby hat knitting while she works.
“Mornin’, sugar.” She clutches a sack like she’s brought the whole bakery.
Then her kind eyes land on me.
There’s no surprise.
No shock.
It’s not my first time behind bars. Won’t likely be my last either.
“Hart? What brings you here?” She pulls out a stack of warm biscuits, still wrapped in a faded kitchen towel, and sets them on Nash’s desk.
“Got between a woman and a guy who didn’t understand ‘no.’ Didn’t realize doing the right thing came with handcuffs.” I don’t even give Nash the acknowledgment of my glare.
She unfolds a paper bag to reveal a batch of golden muffins, and the air fills with the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg.
“Public intoxication. Disorderly conduct. Assault.” Nash’s boots drop with a hollow clunk, shaking the wooden floorboards.
“Protectin’ a woman.” I nod at Molly.
She faces her son, the scold about to spill from her lips. “Nash, unlock that door.”
“Got paperwork to do.”
“Then get on it, son.”
“We’ve talked about addressing me professionally in the workplace.” He walks around his desk.
Molly blocks him to adjust his collar and then brushes specks of dust off his shoulders.
“I brought breakfast, and don’t you even think about skipping. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
He sure tore into that sandwich earlier like he hadn’t eaten in days. It’s obvious that with his mama around, he never goes hungry.
“Later.” He catches her wrists. “Work first. Can you take the food to the lunchroom and stick to the front desk while I finish up the paperwork?”
“Of course. The calls won’t answer themselves.”
Nash gives me a quick once-over, a silent warning not to try any tricks.
What the hell am I going to do, locked up?
But we all know his ma has released people from the cell before they were processed.
He slips down the hallway like he’s escaping a hostage situation. Ironic, since I’m the one behind bars.
Molly turns to me. “Hungry?”
My stomach growls the answer, and she smiles.
“Don’t feed him!” Nash shouts, his booming voice tearing down the hall, bouncing off the walls like gunshots.
“I’ll get some plates. Back in a jiffy.” She leaves the food on the counter and disappears into an office down that same hallway.
She’s not even two minutes out when I hear her coming back. And by the sound of it, she’s picked up company.
