Page 5 of Protected By the Grumpy Single Dad
“She’s harmless!” Sheila hollers. “Just pick her up!”
I slip on gloves, inch closer, heart pounding. The lizard eyes me like it’s debating lunch. Carefully, I scoop her up, supporting her long body.
Almost home free when Sheila calls, “Oh! Don’t touch her head — she’s sensitive!”
The lizard whips around and snaps. I nearly eat basement floor, stumble up the last steps, and launch her gently onto the lawn. She waddles off, offended but alive.
I turn to Sheila, dust-covered and glaring. “Information likedon’t touch her head? Useful earlier.”
She shrugs. “Common sense.”
“Ma’am,” I say, peeling off gloves, “that is not common sense.”
“Guess we have different definitions.”
I swallow my irritation and slide professionalism back into place. “Anything else you need?”
“Fix the hole. And the skateboard punks.”
“Duly noted.”
Back in the cruiser, I radio, “Cancel animal control. Situation resolved.” Translation:never sending me back here.
As I wipe dust off my uniform, I can’t help but smile a little. Weird calls like this — the ones no academy prepares you for — are what earn trust faster than any press conference. Somebody’s grandma will tell this story at bingo tonight, and by morning half the town will know the new sheriff wrestled a lizard before breakfast.
Patrol slows, and I spot a diner I haven’t tried for lunch yet. Scotty’s. Red booths, buzzing fans, the kind of place TV shows romanticize. Smells like frying bacon and fresh pie. Feels good to step inside out of the sun.
I take a booth. The room hums with conversation until they notice the badge — eyes flicker, curious. New sheriff in town.
I order water, check my phone, let the hum of chatter wash over me. If I’m going to be accepted here, it starts with showing up in the places locals love.
A waitress approaches with a notepad and easy smile — until she sees me.
She stops dead. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.”
My stomach drops.
It’s her.
“Well, if it isn’t Officer A. Vaughn,” says Jasmine Wallace, voice sugary and laced with glee.
Oh, come on.
Chapter four
Jasmine
I can always tell when a cop walks in.
Even before I see the badge, the room shifts—voices drop a notch, forks clink a little quieter, and every law-abiding citizen suddenly becomes very interested in their coleslaw.
I grab my order pad and head for the corner booth… and stop dead.
Well, well. Look who the tumbleweeds dragged in.
He looks up at me and the confusion on his face slides straight into resignation. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, cheerful as a bell. “I’m notthatbad at crime.”
