Page 120 of Under Daddy's Spell

“Yep,” he replied. “That passel of trouble I mentioned is growing by the minute. Allow me to introduce the Honorable George M. Peterson, municipal judge for Wanaker Landing.”

A sheriffanda judge— Krista felt like throwing up; she was so screwed.

The older man stroked his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. “Let’s see... For the cash alone, a first offense usually means community service and probation. Adding that necklace bumps the charge up to third-degree felony theft, which carries a three-year jail sentence and a $5000 fine—if she’s got no priors.”

To keep from breaking down and blubbering uncontrollably, she bit the inside of her cheek.

Her record was short, but it wasn’t pretty.

In high school, she’d gone through a rebellious stage and been before a judge more times than she cared to remember. Truancy, assault—Marisa Bishop deserved every slug for stealing her date for the junior prom—and an embarrassing shoplifting conviction at sixteen. The two drug possession charges that followed came after her eighteenth birthday. The first was while she was driving her ex-boyfriend Brett’s car. He had a brake light out, but when the cop pulled her over and got a whiff of the lingering aroma of pot, he quickly forgot about her minor equipment violation. When he searched and found a half ounce of weed tucked under the seat, he’d arrested her for possession. Brett swore up and down and sideways it belonged to a buddy he’d been out with the night before. Like a fool in love, she believed him—until the second incident only a few weeks later.

They were on their way to a party and, unbeknownst to her, he dropped two joints in her purse for later—his later, not hers. With her family history, she didn’t want anything to do with the stuff. He must have forgotten his little stash when the fifth of Jack, something else she very rarely touched, numbed his brain. When the party went past midnight, the neighbors called the police. They brought a K-9 cop with them and busted her for possession again.

In both cases, when she appeared before the judge, good ole Brett had been nowhere around.

Her grandmother took out a loan for a decent attorney, which on a fixed income she couldn’t afford, not after the recent expense of her grandfather’s hospital stay and funeral.

Yeah, she’d been going through a really rough patch at the time.

The lawyer earned his pay by getting the charges dropped if she agreed to a six-week intensive outpatient rehab program. Being the only actual teetotaler in treatment wasn’t a blast, but she’d done the time, gotten the certificate, and the charges were dropped. Unfortunately, the arrests still showed up on her record. Getting them expunged wasn’t something she or her nana had money for. She just had to hope future employers would accept her explanations and, in her current circumstance, the sheriff and Judge Peterson.

They might not see her sealed juvenile records, but it was unlikely they’d miss the rest. The judge might consider her a troublemaker, or a drug addict looking for money to score her next fix. Since it was his house, and his guests, he might take it personally and decide to teach her a lesson.

“Please,” she pleaded in a voice quivery with unshed tears. “I wouldn’t have gone through with it. I was suffering a guilty conscience and putting it back, I swear. I don’t do things like this, I promise.” The last word came out broken and raspy.

“She’s breaking my heart,” the necklace owner stated, looking on with a concerned expression. “The little gal can’t be much older than my daughter. I’d hate to see her go to jail.”

Thank goodness, the victim was a kind man and not set on vengeance.

“If you don’t want to press charges, what would you have me do with her, Morgan?” the sheriff asked.

“Ginny would probably let you lock her up; she’s rather fond of that necklace. But she seems remorseful, at least since she’s been caught. If she were mine, I’d turn her over my knee and give her a sound licking with my belt, and I wouldn’t let up until she learned never to do such a thing ever again.”

Yikes! Maybe not so kind after all.

“That gives me an idea,” Judge Peterson said.

“I’ll do anything, sir.”

“Are you sure, young lady? You haven’t heard my proposal yet.”

She nodded vehemently, convinced her life would be ruined if she didn’t go along with whatever he planned. “Anything is better than going to jail, sir. Please.”

The older man’s eyes shifted from her to the sheriff. “Are you contracted with anyone currently, Sam?”

He grunted again, something of a habit, apparently. “You’re not serious,” he replied.

“Why not? I think I recognize one of our own when I see her. She’s just untapped.”

Krista didn’t understand what they were referring to and how it involved her, but she watched as the judge turned to the other men, three in all since a younger man had joined their ranks.

“I’m available if he’s not,” the new arrival chimed in eagerly.

The tall man at her side tensed and all but snapped, “I didn’t say no, Geoffrey.”

Confused as to what they were discussing, other than it involved her, her gaze shifted over the group who held her fate in their hands. They were staring back at her with looks ranging from amusement (the blond, blue-eyed man with the boy-next-door good looks who appeared not much older than she did), to resolute (the judge), to curious (her affable victim). When she glanced up at Sheriff Golden, his expression was neutral though a little muscle jumped in his cheek.

“What do the rest of you think?” he asked. “It must be unanimous.”

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