All the Better to Love You With

Chapter 1

"Put your hands up!"

Was that a bullhorn? The cop's voice coming from behind Mandy Hood's car was extremely loud.

Why would he have followed her car into her grandmother's driveway? Why did he have to yell, given she was parked? He could've just walked up and used his regular voice. Besides, it was a gorgeous April day, so shouldn't he be checking out the local donut shop or something?

She had to see what this guy looked like, so she glanced into the rearview mirror while flipping her long hair out of her eyes. The officer's car with the lights going sat behind the little red convertible she drove. Both of the cop's doors hung open with guns peeking out between the car's body and the open door, aimed right in her direction.

Guns. Seriously?

I did nothing wrong, she yelled. You made me speed and I couldn't pull over after I saw your lights and heard your siren. Those things are loud, as is your bullhorn. I should sue you for breaking my eardrums.

Always turn it around and blame someone else. That was Mandy's motto. It'd worked in the past, so why not try it again?

Her cell phone rang. She leaned down and grabbed it from between the seats, checking the caller identification. A smile lifted her lips as she pressed talk and put it to her ear. Oscar. You missed me, didn't you? Her social life came first, not caring about the cops behind her. They certainly could wait.

Absolutely, Babe, Oscar said. Where are you? We're supposed to go out in an hour. You're not home and I need to know what to wear.

She glanced into the rearview mirror once more. I don't think I'll be able to meet you tonight.

What? We have a date.

Hang up the phone and drop your keys on the ground, the bullhorn bellowed. Get out of the car with your hands up. This is your last warning.

What was that? Oscar asked.

Mandy cleared her throat, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror once more. I'm bringing Granny Hood a birthday present.

Granny Hood? She lives way out west of Austin. You're there?

Yeah. I forgot to tell you I was coming out here. Granny's turning 72 today and I thought it'd be nice to visit her. Lookie…gotta run. Some cop thinks I'm cute or something. I'll put him in his place. Now, for tonight, wear that cool blue polo shirt and those new jeans you just bought. You'll look great. Then find someone else to date. You have my permission.

I do? He sounded like a kid in a candy store. Thank you, Red.

Red Riding Hood was her nickname, from her last name of Hood and her red hair.

Tootles. She ended the call, watching the action in the rearview mirror. She put down her phone and unbuckled her seatbelt. Once she opened her door and stood up, she turned toward the men, dropped the keys on the concrete driveway, and raised her hands. What's going on?

Turn around! the same male voice yelled, not using the bullhorn. He had a slight smooth southern accent, deep but sincere. She wondered if he was as handsome as his voice, suddenly knowing how she could get out of any ticket. She just had to flirt with this guy—once he came out from behind that door. She wanted to make him reconsider pulling in behind her car…well, Granny Peach's car—her other grandmother. Granny Peach lived near her parents' home in Dallas, while Granny Hood lived in this backward town of Angel Springs, west of Austin. Granny Hood was her dad's mother, and Mandy currently stood in the woman's driveway.

I said, turn around! the cop yelled. Are ya deaf?

Arrogance. She didn't like that one bit, handsome or not.

Her hands flew to her hips as she whipped her hair back from her face. I'm not deaf. I'm thinking. Why would I turn around? Are y'all going to shoot me in the back or something? I'd rather be shot in the front so I can see it coming.

A chuckle.

They were definitely two men. But they were laughing at her?

Put your hands up and turn around, the same voice yelled. We won't shoot unless you don't do what we tell you to do.

Fine. She rolled her eyes and lifted her arms a bit higher, her pink tank top showing off some of her stomach and skinny jeans. While trying not to fall off her pink stilettos, she inched around, turning her back toward the two men. Is this better? She was certain they were just checking her out.

All this for speeding? She hadn't even been going over the speed limit much, and wouldn't have been speeding at all if the cop hadn't been behind her, trying to pass.

Back up, the voice said.

Mandy took a few steps backward, her hands still in the air.

Good. Now get on your knees.

She turned her head so her voice would go over her shoulder. Do you want me to do the Hokey Pokey, too, while I'm at it?

Just get on your knees and lose the attitude. His voice came out as almost a snarl. Tough crowd.

Creep, she muttered as she knelt down slowly. This had better not scuff up my stilettos or you're going to pay for a new pair.

Don't worry. It's concrete and if you go slowly enough, they won't get scuffed.

Whose voice was that? It was different from the first—just a little bit higher in tone, with a bit less of an accent. That guy was probably married. No single man knew or cared about stilettos.

Now lie, face down, on the concrete. It was the first voice again, the hot southern arrogant one.

She turned her head slightly. "What? And get my hundred-dollar tank and two hundred dollar jeans dirty? I hope y'all have a dry cleaner close by. Besides, if you make me break a nail, I am suing."

You won't break a nail. Another chuckle. Just do what I ask and we won't shoot.

All for speeding to let you pass me by? she muttered. Man, this is one backward Texas town. Angel Springs isn't as nice a town as it sounds. She moved her hands to the concrete and carefully lay down on the hot pavement.

Put your hands out to the side and cross your ankles, the sensuous voice said.

She complied, trying to remember the phone number for her parent's lawyer. As soon as this misunderstanding was resolved, she was so letting that lawyer in on this problem.

Don't move. The voice got closer. We have guns trained on you.

Y'all take your speeders seriously down here, don't you? she asked.

Quiet. The hot southern voice was right behind her.

Her hands were pulled to her back, making her scream out in pain. Ow! You're a sadist! That hurts!

Quiet. You have the right to remain silent…

Mandy tuned him out as he slapped handcuffs onto her wrists. She'd seen enough cop shows on television to know her Miranda rights. Since he had a gun, she stayed quiet.

Are you done yet? she asked the man when he finished speaking.

Yep. Stand up.

How can I do that? With my hands behind my back, my balance is all messed up.

Strong hands gripped her elbows and pulled her to her feet, bringing her eye-to-eye with the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His short brown hair framed a handsome face and a pair of piercing blue eyes. The officer wore a badge pinned to his shirt, etched with the word 'Sheriff.' He still held onto her, but she didn't even care.

Wow. Speaking of being at the right place at the right time. Are you the sheriff? A grin lifted her lips. She could handle this guy and would probably be out of the cuffs in five minutes, if she could flirt right.

An older man stood to the good-looking man's right. He was probably the man who'd commented on her stilettos because he looked married. She glanced down. Yep. Wedding ring. But no ring on the sheriff's hand. Good.

The handsome man nodded toward the red convertible. Deputy, search her car. I'll hold onto this one.

So you're the sheriff? she asked Mr. Hot Southern Man, leaning closer. You didn't answer me before.

He took a step backward. Yes. You need to stay quiet. I don't make small talk with prisoners.

What an insult. I'm not a prisoner. What am I being charged with?

He raised one finger at a time for each charge with his free hand, since his other hand held her elbow. Grand theft auto, speeding, evading arrest, and answering a phone call when you were supposed to obey an officer of the law. He pointed toward the red convertible. This isn't your car. His slight Texas accent made her realize she wasn't in Dallas anymore. She and her family were originally from Iowa, but she'd picked up the phrase 'y'all' to fit in.

Mandy let the charge sink in. Answering a phone call? Is that even an offense?

No, but it tells me you have no respect for the law. Do you have any weapons or anything that would hurt me in your pockets?

No. My pockets are empty.

Let me just find out. He patted her down, still talking while his deputy watched. Little lady, we do have rules down here and no matter where y'all think you're from, you're not gettin' away with any of this in my area. Do you understand?

She bit her lips, wanting to laugh at him. When he found out how rich her family was, he'd change his tone.

The door to the small home opened and Granny Hood headed out to the porch, using her walker. Dressed in an outdated blue paisley dress and tan slippers with messy gray hair, the old woman looked like she'd just awakened. Mandy wouldn't be caught dead looking like that, even in private.

What's going on here? Granny Hood asked. Whatcha doing with my granddaughter?

The sheriff made Mandy take a step forward, with his hand on her elbow. Edna, ma'am. This young lady. He nodded toward Mandy. Is she your granddaughter?

Yes, she is, Sheriff Wolfe. Granny Hood walked down the two stairs of her front porch, catching her breath when she reached the bottom. Why are you here?

This was the oddest thing Mandy had ever experienced. Her grandmother knew the sheriff? Did she know him because she'd been taken into custody, too? Mandy studied the woman's appearance and expression. No way. She was as honest as the day was long.

You know him? Mandy asked her grandmother.

Sheriff Wolfe sighed. We used to go to the same church when I lived out here, but I haven't seen Edna for a long time.

Why are you here? Granny Hood asked Mandy.

It's your birthday. I borrowed Granny Peach's car to bring you a birthday present. She lets me drive it because she says my car embarrasses her. Mandy nodded to the back seat of the car. That picnic basket is for you. I wanted to get you something you could use and not something you'd just have to dust.

Such a thoughtful granddaughter, Granny Hood said with a smile. Thank you, Amanda.

Can you get him to let me go? Mandy whispered to her grandmother. Since you know him and all?

Granny Hood glanced up at Sheriff Wolfe's face. I'm sure it's a misunderstanding.

The sheriff darted his eyes toward Mandy before returning to her grandmother. We have to charge her with stealing this car, at least. She didn't even pull over when my lights and sirens were going, but sped up.

Mandy? Granny Hood asked. Her voice was strict and Mandy knew she was heading for trouble.

She bit her lips, knowing she had to tread lightly. There was no place to pull over, or I'd have gone down into a deep ditch and probably rolled the car. So I drove here and pulled in, trying to let him pass. I didn't know he wanted to talk to me. What else was I to do?

Granny stared at the sheriff. Brad…I mean Sheriff Wolfe, what do you think?

Mandy thought it over for a split second. Brad? She watched the sheriff. You're Brad Wolfe? Does that mean you're the Big Bad Wolf? My nickname is Red Riding Hood. This is hilarious. What big eyes you—

Quiet, he said with a sigh.

This was just too weird, making her chuckle. She'd even brought her granny a picnic basket. The only thing she didn't have was the red-caped hood over her head, but her hair would do the trick.

Granny Hood went to the side of the car, where the deputy had placed the picnic basket on the back. Let me see that. She opened the lid, her wrinkled face breaking into a smile. You remembered. She lifted her eyes to the sheriff. She brought me homemade bread, jam, and peanut butter, along with some banana bread and apple bread with apple butter. You have to stop over later and taste this. You'd love how Mandy cooks. She's single, too.

Mandy wanted to protest because the sheriff was so hateful, but knew her grandmother would keep trying to fix her up. Besides, if she did argue, she'd probably end up admitting she didn't actually make any of those items.

Mandy had bought all of it in specialty stores. For most of it, she'd removed the plastic wrappers, and had rewrapped the items in colored cellophane. For the jam and apple butter, she put the stuff in mason jars, affixing them with homemade labels. The peanut butter stayed in its regular container—she'd get caught lying about making that stuff. Regardless, she wasn't about to tell her grandmother she'd cheated. The woman had tons of money in the bank, but few people knew it. Granny Hood was the type of person who remembered details, rewarding those who were nice to her. She also didn't like deception and lying was just that.

Besides, Mandy just had to get on Granny Hood's good side, to get her money when she died. The picnic basket was meant to do the trick, but her plan wasn't quite going as well as she'd hoped, thanks to the mean old sheriff.

Single or not, the sheriff said, his hand still on Mandy's arm. This little cook has to go to jail. He inched Mandy closer to his car.

Call Dad, Mandy yelled, while being hauled off toward the sheriff's car. Happy birthday, Granny Hood.

Thank you and thank you for the present.

My clothes are in the trunk, she shouted to her grandmother. I don't think I'll be in jail for long and then we'll celebrate. I'll take you out for dinner.

We'll just see about that, Sheriff Wolfe said. After opening the back door of the sheriff's car, he helped her inside. He pulled the seatbelt over her, buckled it, and shut the door.

Anger seeped through her. She'd been treated like a common criminal when she'd done nothing wrong. She wasn't a criminal and didn't deserve to be handcuffed or treated badly. She couldn't even try to flirt her way out of the situation from behind the metal barrier, just making her angry.

She glanced down at her pink stilettos, which now were scuffed, revealing black plastic under the pink color. She couldn't believe how cheap they looked, considering she'd paid over $300 for them.

Mr. Hot Southern Man was in so much trouble. She didn't care how handsome he was. He was going to pay.

~~~~~

Chapter 2

After ordering Mandy to change into an ugly bright orange jumpsuit, the sheriff locked Mandy in a jail cell with bars on all sides. The sheriff's office building was tiny with just two cells in the small room. The décor reminded her of a famous television show about a sheriff from the 1960s. She loved old television shows, wondering if this sheriff was just as backward as the sheriff in that fictional town.

Sheriff Wolfe sat down at his desk, propped up his feet, and opened the newspaper.

Hey, Mandy said. What do you think you're doing? Shouldn't you be out hunting for criminals?

Brad never moved his hands from the newspaper. I already have the criminal in my jail cell.

I can't be the only one you consider a criminal in this town. When can I post bail? I'm sure my parents are heading here right now to get me out of this horrible place.

He seemed so nonchalant with his face buried in the newspaper. Your parents aren't happy. Since it's Saturday, Judge Wilkins has today off and won't be back until Monday. This was a bad day to commit a crime, Red Riding Hood, because now you have to listen to the Big Bad Wolf and keep quiet. He chuckled as he turned the page of the newspaper.

So you're babysitting me?

Yep. He grabbed a soda on the desk and took a sip. I'll be here making sure you don't break out of jail while Deputy Hawkins is out on the beat with Deputy Owens. We consider you a serious threat and don't want you to escape.

"Me? Break out? You consider me a threat, when you're the bad wolf? I'm an innocent bystander. I did nothing wrong. Why would I try to break out and add more charges to my rap sheet?" She knew if she had the chance, though, she'd try to get out and call for help.

You're hardly an innocent bystander, according to Penelope Peach.

Penelope Peach was her other grandmother who lived in Dallas. She was also the owner of the sweet red convertible.

The sheriff turned another page of his newspaper. I have a feeling your life's gonna change drastically once your parents get here. He chuckled. I can hardly wait to see it.

She crossed her arms. What are you talking about?

Nothin'. He returned to his newspaper, leaving her to brood in silence.

She hated the quiet and hated being bored. When do I get lunch?

He didn't move his gaze from his newspaper. When Mabel decides to bring it.

Who's Mabel?

The owner of the restaurant next door.

Yum. Can I order—

No. He seemed so calm, his paper interesting him more than her conversation. Prisoners get what they're given and should be happy for it. I think she brings over whatever hits the trash can. He chuckled, but Mandy knew better. Anyone named Mabel wouldn't be the type to bring trash food to a prisoner.

Her day wasn't going well at all. She shouldn't even be in this jail cell.

Maybe she needed to flirt with the man. Has anyone told you that you really do have big eyes? She used the most seductive voice she could muster.

Yep. He turned the page again. You can't expect me to fall for that and say, 'all the better to see you with.' I'm not that type of man. I also don't flirt, so don't start with me. It'll just tick me off more.

Foiled plan. She had to rethink this, so she paced the floor of the cramped cell. You know, if I have to use the restroom, you'd be able to see me. I don't think my lawyer would like that.

He kept reading. No, he probably wouldn't. Lucky for him, you have a folding wall you can pull out in front of the toilet. Feel free to use the facilities if you need to. You'll have all the privacy you need, so you can't get out for that reason, either.

A wall?

He turned a page in the paper again. Yep. The church installed them to provide privacy for the prisoners. It wraps around from the wall. Just like you were allowed to change into that jumpsuit alone, you can be alone with the toilet. He chuckled. There must've been something funny in the paper.

Foiled again. She needed a reason to get out.

He glanced toward her. You can stop thinking so hard, too, because there's no way you'll be released until I'm given the go-ahead from the judge, and—

He's on vacation, she said, in unison with his voice.

I remember, she said. This sheriff was something else.

Just take a nap or something and no one will bug you. You won't be alone, so don't worry about burning in a fire or anything.

She paced again. Now you know I'll worry.

Don't. You'll have babysitters.

She was 27 years old and he thought she needed a babysitter? Her life was going downhill fast.

Mandy sat down on the thin mattress, the bed creaking under her. She'd have a sore back by morning if she slept on that mattress. She opened her mouth…

It's comfortable, the sheriff said.

…and she clamped her mouth shut again.

The sheriff continued. I've slept on that mattress myself when working long nights. You'll be fine.

Could he read her mind? She really didn't like Brad Wolfe.

You know, she said. I think you're being cruel to your inmates. I'm bored in here and I'm hungry. I should sue the city for cruel and unusual punishment or something. She crossed her arms. I'm not happy and you need to be fired. She was on a roll, not relenting. You scuffed up my new stilettos, I have scrapes on my hands, and my $200 jeans looked like they might be ready to rip. I can't believe you put me—

Brad folded the paper, put it on the desk, and put his feet on the floor, silencing Mandy. From his expression, she'd gone too far. Her cheeks heated up as she watched him. She just wanted to talk to someone, but maybe he didn't take too kindly to her complaints.

Sheriff Wolfe opened his desk drawer and pulled out a thick roll of gray duct tape. After slamming the drawer shut, he stood up and walked over to the jail cell. With slow deliberate motions, he peeled off the end of the tape and pulled out a lengthy strip, his eyes moving from the duct tape to her lips.

What are you doing? she almost whispered.

Measuring your mouth to silence you.

Is that legal?

He shrugged. Don't rightly care. It's more humane than shootin' ya dead.

Wow. That sounded a bit extreme. Why? Don't you like to talk to people?

Not when I'm working. He pulled out his keys, fished for the right one, and stuck it into the lock, stopping to watch her. Are you gonna be quiet, or do you want this tape over your mouth?

Mandy was tempted to choose the tape and have him arrested for assault. Of course, that meant she'd have to remove the very sticky tape, probably pulling her skin off with it. She didn't like pain.

While weighing her options, she sighed. I'll be quiet.

Lunch will be here soon and then you can take a nap. Your parents won't be here until at least tomorrow or even Monday.

Dread filled her thoughts. She had to endure this jail cell even longer? How long have you known that?

He lowered his eyes down over her. Since you changed into that designer jumpsuit. Now keep it quiet. I'm fixin' to take a nap, too. He pulled the key out of the lock, rewrapped the tape, and went back to his seat. After putting the tape on his desk and propping up his feet once again, he leaned back, covered his face with his Stetson, and crossed his arms, as if he was going to sleep.

Nothing could be worse than this. The huge room was so quiet and he was so unfeeling. Big Brad Wolfe was the perfect name for him. She wondered if he was the type to hurt people like the wolf did in the fairytale. If his hateful smirk was any indication, it probably was true. She just didn't trust him one bit.

Mandy fell onto the bed, thinking about her current predicament. She was an upbeat, positive person, so she needed to put a good spin on this situation. Even so, she couldn't view her current circumstances in a good light. Why would her parents wait until Monday to come to Angel Springs? It wasn't that far of a drive, maybe three or four hours. Surely they'd come to get their youngest daughter out of jail that same day or at least visit her. They had money, so they should be able to force some judge to release her.

Mandy lay down on the squeaky mattress, trying to get comfortable. No matter what she tried, it wasn't working. The lumpy mattress couldn't compare to her waterbed. She could only imagine who'd slept on this smelly old mattress. It probably had bedbugs, too. If she got one bite from a bug, she was suing.

Mandy got out of the bed and sat on the wooden bench. Why would Granny Peach report her car stolen? Mandy drove her car because Granny Peach wanted her to drive it.

Mandy only had two cars to choose from—Granny Peach's red convertible or the rickety blue car Mandy had bought when she turned 25. The blue car was a four-door rundown sedan that needed too much work to make it worth her while. She didn't make enough to buy a new car from what Granny Peach paid her to take care of her, and Mandy didn't feel right asking her dad for a car. So Granny Peach asked her to drive the convertible. No, she actually demanded Mandy should drive it, to keep up appearances. Why would that woman ever report it as stolen? Mandy had even left her a note, explaining where she'd be.

It was probably a misunderstanding and she'd be back in Dallas at Granny Peach's home before long. Then she could hang out with Oscar and her other friends—her 'peeps'—and all would be well again. But for now, she had to endure the Big Bad Wolf.

She peeked out from between the metal bars, thinking of it as her cage. Brad seemed to be asleep, making her consider breaking out. Her nails were long and she was certain she could pick a lock with them, since she'd applied hardening liquid to them. She had to try, just to call Granny Peach to straighten out this mess. The woman had better be wearing her hearing aids or it'd be a wasted call.

Mandy stood up, and while keeping her eyes on the Big Bad Wolf, she stuck her long French-tipped fingernail into the lock to open it.

It won't work, Brad said, his eyes still shut. You have to have the key.

She pulled her fingernail out of the lock and put her hands behind her back. What are you talking about?

The lock. Once he removed his hat from his face, he took his feet off the desk and stood up. It's designed never to open without the key. With a slow saunter, he headed toward her.