Authors: Olivia Jaymes
Tags: #Romance, #Western, #Contemporary, #Erotica, #Sheriff
Imperfect Justice
Cowboy Justice Association
Book Six
By Olivia Jaymes
IMPERFECT JUSTICE
Copyright © 2015 by Olivia Jaymes Kindle Edition
Cover art by Sloan Winters
Print ISBN: 978-0-9861029-1-2
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
For my amazing and wonderful editor Mary. Thank you
.
Chapter One
S
heriff Jared Monroe was a man who could handle his whiskey. He rarely got drunk even in high school. He had good memories of when he and his friends would sneak six-packs from their parents. Partying out in the middle of nowhere, drinking beer and sitting on the tailgates of their trucks on a Friday night after the big game.
He’d never had a hangover in his entire thirty-nine years.
But he probably would tomorrow morning.
He was sitting in Larry’s Beer and Barbecue, known to the locals of Fielding as the B&B. The bar was a typical honky tonk dive with a scarred oak dance floor, a jukebox, and neon signs. The delicious aroma of smoked meat kept the place from smelling like beer and sweat which was a plus as far as he was concerned. It was also the only bar in Fielding, which naturally made it the hangout for those over twenty-one who weren’t into the fancy coffees served at the shop on the corner of Main and Maple.
Jared had been drinking for the last few hours and generally feeling like hell. For someone who prided himself on keeping his life on an even kilter and controlling the chaos he’d done a piss-poor job of things lately.
“Another, Sheriff?” Larry the owner and sometime bartender held up the whiskey bottle, the golden-brown liquid already half empty.
Jared lifted his glass and slapped it on the worn and scratched wooden bar. “Yes, another. The night is still young, Larry.”
The older man nodded in sympathy and re-filled Jared’s highball glass. “I heard about your dad. Someone said he had an accident. Is he okay now? Tough thing to have happen so soon after your mom.”
Jared’s mother had unexpectedly passed away from a heart attack not quite two months ago and the pain of losing her was still acute. She’d been the anchor of the Monroe family with her easy-going manner and common sense. She’d certainly been the only person that had ever been able to handle Jared’s father.
Gerald Rhinehart Monroe, the patriarch of the Monroe family and owner of one of the largest ranches in Montana or Wyoming was something of a legend in these parts. People either loved or hated Gerald Monroe. Jared had vacillated between the two emotions through the years but mostly he loved his father.
But he always respected the man.
Tougher than nails with the temperament of a rattler, Gerald Monroe had left the Army but the Army had never left Gerald. He’d raised all four of his children with two things in mind.
Discipline and control.
Those two things had been conspicuously absent in Gerald since his beloved Rita had passed. He’d taken her death hard and his behavior had become increasingly erratic in the last several weeks culminating in the accident that had landed him in the hospital.
“He wrenched his back when he overturned the ATV. He’s got a few bumps and bruises too. He’s resting comfortably the doctor says. Of course Dad is screaming to come home. Hates being in the hospital. Says they’re trying to kill him.”
Gerald had said it loudly as he’d tried to understand why he was in the hospital with only minor injuries. The hospital staff had been forced to sedate the seventy year old man while the doctor had explained to Jared that there was more wrong with his father than a bad back and a few contusions.
These outbursts had become more and more common in a man that had always been known for his icy control. Rita Monroe, Jared, and his siblings had begged his father to see a doctor but Gerald had snorted in derision at the mere idea. He’d only been sick a few times in his whole damn life.
Now this doctor was telling Jared that Gerald Monroe, the larger than life man that had raised him and built a ranching empire, had Alzheimer’s.
Larry chuckled and wiped down the bar. “Don’t blame old Gerald. Don’t much like hospitals myself. Seems like a depressing place to put sick people. When’s he coming home?”
Jared knocked back the double-shot of whiskey and savored the burn all the way to his belly before placing the glass in front of Larry again. Larry re-filled the glass and then returned to cleaning the bar. The room tilted slightly and then spun before righting itself but Jared didn’t give a shit. Right now he didn’t want to feel or think and the bottom of a bottle of alcohol seemed a good place to start.
“In a few days. The doctor told him he needs to take it easy for awhile. He also suggested that Dad should lose a few pounds. Cut back on butter and meat. Stuff like that.”
“Damn,” Larry sputtered. “Poor man. I don’t think I’d want to live that way. I bet your old man feels the same. Doctors don’t know shit anyway. They tell you one thing is bad for you and then later say it’s okay. My grandpa ate eggs, bacon, and toast with butter every damn morning of his life and lived to be ninety-five so don’t tell me that doctors know what’s best. Your old man is so stubborn, hell, he’ll outlive us all.”
It didn’t look like that would be the case.
People came in and out of the bar, some slapping Jared on the back, joining him for a drink, and asking about the old man. Some warily kept their distance either because of something illegal they’d done or because they were thinking of doing something illegal. Tonight Jared was off duty and didn’t give a shit as the time ticked away. By the time the whiskey bottle was almost empty, Larry was pointing to the clock.
“It’s late, Sheriff and I think you’ve had enough. Want me to call Royce or Ty?”
Jared had no idea where his older brother Royce was and his younger brother Ty had gone into Bozeman earlier and wasn’t expected until morning. Digging into his pocket, he tossed a wad of bills on the bar, enough to cover the booze plus a nice tip. Larry had been decent company this evening, not asking too many questions about why the normally sober, upstanding sheriff was getting sloppy drunk.
“Just call me a cab.” Jared carefully got to his feet, ignoring the dizzy feeling in his head, and shrugged on his coat. “I could use some air. I’ll wait outside.”
Larry was already reaching for the phone as Jared pushed open the front door. The bitter cold of a Montana winter slapped him in the face but he’d drunk too much to sober up from a blast of wind. He stumbled to the bench in front of the bar and sat down, staring at the deserted streets of Fielding.
Pretty much everyone who had any sense was in bed or at least in their own homes, warm and protected. Not that Jared minded the solitude. Normally he enjoyed the quiet when he could let his mind rest and think about things. But tonight he didn’t want to think about anything. That’s why he’d been drinking, hoping to blank his memory if only for a few hours.
It hadn’t worked and he wouldn’t try it again.
For now he’d wait for his taxi and try not to think about all the things he had to do tomorrow, like tell his family that his father’s accident was the least of his problems. That life would never be the same for any of them.
It seemed that it didn’t matter what a man did or didn’t do, right or wrong, evil or good.
Misty Foster turned down the car radio as she drove past the “Welcome to Fielding” sign that sat at the outskirts of the little town. She’d been driving for hours in a vehicle that had seen better days, coming home from a gallery showing in Seattle. She was exhausted after several busy days and all she wanted was to crawl between the sheets of her bed and sleep for the next twenty-four hours straight. It had taken an extra couple of hours due to the crappy weather but the sky had cleared as she’d neared her destination. Now the issue was the rapidly dropping temperature. It was going to be another cold Montana night.
Swinging onto the main drag through town, she slowed her vehicle down to the posted twenty-five miles per hour. She didn’t think anyone would be out in cold like this but she’d seen a stray dog or deer run across the street more than once.
Squinting and craning her neck to get a better look, Misty spied a figure who sat slumped on the bench in front of the B&B, not moving and possibly frozen to death. The flashing sign on the bank across the street said it was twelve-fifteen in the morning and six degrees. It wouldn’t take long for some poor drunk to get frostbite or hypothermia or whatever people got when it was this darn cold.
Groaning, she gingerly stepped on the brake, inwardly wondering at the wisdom of stopping, and pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of the B&B. She’d never be able to get to sleep until she knew this person was warm and safe so there was no point in driving on.
Shoving open the car door the bitter cold hit her immediately. She grabbed her gloves from her pockets and pulled them on after buttoning up her coat all the way to her neck. Her knitted hat had fallen somewhere in the back seat and she didn’t have time to look for it. Hopefully she wouldn’t be out in the cold air long.
Misty carefully navigated the icy parking lot and approached the figure who was now clearly a large man who had his hat pulled down over his face to protect it from the wind. She reached out her hand and touched his shoulder.
“Um, sir? Are you okay? It’s too cold to be sitting outside.” A gloved hand reached up for the brim of his hat, pushing it away from his face. The cheeks were red from the cold but she recognized the handsome man instantly. Sheriff Jared Monroe. “Sheriff, are you sick?”
A quick glance over her shoulder told her his SUV was in the parking lot. Had he been on his way to the vehicle and perhaps fallen on the ice and injured himself?
