Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) by Rebecca Carey Lyles

Laura lifted a finger. “I understand. You were tired and in pain. However, if he comes around again, you have to promise me you’ll call for help.”
    “I promise.”
    “And I promise to pray for your safety every night.”
    “Thank you. That’s really kind of you.”
    Laura began to unwind the vacuum cleaner cord. “My pleasure.”
    Kate felt a warm glow unfurl in her heart. Besides Aunt Mary and Amy, two more women had promised to pray for her—or keep her in their prunes, to quote Dymple Forbes. She bit her lip to contain the giggle that threatened to erupt.
    “Another thing …” Laura plugged the cord into a wall outlet. “Do you know who Tara was talking about? Is the man in jail the guy who broke into your cabin last night?”
    Kate shrugged. “How would she know about what happened here last night? And how does she know who’s in jail?”
    Laura grimaced. “You’d be surprised what that woman knows. She has a way of digging up news, especially bad news, then broadcasting it near and far.”
    Kate swallowed. Please, God, don’t let Tara find out about my time at Patterson.

Chapter Eight
     
    JERRY RAMSEY LAY MOTIONLESS on the jail-cell bunk, his back to the bars. His head throbbed like he’d been stomped by a bison. Hearing footsteps stop at his cell, he snarled through puffy lips. “What’re you staring at, bozo brain?”
    “I’m looking at an ugly drunk with an even uglier attitude.”
    “What would a backwoods hick like you know about a big word like attitude ?” Ramsey kicked the wall and swore when his bare toes slammed into a cement block.
    “Okay, wise guy. Here’s the deal.” The officer’s voice was hard. “You cooperate, we feed you. Keep up the smart-mouthing, you’ll go hungry.”
    “I’ve worked corrections. You can’t deny me food.”
    “Try me.”
    Ramsey rolled over. The sudden movement hurt, especially his face. He groaned, fingering his swollen cheek. Had a piece of bone chipped off? His knuckles felt stiff and raw. He couldn’t see out of his left eye. His tongue tasted like liverwurst and his big toe was about to burst. “I wanna talk to the chief.”
    The officer laughed. “Looks like Ol’ Henry tossed you and then tromped on your head.” He snorted. “Meanest bull on the rodeo circuit. You wouldn’t last half a second.”
    “I demand you take me to the chief.” Ramsey slammed his fist into the thin mattress, ignoring the pain. “Now!”
    “ Demand is not a word we respond to around here.”
    Though the officer’s voice carried no animosity, his cock-sure attitude cut to the core of Ramsey’s self-control. The first chance he had, he’d squeeze the jerk’s scrawny neck until he gave him the keys.
    “Neither is bozo brain . Try saying please , and you might get lunch.” He started to walk away but stopped. “You have a visitor.”
    A visitor? He didn’t know anyone in town. Maybe Neilson changed her mind, knowing it would cost her if she didn’t. He struggled upright. “You have a visitors’ room? Or does she come in here?”
    “Down the hall.” The officer lifted keys from his belt, slid one into the lock. “She moves fast.”
    Ramsey started to stand, but the pounding in his head knocked him back down. He cursed and tried again. This time slower. “What do you mean, fast ?”
    The officer opened the cell door. “Considering you pulled into town yesterday ...” He motioned for Ramsey to step into the hallway. “To your right.”
    Ramsey reached into the solitary pocket of his orange jumpsuit, but his comb wasn’t there. He spit into his palm and rubbed saliva across his disheveled Brylcreem helmet.
    “Give it up, man. She’s not worth the primping.”
    Ramsey ignored him.
    They halted before a gray metal door. The officer inserted a key.
    Ramsey heard a loud click as the door unlocked.
    They stepped inside. The overly bright but bare, bathroom-sized room reeked of sweat and frustrated testosterone. The officer pointed at a stool