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mind my asking, that is.”
    “You ever heard that song about the guy driving by his house and seeing some stranger living his life?” the deputy asked. “That’s me. He’s got my house, my wife and kids, even my dog. While I was working the night shift, trying to support my family, she was two-timing me. When all was said and done, the only thing I got was my pickup truck, and I owe payments on that.”
    Tucker lifted a dark eyebrow. “Surely you get to see your kids.”
    “Every other weekend, but it’s getting so they don’t want to come anymore. I don’t have much to offer them for entertainment. I can’t even afford a pizza.” He huffed in disgust.
    Samantha’s heart hurt for the deputy. She knew how it felt to trust someone and be betrayed. At least she and Steve hadn’t had children.
    “Not all marriages end that way,” Tucker said. “My parents have been together for forty years.”
    “They’re lucky,” the deputy replied. “Damn lucky. Nowadays marriages are like cars: not made to last.”
    Samantha agreed with that sentiment. The only way she would ever say “I do” again was with a gun pressed to her head.
    The deputy braked to make a right turn into the sheriff’s department parking lot.
    “Well,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “It looks like we’re here.”
    Tucker gave her a sharp look. “Don’t let them put you in a cell with anyone else,” he said. “Chances are we won’t be here very long, but just in case, it’s better to be locked up alone.”
    “You think we have vacancies?” The deputy collected his hat and settled it back on his head. “I’ll see what I can do, but don’t count on it being much. The place is packed tighter than a can of sardines.”
    Samantha turned her gaze to the cinder-block building, painted icky government green. The only jails she’d ever seen had been in movies. “If they try to put you in with someone else, raise holy hell,” Tucker stressed.
    That was all he had time to say. The next second, another male deputy emerged from the building, the rear doors of the vehicle were jerked open, and she was seized by the elbow to be pulled unceremoniously from the car.

Chapter Three
    T he inside of the sheriff’s department was a bustle of confused activity, with uniformed officers, both male and female, hurrying about, looking harried and exhausted. “Rodeo Days” was a muttered refrain in much the same tone as one might say, “Black plague.” Tucker lost sight of Samantha Harrigan in the blur of moving bodies. He hoped she was having a better time of it than he was. He also hoped she remembered his warning and insisted on being given an unoccupied cell. As crowded as this place was, God only knew what kind of person she might get stuck with.
    A few minutes later Tucker was led into an interior office, relieved of the handcuffs, and told to have a seat. “Aren’t you going to lock me up?” he asked the stocky male deputy.
    “No room.” The man smoothed a hand over his gray hair. His uniform looked as if he’d slept in it. “All one hundred and forty-one cells are packed full. Never fails. Rodeo Days brings ’em crawling out of the woodwork.” He sighed and shook his head. “We’re working on gettingthe charges against you dropped. The drunk can’t keep his story straight, and the woman is developing a shiner, corroborating her story that the man slugged her.”
    Sanity, at last. Tucker sat back on the chair, rubbing his wrists. “If she hadn’t fallen against the horse, he would have decked her. What was I supposed to do, let him hit her again?”
    “Between you, me, and a fence post, I would have jumped in, too.” The deputy jabbed a thumb at a coffee machine along the wall. “Java’s free. While you’re waiting, help yourself. Just don’t put your feet on the boss’s desk. It really pisses him off.”
    Tucker took that to mean he was in the head honcho’s office. After the deputy exited, taking care to lock