Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.
You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.
Click here
Everyone sat silently for an entire minute.
"What is the next case?" Judger Horner asked the court recorder.
"The People versus Lillian Horner. The charge is excessive speed within town limits."
"Is the accused present?"
Lillian, breathing deeply to control her temper, called out sarcastically, "I'm here, Uncle Jack."
"That's Judge Horner, or Your Honor, defendant."
Lillian bit back the remark she really wanted to make, and responded instead, "Yes... your honor."
"That's better. Do you have counsel?"
"Jack Horner, junior, is on vacation, your honor, and he's the only lawyer in town," Lillian said in what she hoped was a reasonable tone. She never remembered a time when she had seen Uncle Jack with his blue eyes sparkling with less than jolly humor behind the little round gold-wire-rimmed glasses; they were now looking quite severe.
"So you are waiving your right to counsel and representing yourself?"
"Do I have a choice," Lillian asked with what she hoped was meek hopefulness.
"Well, I can remand you to the sheriff's custody for three days until Lawyer Horner gets back, or we can go ahead."
Lillian glared at him. Worse yet was Gladys struggling over her recorder not to smirk. Spending a couple of days in the one jail cell with the sheriff as company? She had a bad feeling about this. What had that cruddy sheriff talked everyone in to? If he was trying to force her to go on a date, she'd put Ex-Lax in his next slice of chocolate cake. Given Uncle Jack's look, she wouldn't put it past the sheriff to do it. The diner would fall apart if she wasn't there; she couldn't afford it. "I'll represent myself."
The judge nodded. "Recorder so note. Now at 5:40 a.m. yesterday, June 17th, you were detected by a town radar-equipped police car in a 1983 Dodge pickup truck registered to you doing 59 miles an hour in a 35 mile per hour zone. How do you plead?"
The sheriff stirred uneasily in his seat. He had used his discretion. Lillian had actually been going faster than that, and technically, he had finally gotten her to stop when the speed limit had changed to 30. Otherwise he would have had to arrest her immediately and he had not wanted to face that particular confrontation.
She groped for anything she had ever heard or seen in any television or movie courtroom she had seen. "Your... honor, since we are related, don't you have to excuse yourself, or something like that?"
Uncle Jack puffed out his upper lip and regarded her dispassionately. "That's 'recuse,' defendant. And I could do that; if you wanted to be remanded to the sheriff's custody until I could persuade one of the surrounding town justices to mosey on over and hear the case."
"No," she responded promptly and sourly.
"Though that was good, for not being a trained lawyer and all. I may have to tell junior to look out for the competition."
"The diner is sufficient... your honor." If Lillian's voice had been any chillier, the judge would have had frost on his bushy eyebrows.
"So we come back to how do you plead?"
She couldn't take it anymore, and burst out, "Everyone in town knows I tend to rush in to work in the morning!"
"Do you really want to bring to the court's attention that this is essentially a repeat offense?"
She bit her lip. "No, your honor." And to herself she added, and from now on I'm charging you for the al a mode on your blueberry pie, Wednesday lunchtime after the stupid Rotary meeting.
"Very well. And you knew you were speeding?"
By this time Lillian was sure that pointing out that the speedometer in her truck hadn't worked in the last twelve years would be a mistake, said, "Yes, your honor."
"Okay. The plea can be guilty or not guilty."
Lillian gave up. She needed to get back to the diner. She'd pay the stupid fine and get this over with. "Guilty, your honor. I throw myself on the mercy of the court," she added with just a touch of sarcasm.
The judge nodded. "Recorder, so note the plea. I will render sentence so we can all get back to work. Will the defendant please rise."
Huffing, Lillian stood up, planning exactly how she was going to glare at the sheriff as she stomped out of the room.
"Mindful of the contrition of the defendant, her standing in the community, etc., etc., this court sentences her to four hours of community service."
Lillian glared at him and thought, if this is something stupid like washing and waxing your car, I will give every kid in school a free sundae for covering your entire house in toilet paper.
"Said service to be going to dinner tonight. Said service to be supervised by the sheriff. That is all. Court stands adjourned."
Lillian gaped at the bench, stunned beyond words. She spun around, ready to risk another ticket to vent her outrage on Cameron Holden.
But the look of horrified embarrassment on his own face stopped her dead. No man was that good an actor. Their eyes met and his shouted, 'please believe I had NOTHING to do with this.' Lillian immediately thought of Gladys' smirk, Tam's remark, Gina's arguing, Ben's comment, and, well everything everyone in town had said or done in the past week. With perfect clarity, she suddenly understood that while the sheriff may have some misguided interest in her personally, this wasn't about him trying to hijack her; it was the entire town trying to hijack both them. She took a deep breath. Alright, she would play along, show how much everyone else was wrong, and how wrong they were for each other, and then maybe he would go bother Jodi or Sonya. Though she admitted she would kind of miss the flirting. "Pick me up at 6:00. And I have to be back by 10:00, I need a good night's sleep if I'm not going to be rushing into town in the morning to open the diner." With that, with what dignity she could muster, she swept out of the tiny courtroom.
The judge caught the look on the sheriff's face and banged his gavel. "It would be terrible precedent, son, for this court to have to cite a law enforcement officer for contempt."
Cam glowered at him. Gladys had fled the room, though Cam could hear the laughter just before the door shut behind her. The corners of the judge's lips were tweaking upward. He surrendered to authority. "Yes; so noted, your honor." Clutching the rags of his own dignity, he, too, left the courtroom.
CHAPTER 8 -- Final confrontation
That evening Cam pulled in to Lillian's driveway and parked just behind her pickup. Taking some deep breaths to help him work up his nerve, he reflected he would rather be charging Taliban bunkers again than face Lillian like this. He had wanted to go out with her, but not this way. This was like holding a gun to someone's head. And he had no idea how to broach certain - subjects - with her, or if she would be in any frame of mind to listen after their mutual humiliation just a couple of hours ago. And he was in civvies, which made him uncomfortable. He had worn uniforms most of his life; from being a Tiger Cub in the Boy Scouts, as a student in Catholic grade school, through ROTC in college, then in the military, and now in law enforcement. He knew that grossly casual meant jeans and a tee shirt, and that formal meant the suit in his closet which he wore to funerals and other serious family events; in between he was so lost he asked Mrs. Oaks to look at his clothes and pick something... which she had done without a single remark, or so much as a smile.
He got out of the car and walked to the door, muttering possible greetings under his breath, trying to find one that might keep him from getting shot on sight. He looked around as he got up on the porch. He was sure that some curtains in nearby windows twitched as his gaze swept across them. From the smirks and chuckles which had followed him all afternoon he was sure the entire town was in on this.
With a quick glance at his watch to assure himself it was 6:00 and not one minute before, he resolutely pressed the doorbell and fought unsuccessfully to keep his face from coloring. He had no idea what....
The door opened and Lillian stood there. She was in green slacks, and wore a white blouse buttoned nearly to her throat. She regarded him coldly.
"You look great," he managed to say.
Her mouth twitched. "You lie like a perfect gentleman. You better come in before the neighbors complain about their dinners getting cold while they watch. I'll be ready in a minute."
He entered the house and she shut the door. The noise seemed unnaturally loud. Force of habit caused his eyes to scan the room as if it were a crime scene. It was neat and clean, seemed to be decorated in what his mother had always called 'earth tones,' but which he never understood, and had a faint scent of Potpourri which he couldn't place.
Lillian disappeared into a doorway... and he stood resolutely riveted to the spot. He noted somewhat sourly that he felt like he had in Afghanistan the time he had realized he had blundered into a minefield. He had no idea at all what might get him in trouble, and what might help him survive the evening. Lillian came back out into the living room, now wearing a loose necklace of black and green beads, and putting in a pair of small colorful ear rings.
"Are you going to tell me how you manage to change out the flower every morning at the diner?" she said, walking across the room to turn off a lamp.
Cam screwed up his face in concentration, and started to say something when Lillian interrupted.
"Do NOT play dumb with me. This is infuriating enough as it is."
He appeared to consider his options and decided on a cautious, "My father was an amateur magician. He taught me some sleight of hand." A grin struggled valiantly to free itself from the masterfully controlled straight face as he added, "It mostly came in handy when mom served broccoli for dinner."
Fighting not to be amused, Lillian tried to glare at him, hands on hips.
"If I tell you, won't that take some of the mystery and romance out of life," he asked. As soon as the word 'romance' made it past his lips, he knew he had overstepped a boundary, because Lillian's mock severe expression hardened imperceptibly into an honestly severe expression.
"Mystery I can live with," Lillian managed to force out between gritted teeth. "Romance is something I do without, thank you, so oblige me by forgetting any misguided attraction you might think you have for me."
"Everyone deserves a little romance; you more than most."
Lillian stared at his earnestly sincere smile and part of her noted, somewhat sadly, that it would be hard to watch him driving by with Jodi or Sonya beside him; or have them come in for lunch at the diner. The automatic defense mechanism she had perfected for herself the last three years shot back, "Can I get you to arrest yourself for harassment?"
"Only if you can swear in court that you ever told me to never ask you again, and I kept asking," he responded evenly.
Gaping at him, all of the date requests flickered through her mind like a flashback sequence at a cheap drive-in; she really had never told him to not ask her again. Why not? To pretend, just for a second, that someone might really want her? "So if I tell you not to ask again, you won't, and you'll go after Jodi or Sonya?" she said, slowly.
Restless fingers curled and uncurled. "No, I won't ask you again. And, no, I won't ask anyone else. I'll just wait for you to change your mind."
Staring at him, she could feel her pulse pounding in her temples. This wasn't going the way she had planned, and here he was standing in her living room, looking big and strong and handsome - and utterly calm as she fought to keep from yelling and giving her neighbors an earful of gossip for the next six months. Latent hysteria churning her stomach, she almost pleaded with him. "Why are you picking on me?" He started to answer, but she cut him off with shrill snarl. "And if you say anything about how beautiful I am, I'll hit you with a lamp, so help me."
His eyes gathered hers up again patiently and stole them away. "Have you ever done the tuning fork experiment?"
"Tuning fork?" Lillian was lost and confused now, and tempted to hit him with the end table lamp anyway.
He nodded. "Hold two different tuning forks side by side but not touching. Strike one so it vibrates and hold it close to the other fork - which will just sit there and do nothing. But hold two identical tuning forks side by side, and strike one, and the other one will just start humming with joy at being so close to its mate." He smiled his achingly attractive, thoroughly masculine grin, and added, "I think we are two of a kind and have a shot at an interesting future together."
Having to fight her surprise until her anger caught up, Lillian snapped, "What does a sheriff know about tuning forks?"
Cam chuckled and shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "I'm actually quite musical. But I've already been hijacked into the church choir. If Ralph Abernathy found out how well I play the guitar, I'd have no time for law enforcement."
Anger managed to come to her rescue. "We are not two of a kind!"
He bent over a little and raised an eyebrow. "If you can look me in the eye and tell me that you didn't feel something the first time we met, I promise I will never ask you out again."
Lillian automatically opened her mouth - but nothing came out. She tried to say the words her anger was shouting deep in her chest, but her heart had swollen so much, and was throbbing so hard in her throat, that the words just couldn't get by. His eyes pulled her forward like sparkling blue magnets. He didn't even have the decency to smirk, or leer, or, or, do anything else normal in the face of her emotional laryngitis - he just smiled calmly as though he would gladly spend the rest of the evening just looking at her. Finally, torn between throwing the lamp and throwing herself into his arms she managed to squeeze out, "You - are - infuriating. How can you be so, calm, and, and helpful, and, and, nice, and, and sweet, and,...," the words faltered to a stop, mortified at how her confused feelings were making her look.
"Well," he said slowly. "Generally they make sure you are pretty even-tempered before they let you carry a gun. After all," he added, "I am supposed to keep the peace."
Desperate now, Lillian groped for words. Part of her desperately wanted him to grab her now, and take her, and make her feel desirable again, before he found out her pain. And part of her desperately wanted him to leave and not let her down, not let her feel again the dull, rusty knife that twisted every day in her femininity. "What is it you want from me? Free food? Half ownership of the diner? The chance to fix the squeak in my junker truck that no one else can find? What?" she cried hopelessly.
"I want to see you smile again, just like you did on my first day here." Then he smiled; a boyish grin that grew up quickly to a provocative man-size invitation. "Then I want everything else attached to that heart-stopping smile, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair."
The despair flooded out of her eyes and the conflict warred in her soul. The part of her that wanted to make him go away - couldn't. The part of her that longed to love and be loved didn't want him to leave. Her plan had been to just be as unpleasant as possible; to act as undesirable as she felt, to make him want to go away and leave her in her loneliness. But somehow, in the face of those blue eyes, she just couldn't do it. She wanted to make him understand, and, wishing that there were some other way, drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Cameron, my mother died of breast cancer. Her mother and her sister died of breast cancer. My sister is fighting breast cancer. Doc Stevens told me to get tested for the gene. And I did. And they said I had the gene and had a 95% chance of getting cancer." She took a deep breath. "So I had a preventive double mastectomy. I had my breasts cut off to save my life. And I had long, agonizing reconstructive surgery." She took another deep breath and completely failed to keep the tide of tears from constricting her throat with hot, salty anguish. "And then,... and then,... and then the lab found they had looked at the wrong sample." She was fighting not to scream now; to not let out how wounded, how violated, she felt every day. "I didn't have the gene. I didn't need to be maimed like that." She gulped air, glad the tears clouded her vision enough to conceal the look she knew must be on his face. "Lawyer Horner got me a settlement that was enough to pay off the house and buy the diner when Anna wanted to retire. And I hide in there. I'm safe behind the counter. It's a safe distance between me and life and, and, everything. I can keep so busy I don't have to think that no man would ever want me the way I am." There, she had said it. It was out and now her life could return to its own miserable, lonely normal. She wiped at her eyes. His look stopped her.
He was just standing there patiently, looking like; looking like a man in love - patient, indulgent and affectionate. He smiled slightly, looking like he was fighting against stepping forward and hugging her fiercely. "We ought to be going soon so we don't miss our reservation, and you'll want to fix your makeup, I'm sure." His smile broadened, and he had a tiny but diamond-bright tear in the corner of his right eye. "Not that you need it. I never met a woman who had so little need of makeup to be absolutely gorgeous."
Confused and angry and almost wanting to scream that he couldn't possibly think her beautiful and if he didn't stop being so nice to her she was going to go crazy, Lillian ripped open her blouse with fumbling fingers and then pulled her bra up, fighting back tears. "See? See! Saline boobs and tattooed nipples! You know what that means, right?" she snapped feeling the tears streaming out of the corners of her eyes, twisting hot and heavy over her cheeks.
Cam looked at her bared chest without surprise. "It means foreplay has to be... more creative."
She stared at him for nearly a minute, then, feeling foolish, shut her blouse, still staring at him.
He shifted uncomfortably. "I've known since the first day in town. At the party you catered, where I was flirting with you? Gina took me aside and told me the whole story. She also said that if I wasn't man enough to finish anything I started, sheriff or not, her husband would make my body disappear, never to be found. She also said that if I ever told you that she told me, I'd most likely disappear anyway." He grimaced wryly. "So my life is now in your hands."
"But... all this time... you knew... and it didn't matter to you?" she stammered, confused, relieved, and... for the first time in too many pain-filled months, devoid of anger.
Cam grumbled softly. "I had hoped to ease into this," he muttered. He unbuttoned his shirt and lifted his tee shirt. His abdomen was a sculpture in tanned, toned muscle, except for a mass of knotted scar tissue the size of a double handprint on his left side. She stared. In a completely toneless voice, he said, "I was riding in a Bradley armored personnel carrier. A rocket-propelled grenade came out of nowhere and hit the side of the vehicle. A jet of 20,000 degree metal vapor missed me by a hair. A couple of inches over and I would have been carved in half. This was the best healing I could do after weeks in the burn center getting debrided and not rejecting skin grafts." He lowered his shirt, looked her in the eye, and grimaced. "My fiancée had the same look on her face when I got home; just before she gave me the ring back," he commented bitterly, and then sighed. "Everything else looks just fine, and as far as I know, everything else works just fine. I slather ointment on it twice a day to keep it flexible, and I'm on pain meds since a couple of my ribs are now metal plated. After Gina told me about you, I thought you would be the one to really understand what I was feeling. And when I saw you smile, that blitzed my world, and..., well I figured, so what if the kids were bottle fed." He grinned awkwardly. "So I'll escort you to dinner, and I'll try not to be a nuisance, and I'll give the judge a piece of my mind tomorrow. Respectfully, of course."
