A Bad Day for Sunshine (Sunshine Vicram #1) - Darynda Jones Page 0,6

since kindergarten. He’d grown a bit since then, however. He was now a cross between a refrigerator and a bank vault door. And he was one of her deputies. What were the odds?

She winked at Auri. “You get enough beer in that boy and he’ll strip.”

“Mom!” She pulled out her inhaler and took a hit.

“Sorry, hon.” Sun switched back into mama-bear mode. “Who? Who would say such a thing about you?” She leaned toward her. “Just give me a name.”

“I don’t have one. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Everyone’s saying it now. You can’t arrest everyone.”

“Arrest them?” Sun snorted. “I’m going to send them a thank-you card. Or a fruit basket. Or a lifetime supply of anti-itch cream. That stuff comes in so handy.”

Auri’s jaw dropped.

“This solves all my problems.” She rubbed her hands together, not unlike a villain in a comic book. “Think about it. The rich kids won’t invite you to parties because they think you’re a narc. The druggies won’t invite you to parties because, again, they think you’re a narc. All my worries gone in one fell swoop.”

“Mother.”

“This is the best news I’ve had all day. High five?” She raised her palm and gave her daughter a once-over, only to realize the kid wasn’t falling for it.

Auri crossed her arms over her chest. “I know you.”

“Good thing, since you call me Mom. It would be awkward if—”

“I can handle this. It’s my problem.”

“I know.” Sun feigned offense. “But you know, if you happen to find out who started such a vicious rumor—”

“I wouldn’t tell you.”

“I’m appalled,” Sun said, appalled.

“Unlike my new rep, I am not, nor have I ever been, a narc.”

Sun knew that for a fact. Boy, did she know. “Fine. Just remember, if you do have to cut a bitch—”

“I know, I know.” Auri slid the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. “Don’t leave any DNA evidence at the crime scene.”

“Oh. Right. I was going to say don’t leave any witnesses alive, but that works, too.” She leaned over and gave the fruit-of-her-loom a hug despite their ever-growing audience. Cool thing was, Auri let her.

God, she loved that kid.

Having taken the scenic route through town, Sun pulled into her parking space at the station with a nostalgic smile on her face. She’d forgotten how beautiful Del Sol was, especially when blanketed with fresh snow. It was enchanting and mystical and serene.

Passersby would find the town tranquil. Spiritual, even. And it was. She’d give it that. But it was also quirky and charismatic and unpredictable. Just like the people who inhabited it. For the most part.

A large black font graced the side of the stucco building that read Del Sol County Sheriff’s Posse.

Her posse.

God, she’d always wanted a posse. Of course, she’d envisioned them all on horseback, racing over the rugged countryside in search of a man with a black hat and a handlebar mustache, but this would do.

For now.

Sadly, a sharp rap on her window startled her out of her prepubescent fantasy. She hadn’t even gotten to the good part where a Native American named Tarak saved her after the bad guy shot her in the shoulder, and they made sweet, sensuous love by a campfire—apparently, she healed really fast—before resuming the search the next day, capturing said bad guy, and taking him to be sentenced by the Hanging Judge, thus making the Great Plains great again. And bad-guy free.

C’est la vie.

She peered through the window, first at a police-issue flashlight angled against the glass, second at a blond-haired, blue-eyed, half-Latino in a starched black uniform and a gun at his hip. The refrigerator-sized intruder wore a grin that could weaken the knees of a sisterhood of nuns.

Quincy. Of course he’d be there to greet her.

She opened the door and jumped into the arms of her very best friend on planet Earth. Apart from Auri. And her hamster, Gentleman Jack, but he’d died decades ago. So, Quincy had moved up a notch.

She’d warned him at the promotion ceremony he had some mighty big shoes to fill. Or he would have if hamsters wore shoes. But Quincy took it all in stride, confident in his ability to run on a spinning wheel and crawl through plastic tunnels.

They were five. Their aspirations hadn’t been particularly lofty.

He lifted her off the ground with a chuckle, and she squealed, the sound very unsherifflike.

“Sunburn Freyr,” he said when he put her down and held her at arm’s length, “as I live and breathe.” He acted like he hadn’t seen