Jemimah Hodge first ran into Tim McCabe at the glitzy Buckaroo Ball in Santa Fe. He was schmoozing at the bar with Byron Mills, a jerk she recognized from her past. She stopped dead in her tracks, disconcerted that she even remembered the lecherous old man. She had no intention of giving him the pleasure of knowing that.
Byron strutted toward her, an apish grin on his face. “What’s a nice Mormon girl like you doing out here in this godforsaken desert?”
She gave him a phony smile and tossed her ponytail as if it belonged to her prized horse. She wanted to tell the son of a bitch to go to hell. Instead she picked her words carefully.
“That’s Doctor Mormon Girl. And I hope you never need avail yourself of my services.”
“Whoops,” Byron responded, his drink sloshing on the hardwoods when he almost collided with another patron of the bar. “Folks, we have a gen-u-ine professional person here. What are the services you might offer?”
“I’m an inspector of dead bodies. You got any skeletons in your closet?”
Byron made a lavish fake bow and announced:
“Whoops, folks, this lovely lady is a cor-oh-nerrh.”
“No, you jerk. Not a coroner.” She hated that word. “A forensic psychologist. I profile perverts and sadistic killers.”
Byron preened. “Well, that lets me off.”
Still at the bar, Jem caught McCabe’s eyes on her and Byron. She shot him a ‘rescue me’ glance. McCabe excused himself from his drinking buddies and ambled over. She’d met McCabe once before but couldn’t remember where, probably at the feed store. All she knew right now was that she needed someone to interrupt Byron’s arrogant confrontation. And he wasn’t going away without encouragement.
“Move aside, Byron, and give a real man a chance. My wife said I could dance with the second prettiest woman in the room and this one definitely qualifies.” He reached out to Jemimah.
She took his hand. “Gladly.”