High Plains Flirter

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I wouldn’t normally be that big on robbing banks but … around these parts, I’m what you might call a repeat offender. And, no my Daddy didn’t raise me that way. My Mama neither. If it was up to them I’d still be covered from neck to toe in a Gibson skirt and blouse and married off to one of the preacher’s sons or some boring old cowpoke by now.

Doesn’t matter what they want, though—not since we got the new Sheriff in town. The man’s got eyes like chocolate and the raspiest voice you’ve ever heard.

Don’t worry. The bank teller’s not scared of me these days. He rolls his eyes at me, and we both know I don’t need to brandish a weapon or pretend I’m taking anything.

All I have to do is saunter past the Sherrif’s Office on my way there. He shows up a few minutes behind me, just shaking his head and showing me those dimples.

“Darlin’,” he drawls in that wicked voice of his, “I reckon I’m gonna have to detain you.”

“Sherrif,” I always tell him, looking at that sizable bulge in his dungarees while he’s reaching for the handcuffs, “I’m feeling pretty mean tonight. If you’re looking to protect the fine citizens of this town, you’re gonna need to detain me all night long.”

 

 

 

 

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