Skinny Dipping Season by Cynthia Tennent Page B

you.”
    I saw a different woman in his sunglasses now. Gone was the proper, straitlaced professional. In her place was a fierce woman I didn’t recognize. It was too much. “Can you take those things off? You’re inside, you know.”
    He reached up and grabbed the glasses off his face. “Better?”
    I should have kept my mouth shut. Now I saw his anger without a filter. I shook my head. “I am over trying to explain myself to you. I understand rules, Officer. But one of my own rules is about judging others before you know them. They must have forgotten that little bit of training back at the police academy.” My voice rose as I unleashed my temper. “Are you so perfect that you’ve never made a mistake?”
    The diner was quiet. Officer Hardy leaned backward as if I had slapped him.
    The voice of a corny weatherman on television talking about rainbows and sunshine cut through the silence. One of the men in the booth snickered.
    Officer Hardy straightened and stuffed his glasses in his pocket. He didn’t look so sure of himself now. He nodded to the waitress with a jaw that was clenched so hard I wondered if his teeth would crack. Then he walked out the door with restrained slowness, as if faster movement might shatter his control.
    I had never in my entire life spoken to a virtual stranger the way I had to Officer Hardy. And now, for the second time in a day, I hadn’t stopped to think before talking. Before shouting, in fact. And the strangest part was, I felt really good.
    An embarrassed rustle of activity burst from the booth. Hopefully, the men weren’t going to share my breakdown with half the town.
    The lady behind the counter set a coffee mug down and smoothed her apron. She reached under the counter and handed me a menu.
    Grinning, she said with a sparkle in her eye, “Just for the record, honey, would you really have ordered a drink if we served liquor?”
    I hated beer and most mixed drinks. Colin only drank wine. Mom only drank gin. So, I had to dig to remember what kind of drink I might have enjoyed.
    â€œWell, perhaps a chocolate martini,” I said tentatively.
    The woman laughed so loudly I thought she would lose a part of the gold crown that covered her lower eyetooth. Taking a deep breath, I sat back down and smoothed my hair. Looking around the diner, I said, “I’m really sorry I yelled like that.”
    â€œHoney, if you think that was yelling, then I need to introduce you to the mayor’s wife. That was barely speaking above a whisper.” She winked at me. Reaching across the counter, she offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you. Name’s Corinne Scott.”
    I shook her hand and tilted my mouth. “I’m Elizabeth Lively.”
    â€œAre you passing through or staying put?”
    â€œStaying put for now. I’m living at my grandmother’s house on Crooked Road.”
    â€œCrooked Road? We love newcomers. Get ’em about once every two or three years.” I liked her immediately. “J. D. needs a little mischief to spice up his days.” She reached over and patted my hand. “Don’t be too hard on him. He has a lot on his mind these days, being the acting sheriff while Sheriff Howe is out of town. You two may have gotten off to a bad start, but he isn’t always like that.”
    â€œYes, he is,” said one of the men at the booth.
    â€œYou men don’t know anything about J. D. That’s the problem with this town. You oughtta take a lesson from Elizabeth here. You shouldn’t judge a person by a few minor indiscretions.”
    â€œMinor?” laughed another man. “How about stupid-ass mistakes?”
    She rolled her eyes at the men. “J. D. had a tough time when he was younger. But he is doing everything by the book these days. He can even be downright pleasant when he tries.”
    â€œYeah, he was pleasant when he wrote me up for failing to get a