I stopped the car just in time before driving onto the bridge. Looking at the wooden slats, I saw rust spots, orange peel, dandelions, green moss, blue gumdrops, and purple violets all scattered there. Stunned, I looked up to see a rainbow. What could have happened here?

The tension rose quicker than a thermometer reading on an August day in Texas.

The goons behind the bar diligently cleaned the glasses, avoiding my eyes.
I heard chairs scraping as cowards pushed back, and scurried out.

This new sheriff’s reputation had preceded her. She would quickly clean up this place.

Walking up to the bar, I glared, and slammed down a coin.
“Fill ‘er up with a root beer float! No fancy frozen yogurt or milkshake stuff.”

I was recently elected sheriff of a small Wyoming town. Even though I’m fully qualified for the job and even though I won the election with a sizeable margin, there are still people who disparage me because I’m a woman.

On my first day an overgrown kid swaggered into my office and pronounced, “You don’t belong here. You won’t last a week as sheriff.”

I stared that punk squarely in the eyes and growled, “Watch me.”

Linda Vos

I needed the stealth of a fox and the brawn of a bear to fix this predicament. Three varmints on horses were riding toward my town. My backup was backed out.

Outsmart em’, Sherriff Hardy. I told myself.

I watched, as I crouched behind that big bolder. Remembering I had my nephew’s new tape recorder in my saddlebag, I pulled Nosey’s reigns down. I cranked the sound to the max as the reverberation of gunfire erupted.

“Ambush!” One of the three no-gooders shouted.

The patter of hoofbeats pounded the ground while the three scattered off the trail.