'Where are the keys to the cells? ' he demanded.
'You aren't going to let them out, are you? ' 'Hell yes, I am, ' Ryan
snapped. 'Now, tell me where the keys are.' 'fThey're hanging on the
peg behind you, ' Sloan answered, his attitude insolent. 'I did what
had to be done.' Ryan ignored the comment. 'Is there a back door in
here? ' 'Yes. It's at the end of the hallway. Why? ' Ryan tossed
Cole the ring of keys. 'Here's what you're going to do, Sheriff.
Marshal Clayborne will let the ladies out of the cell. You're going to
wait for them outside the back door, and when they come out, you will
escort them home.'
'You're also going to apologize to them, ' Cole interjected. 'And you
damned well better sound like you mean it.' Sloan took another step
back from Cole. 'But I locked them up, ' he protested. 'If I
apologize, they'll think I don't know what I'm doing.
' Cole let out a weary sigh. 'No, they'll think you're just plain
stupid.
Now, get going.' Tight-lipped and red-faced, the sheriff stomped his
way to the back exit. Cole opened the door that connected the cells to
the main office, ducked under the overhead frame, and started down the
long, narrow corridor. The walls were damp from rain that had seeped
in through the roof, and the air smelled like wet leaves. He suddenly
came to a quick stop. For a second he imagined he was looking at a
priceless painting framed by cold gray stone walls inside an old
museum. Three of the prettiest women he'd ever seen were sitting side
by side on the narrow cot. Shoulders back, heads held high, they were
perfectly still, as though an artist had ordered them to pose that way
for their portrait.
Cole was completely unprepared for this vision. They were young . .
.
they were incredibly beautiful . . . and they were seething with
anger.
The woman closest to him sat demurely with her hands folded in her
lap.
Her long black hair fell in soft ringlets to her shoulders, framing a
porcelain complexion and clear green eyes that peered up at him through
thick dark lashes. There was definitely a regal bearing about the
woman, an aristocratic refinement that suggested a wealthy
upbringing.
