Married to the Sheriff Page 4

  “That’s right. Honey, you owe it to the community to do something about this,” Marsha egged Debbie on. “It’s—well, it’s your civic duty to make sure the sheriff fires her. Immediately!”

  “Besides, honey…” Laura spoke carefully. “You waited a long time to get married. You don’t want some young hussy coming in and stealing your husband, do you?”

  Hadn’t Laura just reminded her recently that she’d waited a long time to get married? Back in Spencer’s, when she’d warned Debbie about Beverly being a divorced woman who might have her sights on Mike or any available male?

  Albeit, this was a bit more disturbing, with the woman actually spending every working day with him, day in and day out. Debbie wasn’t thinking about the community or her so-called “civic duty” when she left Laura’s house and drove straight to the Sheriff’s Department. She was hurt and she was angry, but most of all she was jealous. It wasn’t an emotion she was used to experiencing, and once it had hit, she hardly knew how to deal with it.

  After parking the Bel Air, which was the car she usually used while Mike drove the patrol car until the weekends, she marched up the street to the precinct. In a shop window along the way she caught her reflection. That day she’d worn her comfortable but pretty blue-and-white polka dot dress, the one cinched at the waist with a thin black belt, and her summery white heels. Her hair was down and curled under at the ends. A subtle pair of pearl earrings and a string of pearls completed her outfit.

  Sure, she looked as Mike had once admiringly described her, “light and pretty as a summer day.” But she was still thirty-seven and, in her opinion, rather plain. She’d dieted like crazy before her wedding but five of the pounds she’d lost had already sneaked right back onto her.

  Definitely not a twenty-ish, buxom, Veronica Lake-lookalike. She couldn’t remember having seen the mayor’s daughter because, but just the description the girls had given her had made her see red. Angrily, she tossed open the door to the building and walked in briskly.

  Her eye went directly to Little Miss Hourglass’ desk, the one that had for years belonged to Aggie. There was no one in the room; even the two deputies were out. Everyone’s chair was neatly tucked into their desk. On one wall was a bulletin board, on which were notices and pictures and other items attached by pushpins. A fan sat rotating lazily atop a metal file cabinet. Debbie heard movement going on in Mike’s office. Though the door was ajar, she knocked firmly and loudly on it.

  “Who’s that?” He sounded suspicious.

  “Your…loving…wife!” She cut each word.

  “Ahhhh! Come on in, sugar baby!”

  Debbie tossed open the door and stood with her hands on her hips. “Don’t you ‘sugar baby’ me, Mike Brandt!”

  Instantly, he was on his feet behind the desk. That big smile of his ran away from his face.

  “Something wrong, honey?”

  “Yes, I would say something’s wrong.” She stalked up to his desk and placed both hands on his blotter, leaning forward and snipping, “I understand you hired Mindy Sutton to be your secretary.”

  “Uh…yes. And?”

  That man was being so infuriating, acting so innocent! As if the girl’s looks hadn’t played some sort of role in her being hired? Debbie wasn’t having any of it.

  “Where is she right now?” she demanded to know.

  “At lunch. One of the boys is at lunch, too. The other one’s out on a call.”

  “Well, when she comes back from lunch, you will fire her.”

  “Fire her? You want me to fire Mindy?” Mike shook his head. “Why?”

  “Because—because you will, that’s why! Because I’m your wife and I insist that you fire that—that little—mayor’s daughter!”

  “Oh. I see.” He seemed to understand at once. Folding his arms across his chest, he smirked. “On what grounds do you want me to fire her? I mean, besides the fact that my jealous wife doesn’t trust me around a bubble-headed blonde?”

  “Ooooooh! I don’t care what reason you come up with!” She stamped her foot but stopped abruptly. “You think she’s bubble-headed?”

  “’Course I do. She’s bubble-headed, she’s as lazy as they come, and she’s a lousy secretary.” Then he narrowed his eyes at her. “And are you throwing a temper tantrum, like a spoiled little girl?”

  Debbie ignored his question, which she knew wasn’t a wise move. She was treading on dangerous ground, but it was too late to turn back now. Neither would she relax until Miss Sutton was out of the picture entirely.

  “I want her fired,” she said, also folding her arms. “Now. Today. I expect you to tell me you’ve done that when you come home tonight.”

  “Now, Debbie, you listen here…” With long strides, he came around the desk and glowered down at her. “I love you, but I won’t have a woman telling me what I should do when it comes to my job. I’m the boss here. And incidentally, I’m the boss at home, too. Now I’m very flattered that you’re jealous, baby, but you’re the only woman I love. I’m crazy about you. You should know that by now. But I won’t hesitate to turn you over and spank you if you don’t behave yourself and go home right now.”

  Debbie held her ground stubbornly. “Here? Spank me here? You wouldn’t dare!”

  Mike’s eyes flashed with fury. She knew right then that she’d crossed the line.

  “That’s it. This is my place of business, Deborah. This is where I do my job. But I can’t do my job plus have to worry about you coming in and making unreasonable demands of me.” He looked around, then quickly cleared some things off his desk. “Hmmm. That would work well, right there. Now you bend over across my desk. Your bottom’s getting spanked—and believe me, this is going to be a spanking you won’t forget any time soon.”

  At that threat, all her bravado rushed right out the door. So much for her civic duty.

  “But—but this is your office!” she sputtered. “Okay, all right, fine. I guess I did misbehave right now and I should be spanked. But can’t you wait ’til we get home to do it?”

  “Over the desk, young lady. Let’s go.” He was serious. He wasn’t backing down, either.

  “But Mike! What if someone comes in?” She was panicky and frantically trying to blink away tears.

  “I told you. Everyone’s out right now. That includes my secretary—because that’s all she is to me, just a secretary. And she will be my secretary until I say so.” Speaking calmly, he patted the edge of his desk. “The sooner you bend over, the sooner we’ll get this over with.”

  Sooo…it’ll be fast? Maybe that meant it wouldn’t be so bad. She blushed, mortified to the hilt by the idea of ever coming back to his office and seeing that desk, remembering he’d given her a spanking right there.

  If for no other reason than to get it over with, Debbie obeyed, bending over the back of the desk. In seconds she felt Mike’s hands fix on her waist, and she squealed as he guided her body further up. In that position, her feet dangled in the air, and her head, breasts and arms hung over the front of the desk. Most humiliating was her bottom, now high up in the air.

  “Hmm, now what should I use?”

  Those words didn’t register right away. She trembled when she felt him lifting her skirt, then rolling down her panties, totally baring her backside.

  “Use?” she echoed. “What do you mean, u-use?”

  “Have you got your hairbrush with you?”

  “My hairbrush!” the words came out in a tight cry. “Ohhh, Mike, pleeeeeeeeease, can’t you just use your hand again?”

  “Not this time, honey. And no amount of whining is going to change that. Now did you bring your hairbrush or not? Or do I need to use my wooden ruler?”

  “Those are my choices?!” A hairbrush or a wooden ruler, like a naughty schoolgirl. Either one was going to hurt like the dickens.

  “Deborah Marie, you keep me waiting like this and every single one of my employees will get back in time to hear you getting your bottom paddled—”

  “
Okay, okay! In my purse,” she muttered miserably.

  Why couldn’t I have just waited for him to come home? Why did I have to be so jealous and show up here? she asked herself.

  “Eh, that’s too small for your behind. I’m picking up a great, big brush this weekend,” he said, more to himself as he walked around the desk to rifle through its top drawer.

  Remaining in position, she realized what he’d said and huffed. “Too small for—well, I never!”

  But he was a man on a mission and didn’t even hear her. “Ah. All right, I think this’ll do nicely.”

  She caught sight of the wooden ruler and gulped. She remembered the teachers using those on kids at school, but always over their clothes. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt too much.

  Crrrrrack! And then again, maybe it would.

  “Owwwwwwwwwch!” she called out, quickly covering her mouth with her hand.

  Mike wasn’t kidding about beating the clock, trying to give her a good, solid spanking while they had the place to themselves. His arm brought that strip of wood down on her rear in fast-moving, bun-blistering strokes. She clutched the edge of the table, her breasts jiggling, her reddening bottom squirming to escape, but that ruler efficiently hit her cheeks like a chubby bulls-eye.

  Debbie glanced over her shoulder at him, which in that position was no easy feat.

  “Pleeeeeeease stop, Mike!” she pleaded. “I won’t ever do this again. I promise! Owwwww! That hurts!”

  He scowled sternly back at her, not saying a word. Instead, he concentrated on painting the spot on her bottom right above her thighs a hot shade of pink. Then he peppered her right cheek with smacks until it matched perfectly.

  “I’m sorry I came here today! I’m sorry—owwwwwwwww!—that I tried to—ouuuuuuucch!—tell you wh-what to do! You don’t have to fire her, honest! Owwww!”

  The first spanking, with his hand, had hurt. This one felt like she’d fallen bottom-first in the fireplace. She wriggled but to no avail; Mike was stronger and could hold her securely in place with a hand on her waist. As he applied the ruler on her left bottom cheek, she grunted and yelped as quietly as she could, trying hard not to cry.

  Suddenly she heard the office door open behind her. Temporarily, the spanking stopped. Ohhhhhhhhnoooooooo. As they said in the movies, the gig was up. She heard someone gasp, probably at the sight of an upturned, cherry red bottom. Embarrassment flooded her.

  “Didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock before coming into a room?” she heard Mike’s voice boom at someone.

  “Uh—uh—sorry! I’m sorry—”

  His secretary. The little minx who’d started this whole mess. Now the whole office was going to hear about that one. Her bottom was throbbing painfully, successfully competing for her attention. She barely suppressed a moan.

  “Did you finish that letter I gave you to type?” he demanded.

  “Oh—n-n-not yet,” Mindy stammered. Debbie couldn’t see her, but she imagined the girl was turning as white as a sheet.

  “Well, guess what, young lady? I think you’d better get to work on it right now. I’m a little tired of your lazy attitude. Now I’ll expect it on my desk in twenty minutes. If not, there’ll be consequences. You understand?”

  “Yes. Yessir. Right away!”

  Debbie bit the corner of her bottom lip. He must’ve scared her pretty good. That young woman slammed the office door in her haste to vamoose out of there.

  “Kids today have no manners, you know, honey?” he complained.

  “That’s so true.” She sniffled. “Can I get up now? Please?”

  “Not quite yet. You’ve got two dozen more strokes coming to you.”

  “Two dozen! Noooooo, Miiiiike, no more…”

  Debbie arched her back when the spanking resumed. The whole precinct would know? More like the whole town. Lighthouse Cove would be buzzing and giggling about the sheriff giving his wife a blazing spanking for the next week…about the same time it would take before she could sit down again. Maybe she would do well to wear a disguise for a while?

  At that point, she closed her eyes, tossed back her head and bawled loudly. Now it didn’t matter if they heard her all the way to Boston.

  THREE

  Three days later was too soon to show her face in town, but having already given her word that she would be there for Sheila O’Brien’s birthday, Debbie had no choice but to don her sunglasses, her floppy hat, and a dark blue dress that she rarely wore and show up at O’Brien’s that afternoon.

  She wasn’t even that well acquainted with the woman, though she knew Sheila and her late husband Wayne had been friends with Mike. Other than passing the lady’s bar, she’d never actually gone in before, but then again neither had the other girls, with the exception of Laura, who’d been there a few times with her husband Roger in their younger years.

  Irene, Laura and Marsha had already gotten there and were waiting for her at the entrance. Each woman carried a wrapped present, either tucked under an arm or in a bag. In addition to a gift, Marsha was carrying a homemade strawberry shortcake, which Laura had mentioned was Sheila’s favorite. Debbie, unsure of what to get, had almost picked up a bottle of her favorite cologne, hoping Sheila would like it. Instead she’d ended up taking Mike’s advice that Sheila wasn’t much of the cologne-wearing type, and that she would probably appreciate a book much more, especially something in the mystery or suspense genres.

  “Beverly Minter’s not here yet?” Debbie asked as she joined them.

  “Beverly Minter?” Marsha repeated. “Why is she coming?”

  “Because I invited her,” Debbie said, tossing her a chilly look. “She got her sister to baby-sit her son. I didn’t think anyone would mind. She’s very nice, very sweet.”

  “Hmmm. Well, if she comes, she comes. The more the merrier!” Irene backed her up with a smile but then added, “What’s with the getup? You trying not to be recognized by your fans or something?”

  “Uhh…” She thought quickly and grabbed the door handle to enter the bar. “The sun is bothering my eyes.”

  “And she’s trying not to get recognized, period,” Laura clarified. Then, in a lower voice that only Debbie and the other girls could hear, she teased, “Because everybody now knows that the sheriff gave her one heck of a spanking, like a naughty schoolgirl, right in his office. This was the same guy who she said would never spank her, too.”

  Debbie walked on ahead of her into the bar. She could hear Irene good-naturedly remarking and tittering about her Mata Hari-style disguise, as if no one in town would recognize someone as recognizable as the sheriff’s wife. Once inside, with the bar’s dim lighting, she slipped off her sunglasses but left on her hat.

  “I told her it wouldn’t take that long for him to take her over his knee,” Laura was gloating to Marsha. “If I’d bet her on it, I’d be a few dollars richer right now. Not only was she spanked, but now she’s a sort of spanked celebrity!”

  The other girls found that wildly funny. To their credit, they were keeping their voices down. Debbie tilted her chin, keeping her head high in spite of the urge to hide her head in the sand from the lingering embarrassment.

  Lose the disguise later, she told herself.

  For one thing, it was most likely having the opposite effect—drawing attention to her rather than permitting her to go unnoticed. So far, the only ones having fun at her expense—at least outwardly—were her friends. She cast a wary eye in the direction of two fishermen at the other end of the bar, sipping their beers and talking about the virtues of the Red Sox versus those blankety-blank Yankees. The men glanced back at her and then nonchalantly continued their conversation.

  “Surprise!” Irene called out.

  “Happy Birthday, Sheila!” Martha sang.

  Simply seeing the expression on the birthday girl’s face made it worth having braved the trip out of the house. It was well known around town how both Sheila and her husband had been real salt-of-the-earth kind of people, who had often extended a help
ing hand to those who’d gone through hard times. Even after Wayne O’Brien was gone, Sheila had continued to come to the aid of people, often offering someone who’d been evicted a room in her own home or bought a coat for a child whose parents couldn’t afford to buy them one. The O’Briens had never asked for anything in return, either.

  Now, seeing the fuss the girls were making over her, Sheila was laughing outwardly but she was blinking away tears. Debbie smiled and set her own present down on the counter.

  “Oh, you girls! You didn’t have to do all this just for me,” she was saying.

  “Oh, but we did. It’s long overdue, Sheila,” Laura said. “We won’t take up a lot of your time. We know you’re working, but we wanted to bring you your cake—”

  “Strawberry shortcake. Your favorite!” Debbie joined in. “Marsha made it herself.”

  Sheila’s eyebrows arched and her hand covered her throat. “Marsha makes such delicious cakes!”

  “And we brought you presents, too. Because you’re very special to everybody here in Lighthouse Cove,” Irene announced.

  “Ah, that’s not true. You girls are too kind!” Sheila’s voice cracked on that last word.

  Laura had hopped up onto one of the stools, as did Marsha. Debbie spied the third stool in line and gingerly sat her bottom down on it.

  Fortunately for her, it only stung a little to sit. Unlike that first evening after getting spanked in the sheriff’s office, when her behind had been so sore that sitting was barely comfortable, even with a soft pillow on her chair. Other than a little reminder sting, it was mostly all gone by now.

  To her surprise, she grinned. So maybe Mike was right: He was as strict a husband as he was a boss. And the truth was, when he got right down to the business of spanking her, that man spanked hard. Just recalling that episode spent bent over his desk made her bottom squirm on that stool! If she’d learned anything that afternoon—and really, she’d learned a few lessons, including never to tell a man how to do his job—she’d learned that if he believed she needed a spanking, he wouldn’t necessarily wait until he got her home to administer it.