Sheriff Al Jordan was cruising down hwy.57 early this cold, dreary, December morning. Up one hill, and then another, at a law abiding fifty-five m.p.h. He was in no hurry, as there was seldom anything to hurry about in his quite territory in east Tennessee.

The trees mostly live oaks, were losing the rest of their fall foliage, their bare limbs sprawling upward to a gray overcast sky. What was once a beautiful landscape ablaze in the colors of autumn was now in the throes of early winter. Soon it would be in the grips of freezing temperatures and blanketing snow.

He thought of the ice storm two winters before when everything was coated in layers of ice. The roads were virtually impassible and glazed with inches of it. Tree limbs remained motionless, even against thirty-mph. wind gust, and could be heard cracking in the woods like rifles. Power lines snapped like the line on his fishing rod while reeling in big mouth bass. Stepping out of ones house was like stepping into another world, seemingly a world of crystal and glass. Anything but that, he thought to himself as he drove, his heater humming, stereo playing soothing blues.

“Sheriff, you out there?” a female voice in his patrol car radio crackled bringing him back to the moment.

He turned down his stereo and reached for his radio in one fluid, well-practiced motion, and spoke into the mic. “Yeah, Sarah, I’m here.”

“Good morning Sheriff. How’s “Lizabeth?” she asked. Although she knew the Sheriff frowned on informal chatter over the police frequency it was a common practice. Sarah Billings had been with the Sheriff ever since his days as a rookie. She came to the force some twenty years ago, looking for work, perhaps office duties, as there was little else the small town of Rainer had to offer. She has been there since. First, just answering the phone, filing this and that, and then later attended the courses, classes and training until finally donning the uniform. Seldom, if ever, would she answer a police call. Only minor ones like the time Ray Barnes called to complain that if Jim Hearne didn’t keep his damn cattle out of his crops, he was going to shoot them and would be eating steaks everyday the rest of the year.

“She’s fine Sarah.” he replied.