In my considerable experience writing fiction—easily half a century—I’ve met with success in unexpected hours. I’ve also struggled through the “slough of despond,” but why dwell on that? We all have our shadow valleys and dark nights of the soul, and since I’m writing this and you’re reading it, it seems safe to assume that either we’ve come out on the other side or we’re bearing up under our particular problems and pressing on toward a brighter day.

Writing Country Proud was a special joy to me, especially in this time of wild challenges and uncommon adversities. (I will remember this year as, among other things, the year I lived in my pajamas.)

The story people—Brynne and Eli, Cord, J.P., Melba and Dan—kept me focused on what really matters in this life. As I worked with them, I saw in these imaginary friends the qualities I most admire in others and work hard to cultivate in myself: honesty and integrity, courage in the face of adversity, compassion for all living things, respect for other people’s right to speak their mind (whether I agree or not), the ability to take the ultimate risk and love another person.

Times are tough, and they might get tougher.

It’s up to us to get tougher still.

That said, I don’t get paid to preach, but to tell a story—hopefully a good one. If you enjoy reading Country Proud half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I will have succeeded.

Stay strong,

Linda Lael Miller

CHAPTER ONE

SHERIFF ELI GARRETT gazed out his office window at the gently falling snow and sighed.

Christmas was over—although it seemed to him that the holiday would roll around again in approximately fifteen minutes—and another New Year was just around the bend.

Eli cupped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, still watching the snow and hoping this little skiff wouldn’t work itself up into a mega blizzard, burying some or all of Wild Horse County in plain misery.

According to the weather app on his phone, it could happen. The meteorological jury was still out.

If the storm materialized, he and his four deputies would be on round-the-clock duty, prowling the roads and highways for accidents and stranded motorists, checking up on shut-ins and crotchety recluses, hauling drunks out of snowbanks, hopefully before hypothermia set in.

Like bar brawls, incidents of domestic violence rose over the holidays, given the preponderance of alcohol, but a few feet of the white stuff imprisoning people in their unhappy homes for an indefinite period would obviously exacerbate the problem.

Same as most cops, Eli dreaded domestic violence calls above all others.

His county was a relatively peaceful one, but he’d served in law enforcement since he’d graduated from the academy in Phoenix, first as a deputy and finally as sheriff, and he’d seen some crazy-assed shit.