“No problem, isn’t that right, Mr. Bailman?”

“None whatsoever,” Cody said, looking almost sober. If it wasn’t for the cocky smile he wore, it would’ve been impossible to tell he’d been drinking. “I only had a couple shots of whiskey,” he explained. “I had to, or I’d never have had the guts to pull this off.”

“Are you arresting Mr. Bailman?” Sherry asked.

“We’ve had three calls in the last five minutes,” Deputy Bean said. “The first call said there was a wounded animal in town. The second caller thought there was a fight of some kind going on. And the third one came from Mayor Bowie. He said we had the authority to do whatever was necessary to put an end to that infernal racket. Those were his precise words.”

“I may not be another Willie Nelson, but my singing isn’t that bad,” Cody protested.

“Trust me, Bailman, it’s bad.”

Cody turned to Sherry for vindication. Even though he was serenading her in the name of romance, even though he was suffering this embarrassment on her behalf, she couldn’t bring herself to lie.

“I think it’d be better if you didn’t sing again for a while,” she suggested tactfully.

He sent her an injured look, then turned to the deputy. “Are you gonna take me to jail?” he demanded.

“I could, you know,” Deputy Bean told him.

“On what grounds?” Sherry challenged.

“Disturbing the peace, for starters.”

“I didn’t know it was unlawful to play the guitar,” Cody said, sounding aggrieved.

“It is the way you do it,” Deputy Bean muttered.

“He won’t be doing it again,” Sherry promised, looking at Cody. “Right?”

“Right.” Cody held up his hand.

The deputy sighed and lowered his flashlight. “In that case, why don’t we just drop this? I’ll let you off with a warning.”

“Thank you,” Sherry said.

The deputy began to leave, but Cody stopped him. “Will there be a report of this in the paper on Wednesday?”

The officer shrugged. “I suppose. The Weekly reports all police calls.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could see that this one doesn’t make the paper.”

“I can’t do that, Mr. Bailman.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not the one who turns the calls over to Mr. Douglas. He comes in every morning and collects them himself.”

“Then make sure he doesn’t have anything to collect,” Cody said.

The deputy shrugged again. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises. We got three calls, you know.”

Cody waited until the patrol car had disappeared into the night before he removed his Stetson and slammed it against his leg. He frowned at his mangled hat and tried to bend it back into shape.

“I’ve ruined the best hat I’ve ever had because of you,” he grumbled.

“Me?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you blaming me for this…this fiasco?”

“No!” he shouted back. “I’m blaming Luke. He was the one who said I should serenade you. He claimed it didn’t matter that I couldn’t play the guitar or sing. He said women go crazy for this kind of stuff. I should’ve known.” He indignantly brushed off the Stetson before setting it back on his head, adjusting the angle.