The sheriff was a big, hard-eyed, tough looking man of about forty. His name was Mathew Faulkner. My Ty Ringo memories said he was typical of the lawm...n who survived out here on the frontier. He looked me over thoroughly as I handed him the letter from the court. His gaze lingered on my pistol and holster. He finally turned his attention to the letter, reading the few lines quickly. When he finished the letter, he put it down and fixed me with that hawk like look again.“I’ve had someone keeping. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because nice guys always finish last and they never, ever, get the girl.’ On another occasion he discovered the call buzzer in the apartment, which had never worked, but after he had a look in her basement it lived again, was good to go, ‘so you can call me if there’s ever a problem.’ She found herself using ‘good to go’ at work instead of the usual hospital ‘OK’, and laughed when she recalled its origin. The student kept fit. A set of weights appeared in the empty garage bay,. Further, as the custodian of Lindsey’s education at this institution of higher learning it is a teacher’s assigned responsibility to report any improprieties pertaining to this scholastic stewardship. Unfortunately this morning’ s visit had been predicated upon just such a regrettable occasion and could very well negatively affect Lindsey’s academic standing by depriving Lindsey of her endowment. The professor summarily elucidated how his exhaustive assessment of the Leicester household’s. Exactly one week now. Exactly one week since I learnt how it really feels to lose someone precious. Nothing changes and everything goes on. You have to, too. Somehow.I'm vaguely conscious of your presence. It does not fill my head like it's supposed to. The fire's been reduced to a spark that needs to be fanned. Even when I look up into your dark eyes, it's a struggle to recognise the passion, compassion and primal lust in them. I miss your eyes. I miss your gaze. It gives me my worth, and I.