Page 13 of Lucky Cowboy

“I did.”

“Would you play it back for me?”

A cold trickle of foreboding skittered down her spine, making her skin rise in goosebumps as the high-pitched tones that reminded her of snakes hissing came over the line.

Biggs.

“This is Valentine Bernard’s professional manager. She won’t be performing tonight and needs to be removed for the schedule.”

There was a harsh clack when he disconnected, as if he’d been using a landline phone himself. Val shivered from head to toe. How she and her dad didn’t notice Biggs’ voice as ominous from the get-go she had no clue.

He’d also sounded belligerent in attitude as he’d spoken, as if in one of the viler moods he’d inflicted on her later in their relationship. How she’d ever let that man put an arm around her, much lesskissher, felt beyond disgusting at this point. It took Val a beat to pull herself together, and even then, when she spoke, her voice shook.

“Ms. Car—” Her voice gave out on her in the middle of the lady’s name, and Val had to clear her throat before she could continue. “Ms. Carber, that man is not my father. He used to be my manager, but he no longer speaks for me. In fact, he’llneverspeak for me again.”

Val’s voice trembled, but this time with infuriation bordering on rage. It helped to dull her anxiety and strengthen her resolve, so she didn’t mind. “His name is Ulysses Biggs, but he just goes by his surname. If he contacts you again, especially on my behalf, please let me know.”

“I’ll contact you immediately, Ms. Bernard.”

After thanking the lady for a second time, Val jammed on the pair of old heelless cowboy boots she wore when doing barn chores and stormed out of her trailer. She was still in the ripped jeans and latte-colored t-shirt she wore when she didn’t plan on being in public, and the only part of her cosmetics routine that she had completed was her foundation. Normally, she would refuse to be seen like this, but right then, she felt too wound up to care.

Why was Biggs doing this? What game was he playing with her? How much more of his nonsense would she have to take?

Once she’d tromped around the entirety of the dusty fairgrounds three times, her nerves settled. She noticed that audience members were beginning to file into their seats in the stadium, and that many of her fellow rodeo participants and staff were busy preparing for tonight’s show.

Which was exactly what she should be doing. She was running out of time.

Rushing back to her trailer, she finished getting ready, but her thoughts kept fixating on Biggs’ bizarre behavior. She couldn’t help being preoccupied with it and being so distracted while on horseback was a terrible plan. Val needed to confide in someone about her stress to stay on track, so she yanked out her phone and glanced at her contacts list.

She could contact her dad, but upsetting him wouldn’t likely serve either of them in the long run. She could call Mitzi, could even ask her to come to her trailer so she could holler and throw pillows around if necessary, but her assistant would currently be making the last touches to Maybelline’s saddle and costume.

Frustrated, Val clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to get this out of her system. Needed to, in fact. She scrolled further into her contact list and came across Sheriff Mark Talbot’s number.

She didn’t know what made her do it. She and the sheriff had shared only two conversations, the first of which had involved a security guard and Biggs. Since then, they’d had one other contact by phone, and she couldn’t think of him as anything but a stranger. Yet, despite this, she found herself pressing his name, anyway.

“Val… what a nice surprise,” he greeted her, and surprise did indeed emanate from his pitch and cadence.

“Biggs is being… weird again.” She might’ve felt bad for skipping all the pleasantries if she wasn’t at the end of her rope.

“Explain weird.” All surprise and lightness vanished from his voice. The man was nothing but pure sheriff now.

She extended her account of everything that had happened. The call from Eunice Carber. His attempt to cancel her turn via the Bozeman rodeo’s website. The voicemail he’d left insisting on still being her manager. All of it.

“That’s super creepy, right?” she asked him.

“Definitely,” he agreed, and it wasn’t until she heard him total up of the events and come to the same conclusion that she felt the least bit better.

It was like having a comrade-in-arms. Someone who legitimized what she felt. Not that her dad or Mitzi would ever scoff or assert she was over-exaggerating what had occurred. Neither of them would ever do that. That was more Biggs’ speed, actually. But having an official law enforcement officer offering her his full attention validated her feelings on the matter like nothing else could.

“So why is he doing it, do you think?”

The sheriff blew out a breath. “Motive can be hard to determine in cases like this. Will you send me the number of this Carber woman?”

She took the phone from her ear and sent it via text. “Done.”

“All right, I’ll speak to her and get a copy of that voicemail. Even though it’s not a threat to you per se, he’s attempting to interfere with your business. What is the policy of the typical rodeo arena if you cancel?”

“Every performer misses shows occasionally. Usually due to illness or injury.” She thought of when her dad had to be taken in for his heart surgery without warning. “Or a family emergency. The normal stuff. Missing a single show shouldn’t pose any long-term problems.”

---