Page 14 of Lucky Cowboy

“What if you were to miss several in a row, though? What would happen then?”

It was rare, but such things had transpired in the past. “A performer who’s deemed unreliable or who fails to show up and doesn’t communicate ahead of time with the rodeo sponsors could lose their position on the circuit. Do you think that’s what Biggs is trying to do?”

“Right now, I’m just spit-balling. But maybe.”

“But he had to know that I would be here despite him trying to mess things up behind the scenes. What did he think he’d accomplish?”

There was a pause from the sheriff as if mulling the situation over. Considering. “I’d like for you to alert the security team onsite for me, Val.”

“Okay. But why?”

“It’s just a precaution. But usually people who pull these kinds of stunts don’t do it for no reason. Since he’s acted threatening to you prior to this, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that he might appear in person to keep you from performing.” The icy-cold skittering down her spine was back. “If his goal is to damage your reputation or to put you under his thumb somehow, we can’t ignore that out of hand.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Give them Biggs’ description, too. A picture if you have one.”

Val had erased every image she’d ever had of him, but there might be something online she could use. Yes, now that she thought about it, the organizers had taken one when she’d won a championship down in Oklahoma City a couple of years back. Biggs had been emphatic about having his arm around her shoulders as she held up the belt buckle she’d been awarded.

She glanced at the buckle now where she kept it displayed on her trailer wall next to her vanity mirror. Despite Biggs’ presence in her memory of receiving it, she loved that buckle. It depicted a trick rider on horseback, her hair flowing out behind her. The design had been made in a horseshoe shape with a silver background and the raised illustration of the rider in gold.

“I can do that.”

“Do that at every rodeo you attend from now on. Also, if you don’t have a restraining order filed against him, I’d do that as well. In Montana it’s called an Order of Protection. There’s precedent to accuse him of stalking at least. Has he ever harmed you, Val?”

The intensity of his question raised her blood pressure, but she replied, “No. Not physically. He did steal money from me, though.”

The sheriff made an abrupt noise Val could only describe as a growl. Yet when he next spoke, his voice was gentle. “Request it as a crime victim, then. And mention the stalking, too. That way, he can’t legally come within fifteen-hundred feet of you.”

“Okay. As soon I can, I will.”

A restraining order was a really good idea. There were a handful of seconds where she expected the sheriff to speak again, but he didn’t. There was tension between them. Not the argumentative sort. This tension was born of concern. But the rodeo was starting in the background. She had to go. Still, she felt so relieved to have talked to him. Soothed. It was lucky he’d been available for her.

“Thank you, sheriff.”

“Call me Mark.”

She smiled, and it was one-hundred percent authentic. Val knew she’d have to go out and plaster a fake one on her face shortly, but this man had brought out a real one. “Okay, then. Thank you, Mark.”

“You’re very welcome.”

CHAPTERSEVEN

Mark didhis best to investigate why Biggs would spread false rumors about Val canceling her rodeo gigs, but he unfortunately came up empty. Val texted him once she did her part by filing an Order of Protection there in Montana. While it didn’t extend to the other states she’d be traveling to, the fact that she’d requested it helped her case should Biggs ever show up where he wasn’t wanted.

Over the rest of the month, she had no further issues, and he knew this because he and Val had begun to communicate off and on. Sometimes by text and sometimes over the phone, they began by sharing short discussions, but those grew into much lengthier talks. At first, they spoke about their concerns around Biggs, but almost like clockwork, their conversations became more casual. Lighter.

“Tell me more about Rocky Ridge,” she inquired of him one Thursday evening after a long day. The temps had climbed into the nineties that afternoon. It was hard to believe that it was nearly June already.

“I suppose it’s like any other small Montanan town.”

She made a sound of exasperation, and he repressed a chuckle. Playfully teasing her had become his new favorite thing.

“Details, Mark. I need details. I’ve only ever been on your rodeo grounds. What is there to do there? Does it have good restaurants or attractions? Throw me a bone.”

That image ripped a laugh right out of him.

“Well,” he began, laughter still jangling in his voice. “Like a lot of communities this size we have a town square. It’s surrounded by businesses, and the square itself has a statue of our founder on a horse.”

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