Page 9 of Lucky Cowboy

Mark almost shouted out, “Of course I am,” but caught himself. Allowing his phone to fall into the seat, he scrubbed his hands up and down his face a few times.

“Mark?” came the disembodied and slightly muffled voice. He hadn’t put his friend on speaker. “Mark?”

He pressed the thing to his ear again. “Yeah?”

“You gonna enlighten me as to what’s going on?”

“Just…” What could he say? That he’d been struggling with this over-exaggerated sensation of wrath over a man he had no actual proof had committed any serious crimes. Sure, he felt like the guy was slimy, but the real reason for his reaction came in the form of one word. One person.

Val.

Imagining Biggs denigrating her in any way made him crazy. But he’d already let his own brand of crazy get out of hand today. The buck had to stop somewhere, and Mark decided the place it would stop was here.

“It’s nothing that needs to take priority. Whatcha got?”

That was their shorthand for handling business back and forth. Anytime they could help each other, they did, not only as a matter of courtesy but of safety. It was up to them to keep their state and their parts of Montana in particular secure.

After taking the intel Rusty had given him on reports of suspicious vehicles parking in odd places without of state plates, Mark pushed through the rest of his hours. That evening he was supposed to go to dinner at his mom’s house, but he nearly cancelled. No need to inflict his less than generous demeanor on the people he most loved.

But he could hear his mom now. “Why aren’t you coming, Mark Alec? Are you ill? Injured? You need to tell me right this second.”

It’d be easier to just go. Or that was what he’d thought. Turned out, concealing his preoccupation was basically impossible. Not from these two.

“What’s got you all scowly?” Blair asked him, pinning him with an all too knowing stare.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he claimed, averting his eyes as he reached for the mashed potatoes.

“You’re not eating, and you always eat. Like a horse. So, spill it. Why do you look like someone just smashed your favorite action figure?”

She had him there. As mature and responsible as he’d felt it necessary to become, he’d kept his collection of action figures from his most beloved sci-fi show displayed proudly in his room even while attending the academy. He’d also kept his roping trophies from his rodeo days. He had them all even now after having moved out years ago, although both the figures and his trophies had been carefully packed away in acid-free boxes instead.

His mom appeared like an apparition behind him, having laid a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed her move. So much for being a good cop. If a lady of seventy who regularly complained about her swollen ankles could get the drop on him, what use was he to anyone?

“Sweetheart, why don’t you tell us what’s troubling you? You can always redact the names of the innocent for their own protection,” she quipped. His mom had a fabulous sense of humor. That was why it’d destroyed him to watch her to slide into such a state of despondency and despair when they lost his dad.

He gripped her hand, finding it warm. And for the first time since that morning, the clouds plaguing him parted, allowing in some sunshine.

“Just a stressful,Rather, not-good day at work is all. I’ll get over it.” He didn’t know if he would, though. Part of him wished he’d arrested Biggs when he’d had the chance.

“You know what you need,” his mom started, and he knew precisely where she would be going with this. He latched his gaze onto Blair’s in time to see her roll her eyes. And sure enough. “A nice young woman to settle down with.” Then, as his mother spoke her next predictable sentence, he and Blair mouthed at each other, “You’ve been single for far too long.”

He’d heard this song and dance so many times that he’d lost track, and despite the ten-year age difference between him and his baby sister, they’d frequently commiserated over this. Mainly because their mother played the same game with Blair. The only real contrast was that Mark had been listening to this for a decade longer than his sister had.

“I’m perfectly satisfied with my single status,” he assured her. Again. Not that she ever listened to him.

“Mom, the spaghetti is extra zesty tonight. Did you do something new?” Blair tried, but her attempt at diverting her didn’t work.

“You say that, yet you lumbered in here moping.”

Good grief.

“I’m not moping, Mom. I’m a member of law enforcement and sometimes this job isn’t the easiest.”

“I know what you are, Mark Alec.” Ah, here it was. The middle naming portion of the evening was now underway. “No one knows better what you do day in and day out than me.”

The room lapsed into silence. She was right, of course. No one knew what he faced more than a widow of a fallen sheriff killed in the line of duty. Mark never forgot that, but as he locked eyes with his mother, he knew he sometimes underestimated her resiliency.

Maybe he and Blair each did. His baby sister hadn’t gone off to college like many of her classmates. Rather she’d stayed home to complete her degrees online. So far, she had her bachelor’s and was currently within a stone’s throw of wrapping up her master’s in social work. She did babysitting in order to pay off as much of it as she could, with Mark chipping in as often as he was able.

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