Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
At this time of night, the most likely culprit would be the local rodeo manager or one of their staff. Sometimes the event organizer would approach with a change to the schedule or for some similar reason, though that was rare.
Since Val had already taken her turn, though, she couldn’t imagine why they might be here. Then someone thumped on her door a second time, even harder. Enough to shake her entire trailer.
It made her mad to be antagonized like this. Trick riders were part of the reason that rodeos drew crowds in the first place, so usually, those in charge treated her and her sisterhood of riders with great respect. Sometimes even with deference. And while she didn’t need the whole deference thing, after dealing with Biggs, she refused to put up with rude behavior.
A couple of deep voices echoed toward her after this round of banging, each too muffled to identify. All she could tell was that there were at least two of them, and each sounded annoyed and angry. Well, they could just join the club.
Stomping toward her door in her flashiest and prettiest—if currently dusty—boots, she wrenched it wide, her hands in fists, ready to give whoever this problem person might be a piece of her mind.
That’s when she saw one of the men and recognized that thin, greasy, pale hair. That snarling smirk on his face as if he thought himself better than everyone else on the planet, despite the fact that his teeth were both crooked and stained the color of tree bark.
Her entire body became as ice cold as if she’d been dunked unceremoniously into a frozen lake.
Biggs stood there with another less imposing figure, and though it looked as if they might’ve been arguing, Val barely registered the other man. The only person who filled her vision was him. Her ex. And her ex-manager. The man who’d made her life miserable for five long years.
“Valentine, tell this imbecile that I’m your manager,” he ordered. It was that same voice and tone he’d used to manipulate her for so long. The worst thing about it was how she felt this impulse to obey him without question. Like she was so conditioned to follow his commands that it took genuine effort to defy him.
This, more than anything else, scared her. The fact that he could control her so easily unless she actively fought back.
Yet she fought back. Rather than deign to answer him, she twisted her head to look at the other man and discovered that he was wearing a shirt with huge letters that read, “Security.” She had no clue how she’d missed that this other person was a security guard before now. But then, that’s how insidious and all-consuming Biggs’ presence was to her.
Val opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And despite her terror at the situation, she summoned all her memories of the garbage Biggs had visited on her, how much he’d put her through, and it was at last enough to make her fury burn hotter than her fear.
“He is no manager of mine.” That those words left her so evenly and without faltering gave her strength. It encouraged her. Bolstered her. “And I’d sincerely appreciate it if you removed him from this area.”
Biggs released that awful braying laugh he had, the one that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, to her and scoffed. “Don’t joke around like that, honey. He’ll think you’re being serious.” Before she could reiterate how serious she was, he interrupted her by addressing the security guard. “She gets like this sometimes. Hormonal. Hysterical. You know how women are.”
Rage that only this man could bring out in Val erupted from somewhere deep in her gut, and before Biggs could put more words in her mouth, she pointed straight at him. Then, she spoke to the guard in no uncertain terms. “This man is a crook and a cheat. And yes, he was also once my manager but not any longer. Not for months now. I fired him, and he will never be welcome around me or my people ever again.”
Granted, her “people” consisted only of Mitzi and Maybelline, but no one else needed to know that.
The security guard muttered, “Code nine to area ten. Code nine to area ten,” into the radio at his throat, and though she had no idea what those codes stood for, she’d never felt so grateful to have someone take her side. Also, she suspected that the guard had asked for backup because his expression came across as leery every time he glanced in Biggs’ direction.
That was when her ex decided to get ugly. He yanked some papers from the inside of his jacket pocket. “This proves that I have the authority over her. Here’s our contract.”
At first, all of Val’s blood drained down to her toes. She had signed a contract hiring him as her manager at her ailing father’s behest, but that had been years ago. And not only had she fired him, the contract itself should’ve expired long ago. Unless he’d slithered and finagled his way into some sort of forgery or something.
She wouldn’t put it past him.
Thankfully, the crunching of cowboy boots on the pebble walkway—she’d know that sound anywhere—came toward them, and she peeked up. Even if the man approaching hadn’t been in uniform, she would’ve known him as a member of law enforcement simply from his stance and demeanor.
Calm authority poured off him in waves, and as he closed the distance altogether, she absorbed the black uniform shirt and pants, the gray tie and yellow patches on the arms, as well as his gray ten-gallon cowboy hat and boots. He peered over at her and tipped his hat.
“Sheriff Mark Talbot with the Rocky Ridge Sheriff’s Department,” he greeted her before nodding briefly at Biggs before pivoting toward the security guard. “Reese, catch me up if you would.”
“Sheriff, this man here has created quite a racket claiming to be this lady’s manager. He’s demanding entrance to her trailer. She, however, has a differing opinion on the matter.”
“That right?” The sheriff said, his tone carefully light. Val didn’t know who he might be aiming that question at, but she answered it.
“That’s correct, sheriff. I fired this man months ago and now manage myself just fine.”
For the first time the sheriff brought his gaze up to meet hers. All she could think of was the periwinkle blossoms from the flower garden stationed in front of her childhood home back when her mama had still been alive. She’d seen the same shade on flowers filling prairies and even dotting some highways she travelled, too. A blue with the slightest tinge of violet. More importantly, those eyes of his struck her as sharp, observant, and kind.
“I have a contract,” Biggs spouted, but now that a real challenge to his authority had shown up, his protest sounded much weaker to her ears.
“May I see it?” the sheriff asked.
“Why?” Biggs tugged the papers away as if to hide them.
“To confirm what you’re saying.” The sheriff paused, and when Biggs refused to offer over the paperwork, pursed his full lips. “Although it’s clear to me that the lady is disputing your claim?—”
“But she’s just a?—”
The sheriff frowned at the interruption and cut Biggs off, raising his voice just enough to make his point. “And that alone is enough for me to remove you from these premises.”
Biggs threw a hissy fit. “You have no right to do that.”
“I have every right.”
The sheriff’s voice made Val feel safe. She was so thankful to him, especially when Biggs shut up and took a step back. Burying the contract back in his pocket he stood there with his arms crossed, but he was diminished in the sheriff’s imposing presence.
“Reese, escort this man off the property. If he gives you one wit of trouble, let me know, and I’ll arrest him.”
When Reese tried to take Biggs’ elbow, he snatched it out of his grasp and stormed away.
Another influx of gratitude flooded her, but as Sheriff Mark Talbot laid those eyes on her again, she stiffened.
“May I get your name? I’d like to have it on record in case he causes a stir again.”
“Valentine Bernard.”
“Valentine…” Her name on his tongue rolled off it like melted butter. “That’s pretty.”
“I don’t use it much,” she admitted. “Only when I’m performing. My family and friends call me Val.”
“Val,” he said, and she had to repress another shiver. “It suits you.”
But as if her conscience—or her memory—had smacked her in the face, she braced herself. The last thing she needed was another man to deal with. She already had to handle her worries about her dad’s health and Biggs showing up out of the blue. So that was it. Val swore to herself that she wouldn’t go down any romantic road again.
She meant it, too, no matter how pretty the sheriff’s gaze might be.
“Good evening, Sheriff Talbot,” she spoke his name, intending it as a dismissal. He seemed to take the hint, even if his tone kept that buttery quality.
“Good evening, Ms. Bernard.”