Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Mark started his work shift with the news that in another little community on the opposite side of Kirby, Ulysses A. Biggs wound up pulled over for speeding in excess of fifty miles over. He also had a multitude of unpaid parking tickets, tickets he must’ve procured since the last time Mark had run his record.
He felt a thrill of vindication when he discovered that Biggs would have to appear in the local traffic court that morning, but when he found out the result that afternoon, his sense of vindication faltered.
All the judge had given him was a slap on the wrist.
Biggs had received a fine and didn’t even lose his license. Since Biggs had somehow come up with the funds necessary to pay, he wound up released on his own recognizance, a free man with zero restrictions.
And sure, this outcome was far from unheard of. It wasn’t even atypical. Judges could choose to be lenient whenever they wanted. Yet, Mark became filled with resentment every time he thought about that guy out there able to appear wherever Val might be whenever he wanted.
It chapped his hide, frankly.
This left him feeling at out of sorts. It was like having a thorn in his heel that he couldn’t get out, and Mark spent the rest of the day in the grumpiest of grumpy moods. Even though it wasn’t like him at all, he found himself snapping at everyone he spoke to who happened to be stuck beneath his chain of command. He felt guilty about it after the fact, but he couldn’t seem to yank his attitude out of the depths.
When Rusty called, Mark avoided answering him. He didn’t need to push his bad attitude on his friend. After listening to the voicemail where Rusty merely told him he had a question without doing him the courtesy of being specific, he ignored it. Rusty called back a few minutes later, and this time, Mark didn’t even check the voicemail.
A third call, though, had him barking into his phone. “ What ?”
“Whoa there, Mark, tell me how you really feel.”
“What’s your stupid question?”
There was a pause. “I think my question is this: Are you all right?”
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.
The reason Blair had told their mom she remained under her roof was to save up for future rent on her own place, but the true reason was that she and Mark didn’t feel comfortable leaving their mother on her own for too long. At twenty-five, Blair took care of his mom as much as her mom took care of her.
And personally, he liked the idea of his mother and sister depending on one another.
But maybe his mom no longer required that.
It was hard not to worry about her, however, since he still remembered so vividly what it’d been like when she’d grieved his dad. Slowly but surely, she returned to herself, but even with her sense of humor intact, she’d never quite been the same. She’d also never attempted to remarry. The one time he’d asked, she’d told him, “Your father was my soulmate, and that hasn’t changed. Dating again will feel like a sacrilege.”
That’d been the end of that discussion.
Yet what appeared to be good for the gander wasn’t allowed for the goose.
“Men need to be cared for at home. There are several studies citing that fact,” his mom went on, but he’d lost the thread of the conversation.
“What fact?”
“That married men live much longer than their bachelor counterparts. It’s bad enough that your career has hazards that others don’t. You could at least have a wife there for support and companionship.”
“Well, that thinking is positively prehistoric,” Blair murmured under her breath. He didn’t know if their mother heard her or not since she didn’t react. His sister raised her voice. “So this fictional wife of his is just supposed to be there at his every beck and call?”
“Of course not,” his mom glared at her daughter. “I don’t expect every woman to stay at home like I did. A lot of times that’s not possible nowadays. But he could have someone to go home to. Someone he knows is there for him.” She focused back on him. “You deserve that. I want that for you.”
That was a nice concept and all, but between his own mortgage and paying for some of his mother’s and sister’s bills, affording such a lifestyle sounded not only impractical but unlikely. Without warning, the image of Val Bernard’s stunning face filled his psyche, and he blinked at it. But he couldn’t have her. Even if the thought of that struck a reverberating chord deep inside him.
“Did you have a general not-good day or a confidential not-good day?” Blair asked, tugging him out of his reverie.
The news wasn’t confidential. Not exactly. So without names, he provided them with a brief rundown of the judge failing to punish Biggs. Then he couldn’t help but smile. He’d redacted the man’s name just like his mother had hinted at earlier.
“Why do you care?” his sister pushed. “What did he do besides drive like an idiot and rack up a bunch of parking tickets?”
“He threatened Val—someone.” He switched what he’d said at the last minute, but it was too late.
“Val?” Blair smirked at him. “Who’s Val?”
“Is this a lady friend of yours?” his mom chimed in hopefully, and he covered his face with his hands, groaning in frustration.
“You two are relentless,” he complained.
“Well,” Blair kept right ongoing. “We’re waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“An explanation. Ooh, it is a lady friend, isn’t it?”
So much for his sister being on his side. Apparently, she’d decided to gang up on him alongside his mother.
“She’s nobody. A trick rider at the rodeo when it was in town a couple of weeks back.” The two women sat next to each other, propping their elbows on the table and resting their chins on their arms, peering at him in eager anticipation.
Great. He’s stepped his foot in it without even realizing. He sighed and reluctantly continued. “The security guard had an issue with some clown with a loud mouth and an aggressive posture. He called me for help, and I made sure the guy took a hike.”
“And is this Val lady around your age?” his mom piped up.
“I don’t know how, Mom. Maybe. Probably.”
“What does she look like?” Blair poked her nose back in.
“Blonde with light brown eyes, I guess…” He pictured her as she’d met her that night. Her long curls draping almost to her waistline over her spangly hot pink costume. How the golden decorations along with the jewelry at her wrists, neck, and ears gleamed and glittered. How that gold matched the decoration on her ten-gallon hat and the large oval belt buckle she wore below her naval…
“Did you think her pretty?” Mom again.
“What does that matter?”
“That’s not a no,” Blair crowed, and he’d about had enough. This was getting downright ridiculous. Especially when she retrieved her phone and typed something in. “Is this her? Valentine Bernard?” Sure enough, Val stared back at him through his sister’s screen.
And yeah, she was pretty. No, pretty didn’t come anywhere close to describing her. She was ravishing. Dazzling. Beautiful.
He let his eyes slip closed. He’d lost this particular fight before it’d even begun. “Yes, that’s her.”
“Ooh, look, Mom. This girl’s amazing! And I’ve seen her perform. Think it was a few years ago. She’s one of the best there is. Graceful. Talented. Fearless. You should go ask her out right now, Mark.”
“For the love of—” he groaned, but his mom interrupted, her expression grave.
“That man the judge let off scot-free,” she said, and though it hadn’t been quite that simple, it’d been close enough. “Are you concerned that he might come back and do some damage? Maybe even hurt her?”
A heated rage that Mark had rarely experienced poured through his system like acid. That was it. What had been bothering him—what had been making him act like a beast—all along. The thing with the court case wasn’t only about meting out justice, or this time, not meting it out. It was the fact that the guy could legitimately pose a threat to Val, yet he was out there unrestrained and, other than the request he’d personally sent out, unwatched.
“I don’t know,” he bit out.
“Did she file a restraining order against him?”
“No.” He’d checked, of course. It was one of the first things he’d done.
“Well then,” her look goes just the tiniest bit sly. “Maybe you should encourage her to get one.”
“I don’t know her well enough for that.”
“Are you saying you don’t have access to her information?”
He did, and he was fully well aware that his mother knew that. So did Blair. What they didn’t know was that he’d contacted her already. That they’d had a delightful few minutes discussing nothing really important, and yet he couldn’t cease thinking about it. About every word she’d said.
Mark had felt like reaching out once hadn’t been an abuse of his power, but any more unsolicited calls—especially without some sort of direct threat against her—might be. And he didn’t abuse his power. Not ever. It would oppose the whole “serve and protect” oath he’d taken when he’d become a sheriff.
“That’s not the sort of thing I should bug her about. It’s not like I’m someone close to her or anything. I met her once. One time. So I’ll thank you both to quit filling your heads with ludicrous notions like I’m sure you’re doing.”
“Is it ludicrous to wish for my son to have a bright future?” his mother asked, but her tone had become lighter and less solemn. The slightest bit teasing.
“You know it’s not, Mom, but I’m not going to dial up this woman and ask her out to dinner and a movie. She doesn’t even live here.”
That was another point of contention. If Biggs chose to go after her at her home, it’d be almost two hours before Mark could drive there. Not that he had jurisdiction. That fact that he didn’t feel like he could trust Biggs as far as he could throw him, notwithstanding.
And he’d really relish the opportunity to throw him. Or maybe simply throw down with him.
“Where does she live?” his mother asked. Yep, she’d picked right up on that little slip of the tongue.
“Near Billings. But even then she travels pretty relentlessly on the rodeo circuit. You know how that lifestyle works. People who do rodeo gigs are seldom home.” Not to mention that she might not be interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone. Much less him.
He hadn’t had but the most casual of dates in years and hadn’t dated at all in two. Mark felt so far out of practice with the entire endeavor of dating that he wasn’t sure he’d be suitable for her even if she did say yes.
And based on her exceptional looks, her being open to going out with him at all seemed improbable. There had been a time that he’d felt self-confident around women, but once his priorities became about taking care of his family to the exclusion of all else, he no longer had time for that.
He was out of practice. Drastically.
“So, you’re not even going to try, big brother? It’s not like you to turn a blind eye to some fabulous opportunity.”
“What fabulous opportunity? Let’s say I do what you’re each encouraging me to do, and she says yes. Even if things started off well, we’d rarely see one another. It’d make my best shot with her be some insane long-distance thing that would likely fail. Then, all we’d be able to share would be a breakup. How is that better than me staying single?”
“Well, son,” his mom leaned over and gingerly patted his forearm. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You’ll never know unless you try. Will you?”