The Cowboy Lawman. Brenda Minton

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      Tall and slim, athletic, she’d always been an overachiever, the girl who thought she could do it all. And did. She’d been a star basketball player. She’d ridden barrels all the way to nationals, three times. She’d won the whole thing once.

      Now she looked as broken as a person could get, but she still had fighter written all over her.

      “Remember when Vicki used to tell you to just go ahead and cry?” He smiled as he remembered his wife, her best friend. That was what time did for a person—it made the memories easier, made smiling easier.

      “Yeah, she used to do that. When I broke my ankle, sprained my wrist, had a concussion. Cry, she’d say.” She rubbed her hand over her face. “But it didn’t make sense to cry over it. Pain is an emotion.”

      Instead of crying, Mia would just get mad. A defense mechanism he guessed from her tough childhood, pre-Coopers. She reached for the door of his patrol car. He knew he wouldn’t get much further with her, but he had to try.

      “Mia, she would tell you to have faith.”

      “Don’t.” She opened the door and looked back at him, one foot on the paved driveway. “Don’t give me the easy answers, the platitudes. It doesn’t help. I can pray. I can have faith. I can believe in God to do all things. But there is one thing that won’t happen.”

      “I know.”

      She closed her eyes and the tense lines of her face eased. She reached across the car for his hand and held it tight. “I know you do.”

      “But I promise you, those words are more than platitudes. It doesn’t feel like it right now, but it is going to get easier.”

      “Come in for a cup of coffee?”

      Okay, she wanted to change the subject. He radioed in that he’d be out of his car but available on his cell phone. Dispatch responded and he pulled the keys out of the ignition. Yeah, he did that every single time.

      Mia saw the keys go in his pocket and she laughed. With watery eyes and red streaks where tears had made trails down her cheeks, she laughed. He smiled and shrugged, he’d take the humiliation if it made her feel better.

      “A guy only makes that mistake once.” He stepped out of his car.

      “You know that Gage and Dylan did that to you.”

      “Yeah, I know.”

      Her brothers had hidden his patrol car. He’d been a deputy for two months and those two brothers of hers had spotted his car at the Convenience Counts convenience store, keys in the ignition. He’d been inside grabbing a corn dog and when he walked out, his car was gone. After fifteen minutes of searching on foot, he’d had to radio it in to dispatch. A BOLO, “be on the lookout,” for a police car.

      Reese Cooper had come along a short time later and told Slade his car was parked at the rodeo grounds. Slade and Reese found the car just as three patrol cars zoomed in.

      For several years the other deputies had called him BOLO. They still liked to bring it up from time to time.

      Mia met him on the sidewalk, her smile still in evidence.

      “Nighttime is the worst,” she admitted as she walked up the steps to her front porch.

      “I know.” He had to tell her why he’d come looking for her. And he wasn’t looking forward to it.

      “I don’t drink coffee,” she said as she unlocked the door to her house.

      He followed her through the living room to the kitchen. He hadn’t been inside her house before today. He didn’t know why. He guessed because Vicki and Mia had been best friends. But he and Mia had been friends, too. They’d grown up together. They’d trailered to rodeos together, a bunch of kids sleeping in the backs of trucks and trailers during those two-day events.

      After Vicki’s death, he’d been wrapped up in making his life work, in being a dad to his infant son, and Mia had taken a job with a DEA drug task force that required undercover work.

      He had to tell her why he was here.

      In the kitchen she bent to pull a coffeemaker out of the cabinet. He reached to help her. She smiled a little and backed up, letting him put it on the counter.

      “What are they saying about your arm?”

      She ran the coffeemaker under warm water and then filled it with cold water. He plugged in the machine and stepped back as she did a decent job, left-handed, of pouring water into the reservoir and then fitting a filter into the holder.

      “Well, it’s held together with a plate and screws. They did what they could for the damaged nerves.” She looked down at her splinted wrist and shrugged. “I can start physical therapy pretty soon.”

      “What about your job?” He measured coffee into the filter and hit the power button. “Will you stay with the DEA?”

      She walked away, to the window that overlooked her small yard and the two acres of field. He’d always wondered why she chose this place. She had her own land. Each of the Cooper kids had their own hundred acres.

      “I don’t know about my job, Slade. The doctors say my right hand will suffer weakness because of the nerve damage.” She sighed and didn’t turn to face him. “I don’t know who I am without that job.”

      “You’re still Mia Cooper.”

      He moved a few steps and almost, almost put his hand on her shoulder, but he couldn’t. She was a friend. She’d been Vicki’s friend. She turned, smiling a sad smile.

      “Slade, that’s the problem. Who is Mia Cooper? For the last few years I’ve been everyone but the person I thought I was. I’ve had to pretend to be someone I never wanted to be. I’ve had to forget myself.”

      He watched the emotions play across her face, and when she seemed to be looking for herself, she was still Mia. She was still the little sister of Reese, Travis, Jackson, the list went on and on. They were all friends of his. She’d been the kid sister who didn’t want to stay at home with the girls. She’d wanted to do the overnight trail rides with the guys. She’d beaten them at basketball, caught bigger fish, ridden harder, played longer.

      “You’re still Mia. You’re stronger than anyone I know. You’ll find yourself.”

      “Stronger than you?” She smiled then, a real smile, a flash of white in a suntanned face. “I don’t think so. How’s Caleb?”

      “He’s five now and going to preschool a few days a week. He’s a chip off the old block.”

      “I’ll bet he is. I haven’t seen him in so long.”

      “Stop by sometime.” He let the words slip out, easy because she was a friend.

      “Yeah, I will.”

      “You’ve said that before. It would be good for him to know you.”

      “I want to know him, too.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ