Wyoming Bold

“Thanks. It does rather feel like being in prison, however.” Tank sighed, looking around at the state-of-the-art camera towers.

“We pay a price for safety,” the other man replied. “With your life at stake, this seems a pretty fair dinkum one, you know?”

Tank smiled. “I know.” It didn’t occur to him then to ask how the man knew his life was on the line, since he hadn’t elaborated about the threat to either the woman at the company’s office or this installer.

“Well, that should do it,” the man replied. “Oh, and I did put a small camera in your office, just to square things up. It’s hidden, so you won’t have to worry about somebody spotting it.”

“Where?” Tank asked, concerned.

The other man put a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “If you don’t know where it is, you can’t tell somebody, right?”

He laughed. He had a similar appliance in his truck, a Lo-Jack, and where it was installed nobody knew. “I get it.”

“Good man. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call us, right?”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” he replied, and grinned again.

Why should Tank suddenly think of a play, with one of the characters complaining that another character “smiled too much”?

Curious, he watched the man climb into a nice, late-model car and drive off. Why wasn’t he in a company truck, like most technicians drove?

So he called the security company and asked.

“Oh, that’s just Ben.” The woman in the office laughed, although she sounded just briefly disconcerted. “He’s eccentric. He likes women, you see, and he thinks they’re less likely to be impressed by a guy if he’s in some company vehicle.”

“I see.”

“Not to worry,” she returned. “I’ve known him for years. He’s just curious, to put it politely. But he knows his job, and he’s good at it.”

“I’ll stop worrying.”

“We’re happy to have the work,” she added gratefully. “It’s been a bit slow, lately, with the economy in such a bind.”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “We’re looking for new markets for our cattle. Everything’s slow.”

“I guess you’re selling off stock.”

“Sold it off before winter,” he corrected. “And a good thing it was. We’re having to truck in feed. This storm is bad.”

“I know. I had to get a lift to work with a friend.” She laughed. “If he hadn’t been able to drive in this, you wouldn’t be speaking to me now.”

“Good thing your guys can work in this mess,” Tank said. “I didn’t want to wait for the weather to break to get the system installed.”

“Expecting some sort of trouble?” she asked. “Not that it’s my business.”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he prevaricated. “But we had a threat about one of our bulls. Best to be safe.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Not worrying about some sort of attack on people there, then?”

He laughed deliberately. “What in the world would somebody attack us for?” he asked. “I did jaywalk last week, but I hardly think the sheriff’s coming by to arrest me.”

She laughed, too. “Silly thought. I suppose your cattle are quite expensive.”

“And that’s an understatement,” he replied. “A friend of ours was visited by rustlers a few weeks ago. Had one of his prize bulls taken. Not going to happen here.”

“Not with our equipment on the job, I promise you,” she replied. “Thanks again for the business. If you know anybody else in need of surveillance equipment, we’d be grateful for the work.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

He hung up.

* * *

THE STORM DID BREAK. Snow was still piled everywhere, but the sun came out. Tank had phoned Clara to make sure Merissa was better.

“She’s back at work already.” Clara laughed. “Would you like to speak to her?”

“Yes, I would, thanks.”

There was a brief pause. “Hello?”

Tank loved her voice. It was soft and clear, like a prayer in the wilderness. “Hello,” he replied softly. “Are you better?”

“Much. Thanks again for your help. The doctor called in a prescription for me at the drugstore,” she added. “He says it will help prevent the headaches, if I can tolerate it.” She laughed. “I’m funny about medicine. I can’t take a lot of it. I used to take feverfew for migraine, and another herb, but they weren’t working.”

“Modern medicine to the rescue,” he mused.

“Modern medicine is just a reworking of ancient Native American and indigenous folk medicine wrapped up in pills,” she pointed out.

“Have it your way.” He smiled, then paused. “When the snow melts a bit, how would you like to go over to Catelow and have supper at that new Mediterranean eatery everybody’s talking about?”

Her intake of breath was audible. “I’d love to,” she said with flattering quickness.

He chuckled softly. “I like Greek food,” he said. “Well, I don’t like resinated wine, but that’s another thing.”

“What is that?”

“The wine?” he asked. “It’s an acquired taste, a wine with resin in it. It’s quite bitter, but I’m told that many people like it.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“To me, too. But I love the food.”

“I like spinach salad with goat cheese.”

“So do I.”