Page 139 of My Cowboy Freedom
I’d tried working hard. Living what my folks might have called a decent Christian life. I’d tried being nice and going along to get along and every kind of appeasement.
I’ve tried to ignore the injustice of having money I earned in a trust I can’t touch—all because I survived a lightning strike.
Guess what?
Not. Today.
I handed my phone back to Jackson.
Jackson was surprised and a little alarmed, but he took it. Slipped it into his jacket pocket. Maisy whined because she hates it when I’m angry.
Jackson thumbed a text to my mother. He thought I couldn’t see, but his screen was lit up and the car was dark.
It’s going better than I expected. He gave me his phone with no trouble.
My mother sent him a smiley.
A smiley? Poor bastard probably survived from smiley to smiley. Sucking up crumbs of affection wherever he could. There sat one sad motherfucker.
Sure, I had given up my phone.
But stay frosty, Jackson.
Stay tuned.
He drove us back to the highway, where we joined a river of Northbound traffic.
“What?” Was his frown because of me or my mother? I’ll bet even he didn’t know the answer to that one.
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just thinking.”
“You scare me when you say that,” he teased.
I wasn’t teasing when I replied, “You should be scared.”
