Page 30 of His Reluctant Cowboy

A glass of water from the tap did little to help his persistent hunger, but Josiah was too mentally exhausted to care. He collapsed on top of the trailer’s double bed, pressed his face into a slightly stale pillow, and tried to block out all his negative thoughts for just a little while.

Long enough to sleep without dreaming.

He woke with the sun and lay there for a bit, not used to spending a whole night in bed alone. Unmolested. Still hungry, he found a snack-size pack of sandwich cookies and ate those with a big glass of water. Washed his face and finger-combed his hair, since showering made no sense. He’d just have to put his same clothes back on anyway.

Michael had said to come in at nine for breakfast, but the small space in the trailer and his overall nerves had Josiah pacing too much. He unlocked the trailer door and stepped out into the bright early October sunshine. And he nearly tripped over a cardboard box. Several boxes, and a familiar suitcase. A piece of folded paper was taped to one box. Confused by what this was, Josiah plucked up the paper with trembling fingers and unfolded it.

Got your stuff. See you at 9.—M

“My stuff?” he asked the paper.

When he found the nerve to pry open the top of the closest box, Josiah’s legs gave out. His diploma was right on top. His ass hit the bottom trailer step and he started to cry.

Chapter Nine

Michael couldn’t let it go.

Maybe it wasn’t his job to protect Josiah, who was an employee and quasi friend, but everything inside Michael insisted he do something to fix this. Finding Josiah on his front porch at nine o’clock at night, his eyes full of desperate terror, had set off something brand-new inside Michael. A protective instinct he’d never felt before, not even for Kenny. He’d needed to do something.

Installing Josiah in the fifth wheel had been a start, but not enough to calm the boiling rage deep in his belly. Rage at how devastated Josiah had been tonight. Rage at McBride for pulling a shitty stunt for no apparent reason and hurting Josiah in the process. Rage over Josiah losing everything he owned, just like Michael had lost most of what he owned.

So he’d paced the living room for a while. Dad had stayed quiet, watching whatever show was on television on a Friday night and not commenting on Michael’s mood. Not until Dad muted the TV and said, “You ain’t gonna let this lie, are you?”

Michael stopped near the alcove to the kitchen. “How can I? Kenny stole my money, kidnapped my dog, gave him away, and left my ass in the lurch, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I’ll be damned if I’ll sit on my hands and watch that happen to another person.” Maybe he’d been too weak to fix his own personal crises before, but Michael could stand up for Josiah now.

Hehadto.

“How you gonna fix it?”

“I don’t know.” Driving over to the sheriff’s house and demanding Josiah’s things seemed idiotic and, frankly, kind of dangerous. But he couldn’t just let Josiah be treated like this. The guy was too kind, too caring, and Michael liked him too damned much to do nothing.

“Give me the phone.”

Michael blinked. “What?”

“The phone.” Dad could reach it on the table nearby if he stretched far enough, but something in his expression said he expected Michael to do as asked. To let his father sort this out. He couldn’t say no to that look.

So Michael picked up the handset and gave it to Dad. “Who are you calling?”

“An old friend with influence.” Dad punched in the number, then put the phone to his ear. “Wayne? It’s Elmer Pearce. I got a situation and need a favor.”

And that was how, twenty minutes later, Michael found himself in the bed of Wayne Woods’s pickup truck along with Brand, Hugo, and their dog Brutus—Wayne and Jackson were in the cab—on their way to Seamus McBride’s house. Five men and a dog to rescue the possessions of a young nurse they all knew and liked, and Michael had no idea why Jackson was along for this particular errand. But he was glad for the extra support.

The sheriff’s car was in the driveway when they arrived, and Wayne left the truck engine idling, the lights trained on the porch. He led the charge forward, and Michael kept close, ready to do whatever he was asked. Brutus stood next to Brand’s hip, ears forward, tail straight out, waiting for a command from his human.

Wayne rang the bell. Several times.

The front door swung open. McBride had a beer in one hand and stared at Wayne first, obviously confused, before realizing how many people were on his porch. “What the hell’s this, Woods?” McBride asked.

Wayne tilted his head in Michael’s direction, which gave Michael the opening to say, “We’re here for Josiah Sheridan’s personal belongings.”

“Don’t know what you mean. He moved out tonight.”

“Sure he did. That’s why he ended up on my doorstep with nothing but his car saying you kicked him out. We’re not here for a fight, Sheriff. Just his stuff.” Finding courage in his own words, Michael shouldered his way past McBride and into the house. It was basically a double-wide trailer dropped on a patch of land, and it was easy to navigate.

McBride grabbed Michael’s shoulder. Brand whistled and Brutus let out a vicious bark but didn’t lunge. McBride backed off.

“Where’s his room?” Michael asked.

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