Michael didn’t make it eight feet into the Woods Ranch barn before Jackson’s slightly broader frame nudged him away from a stall door and against the wall. He’d only known the guy for a week and didn’t completely trust him, but Michael also didn’t feel threatened by the gesture, or he’d have probably hauled off and shoved Jackson onto his ass.
“I’m gonna ask you something, friend, and I need you to be honest with me,” Jackson said.
“Ask,” Michael said right away, curious.
“Is Josiah Sheridan in a safe place right now?”
The question threw him for a few seconds, and Michael stuttered finding his words. “I...yes? I mean, he’s perfectly safe in my house. My dad’s house. All I can say is Josiah thinks he might be losing his spot rooming with Sheriff McBride, but Dad and I offered him the trailer in the yard. He’s safe as far as I know. Why?”
Jackson grunted. Looked over both shoulders, but other than some of the horses they were alone. “I’m just being cautious. I knew someone once who was in a bad place, downplayed how serious it was, and things got bad. Really bad. Don’t wanna see that happen again to someone else I know.”
“I get that on a different level. I wasn’t physically in a bad place, but I put my heart and trust in someone who blew both up. I’ll keep an eye on Josiah and whatever’s going on with him.”
“Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”
“Please do.” Jackson’s intensity over this surprised him a little, but Michael also appreciated knowing Josiah had more people in his corner than he probably realized. “Thanks, Jackson.”
“Sure. You and your dad take care of each other.”
“We will.”
After helping Jackson muck a few horse stalls, Michael walked over to the bunkhouse for a prescheduled meeting with Brand and Wayne on rebranding the Woods Ranch website and beef, especially for local venues like the Founder’s Day Picnic and farmers markets. Even though the bunkhouse was technically where Brand and Hugo lived, both men said to just knock hard and come on inside. Felt odd to Michael, but he did.
The door to Brand’s office stood wide-open, so Michael stopped just outside it. Brand was on his cell and he waved Michael inside. Finished up his call while Michael sat in a chair opposite the desk, much like he had the day he was hired. Being in an office space surrounded by bunk beds was a little weird, but whatever. The situation worked for the men who lived here and that was good enough for Michael.
“Hey, everything okay at home?” Brand asked.
“So far so good. Might have a new tenant for the trailer soon.”
“This about Josiah’s personal crisis?”
“Yeah. I don’t wanna spread his personal business around, though, you know?”
“Sure, I totally understand. But if you or he needs any extra help, please reach out. I don’t know Josiah well myself, but Hugo considers him a friend, and I help out friends.”
“Thank you. I mean it. Your family is, well, you’re giving me a chance on the ranch, and I appreciate knowing we’ve got some backup here.”
“Of course. I’ve always liked your dad, and you have worked your ass off since I hired you. You just keep proving I’m a really good judge of people’s character.”
Michael laughed. “I’ll do that. Now, the ranch branding?”
“Yeah, drag that chair around. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
As much as Michael enjoyed being outdoors and working with his hands, he smiled as he settled in to work with his very favorite thing: numbers and codes.
Josiah spent his afternoon cleaning every inch of the Pearce home’s downstairs, because he couldn’t sit still. Since he’d had so few spaces of his own, he’d learned to keep them neat and tidy. Messes and crumbs enticed roaches and bugs, and he didn’t want that, especially in a place where he didn’t live. He got a few curious looks from Elmer, but his patient mostly watched TV and ignored Josiah’s manic dusting, polishing, window washing, and sweeping of every surface he could safely reach.
He needed a step stool for one spot around the living room’s big stone fireplace and chimney, though.
If Elmer wondered, he didn’t ask, and Josiah silently thanked the elderly man for his discretion. Josiah just needed to stay busy right now, damn it, so his brain didn’t focus too much on last night and this morning. On his bruises and sore ribs and very real fear that when he went home tonight, he’d find his stuff in the driveway. Or worse, in the garbage cans.
One night. One time he’d been late and forgotten a date. And it had cost him. Dearly.
Thankfully, his minor breakdown at the Pearce house hadn’t cost him his job, and if the worst happened, he’d have a place to live temporarily. Taking a room from Michael didn’t feel a whole lot different than his room with Seamus, because of the uneven power dynamic, but something about Michael made Josiah want to trust him. Josiah wasn’t quite sure yet if he did trust Michael, but he wanted to. A lot.
So he cleaned and tried not to think about what was waiting for him when he went home—no, back to Seamus’s house. For all that the place had been his “home” these last two years, its four walls were no longer home. It was a house and a room. A room that had never truly been Josiah’s. Everything had always belonged to Seamus, from the room to the furniture to Josiah’s own body. Even his own damned paycheck had been under Seamus’s control.
No more. He’d go to the bank tomorrow and change that. Do whatever he needed so he had his own money going forward. He wouldn’t live on the streets again. Never again.
He finally quit cleaning a little after five and collapsed onto the sofa near Elmer. Elmer was watching a local news broadcast and hadn’t said much to Josiah in the past hour, not since he last needed to use the bottle for personal business. Josiah eyeballed the card table he’d set up nearby with a two-hundred-piece puzzle on it that they’d begun yesterday, mostly to exercise Elmer’s dexterity and coordination.
They hadn’t made much progress.
The cleaning supplies were all neatly stored away underneath the kitchen sink when Michael returned home from the second half of his day. Michael, who exuded warmth and safety and kindness, and whose presence made Josiah feel less like a clueless mess. More in control of his life and surroundings. But it was a false sense of control, because Josiah wasn’t in control. Hadn’t been for pretty much his entire life and probably never would be.
All he could do was fake it one day to the next.
“Staying for supper?” Michael asked from the kitchen. Josiah got a brief glimpse of him pulling something out of the freezer before Michael moved out of his line of sight.
“I can’t, but thank you,” Josiah replied. Since he wasn’t here over the weekend, he gathered up his book and cloth bag he brought snacks in. Even though his clients almost always said to help himself to their food, keeping his own was a habit he couldn’t seem to break.
“See you Monday,” Elmer said.
“See you then. Good night, Elmer. Michael.”
“Night!” Michael shouted back from the kitchen.
Normally, Josiah would leave proud of himself for his first full week at a new job, with a new patient. Tonight, he walked out with dread in his gut, his feet leaden and not wanting to carry him forward. Yes, he’d done well with Elmer and he liked the man very much. Michael, too. His melancholy wasn’t about them; it was about leaving.
Seamus’s car was in the driveway, which was a bit unusual, but Josiah had left a roast in the slow cooker, so Seamus would have had dinner ready to eat. Josiah got out on stiff legs and trod up the stone path to the porch. Up its three wide steps and across to the front door. Grabbed the knob and turned.
It was locked.
Startled, because Seamus didn’t usually lock the front door until after dark, Josiah found his house key. It went into the knob but nothing turned. “What the hell?” He tried his key in the dead bolt and it didn’t work, either. Icy panic filled his stomach. Why the hell had Seamus changed the locks? Almost everything Josiah owned was in that house.
He hoped.
Real terror flooded his veins as he circled the house to the backyard. They didn’t have any sort of town trash service, so Seamus stored their trash in the garage out back and made a dump run about once a month. The garage door was locked, too, which it never was, and he couldn’t see if the cans were overflowing in the dim interior. Hands shaking and heart trying to break through his ribs, Josiah approached the rear door of the house. The kitchen door.
With no real hope of it working, Josiah tried his key. Useless. The door’s single curtain was closed, and the narrow set of steps didn’t extend far enough for him to look in through any of the other kitchen windows. Josiah was too short, the house’s foundation too high so he couldn’t see shit. He banged his fist against the back door. “Seamus! Let me in!”
Several agonizing moments of silence passed. Threatening to call the police dangled on the tip of his tongue for a split second before he remembered his place. Seamus was the fucking sheriff and Josiah’s name wasn’t on the mortgage. He hadn’t signed any official lease giving him rights to access this property. Technically, he was trespassing.
“Seamus, please! What’s going on?”
Determined to be a nuisance until he got answers—or at least his fucking phone charger and some clothes—Josiah called Seamus. Seamus shocked the hell out of him by answering the call, but his terse, “I’m busy, call back,” and hang-up stunned Josiah into momentary paralysis.
Seamus’s car was here, so he had to be home. Had to have heard Josiah banging and yelling. What was he playing at? He called again but it went right to voice mail, which was unusual. As the sheriff, Seamus’s phone was almost always on in case of emergencies. But what if he wasn’t actually home? The house seemed dark, and he hadn’t heard Seamus’s phone’s ringtone. It wasn’t a huge house.
Frustration began overtaking some of his fear and he stabbed out a text:
If you’re home let me in. Now.
No response.
Josiah circled the house and sat in his car, so mixed-up he didn’t know what else to do besides wait. A tiny part of him wanted to call 911 and report a break-in at the house just to see what Seamus would do, but the rest of him was terrified of accidentally getting himself arrested. He’d spent the night in jail twice as a teen, and it was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat, thank you very much. That same fear kept him from testing any of the windows and simply breaking in to get his stuff. He also mentally flogged himself for not seeing this coming. For not seeing this coming as Seamus became crueler and more distant with him. For letting himself become one small mistake from homelessness again.
But I have a place to go. Michael will help.
Josiah loathed being dependent on others for his own security. Loathed it. But he’d fallen into the same trap again, and now all he really had to his name was a hardcover novel, his cell phone, and his car. He did have his car, the title in his name. If nothing else, Josiah had a roof and four walls to call home.
The sun went down and no lights came on in the house. Since Josiah couldn’t imagine Seamus hiding out in the dark simply to avoid a confrontation with him, Seamus had to be out somewhere. But where and with who? His stomach rumbled with hunger, and he tried not to think about the pot roast either overcooking in the kitchen, or possibly being eaten elsewhere with someone not him. Both possibilities infuriated him, but that anger never rose completely above his fear.
Josiah ate a granola bar from his bag of snacks, and half regretted doing so when he realized he had nothing to drink to wash the sweetness down.
Around eight thirty an SUV pulled in behind his car. The engine didn’t shut off. Heart galloping, Josiah watched in his rearview mirror as Seamus got out of the passenger side and walked right past his car. Straight to the front porch. Without thinking, Josiah leaped out of his car and made it to the porch before Seamus had the door unlocked.
“Why did you lock me out?” Josiah asked, fully aware he’d practically shouted the words when he rarely ever raised his voice to anyone.
“Because you don’t live here anymore,” Seamus replied, his voice as bland as if delivering ingredients in a cake recipe. “I don’t want you in my house.”
“You don’t...your house...” For as much as Josiah had suspected this as the truth, it still punched him right in the stomach, and he gasped for breath. “You’re...kicking me out? What did I do?”
“You met your expiration date, kid.”
Lights flashed and the SUV was gone, leaving Josiah completely alone on a dusty, dark street with a man he hadn’t trusted in a long time. Angry, bitter tears burned hot behind Josiah’s eyes. “Can I at least get my things?”
“Nah. I’ll just haul it all to the dump next week. I mean, some random squatter abandoned it in my house. I can do what I want with it.”
Josiah gaped at him, completely at a loss for words. Almost everything he owned was in that house, including the very few sentimental items he’d managed to keep from his old lives. Pictures of his parents. A napkin from the first place Andy took him out to dinner that wasn’t fast food. His laptop and clothes and toothbrush and his nursing diploma.
His entire life was nothing but garbage to Seamus.
“Please,” Josiah said. “Five minutes. For the important stuff. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Seamus leaned against his front door, arms crossed, so smug Josiah wanted to slap him. No neighbors were in earshot or eyesight of the house, and the isolation only amped up Josiah’s anxiety. “You can have two minutes for a blow job. Five minutes for one last fuck.”
His already aching ribs gave a scream, and Josiah took two steps backward, his hip hitting the porch rail. “No. I have unequivocally revoked your access to my body. From now until the end of time, Seamus McBride. No more.”
“Then I guess your shit’s going to the dump next week. Don’t come back, Jo-jo. Not unless you’re willing to trade that sweet ass for your crap.”
Unwilling to cry any more tears in front of the man, Josiah turned and stalked back to his car. Flung himself into the driver’s seat and gunned the engine. Maybe all his earthly possessions would be on fire an hour from now, but Josiah didn’t care. Not in this moment, because he was free. Finally free of the hell Seamus had lured him into. Free of insults and fists and sex he didn’t want. Free of everything that had tormented him for the last two years of his life—except his own memories.
He’d always carry his memories with him, using the best to bolster him when his present life felt untenable. Mental reminders of how good things could be at times.
It looked like the physical reminders of those memories were going to end up in the trash pile.
Josiah wiped a few stray tears off his cheeks as he drove, not even sure where he was going until he parked in Elmer’s yard behind the familiar vintage pickup. Lights shone downstairs, a comforting glow against the dark sky, and Josiah didn’t even think as he rang the doorbell, over and over.
The door swung open and Michael’s perturbed expression shifted directly into alarm. “Fuck, Josiah, what’s wrong?”
“He kicked me out.” Josiah’s entire body wobbled, and he flinched when Michael reached for him. “He kicked me out with nothing and I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry.”
“Who what? The sheriff kicked you out? Of your place?”
“Yes.” Shame heated his face, and Josiah resisted the urge to run back to his car and hide. “He wouldn’t let me get anything. He said... I don’t have anything. My clothes, my fucking toothbrush. I never wanted to be here again. Fuck.”
“Okay, we’ll figure this out. Come on inside. You’re safe here, I promise.”
“That Josiah?” Elmer called from inside. “What’s goin’ on, boys?”
The genuine concern in Elmer’s voice helped Josiah go inside the house, into a familiar living room, with two familiar faces that expressed identical levels of curiosity and apprehension. “I’m so sorry to disturb you this late,” Josiah said to Elmer.
“S’okay, son. Come on in. Whatever’s goin’ on, we’ll fix it.”
“I’m not sure you can.”
“The sheriff kicked him out of their place,” Michael said. “Won’t let Josiah in to get his stuff.”
Elmer scowled. “That ain’t right on any level. You late with rent or something?”
“No.” Josiah couldn’t make himself repeat the hurtful things Seamus had hurled in his direction. “I never had an official lease with Seamus. Sheriff McBride. Legally, he can kick me out whenever he wants, and I guess he wanted to tonight. I didn’t do anything, I swear.”
“I believe you,” Michael replied. “But there’s gotta be some law that lets you get your stuff from that house, lease or not.”
“I don’t know.” He put his palms on the back of the sofa for balance, a little woozy from lack of food or water for the last few hours. “I’m so sorry to bring this to you guys, because I’m just an employee, but this was the first place I could think of that was safe. I’ve been here for two years but still don’t know many people.”
“This is a safe place. What do you need right now? Water? Soda? Whiskey? A sandwich?”
Josiah’s lips twitched, wanting to smile but he didn’t have the energy. “Juice or something would be great. It’s just... I’ve been homeless before and I swore I never would be again, and now this happens.”
“You aren’t homeless, Josiah.” Michael stood next to him, a solid, supportive presence without getting too far into Josiah’s personal space. “I said earlier you can rent the trailer outside. Not sure when it was aired out last, but it’s a roof and four walls. And we’ll get your stuff.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, hating how close he was to sobbing. Michael went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a glass of orange juice. Josiah sipped it, grateful for the liquid and time to think things through. Elmer watched him with quiet sympathy, while his sharp eyes seemed to contemplate something. Michael hovered nearby, attentive but not overbearing. The two men made Josiah feel safe in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
“You’re both being so generous,” Josiah said after he’d drunk about half the juice. It helped his roiling stomach calm a bit, but he still craved a real meal. “I don’t want to keep putting you out. I can drive to that motel near Daisy for the night, and maybe we can talk about the trailer tomorrow.”
“You will not,” Elmer said in a tone that dared him to argue. The voice of a stubborn man whose mind was made up. “Tonight you’ll either sleep in the trailer or upstairs in the guest room. No need to waste money on a motel, especially not after this shock.”
“Are you sure?”
“Don’t say anything I’m not sure of. We’ve got the space—you just need to say yes.”
Josiah didn’t have any real pride left to defend by saying no, so he nodded. “Okay. Thank you. I, um, don’t have anything to make a deposit on the trailer rent.”
“Shush, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. Trailer’s got water and electricity. Michael can show you the thermostat so it isn’t too chilly.”
“I appreciate it. Truly.”
Josiah left his juice glass on the side table and followed Michael out of the house. He stopped by his car to grab his few belongings—the bag of snacks and his book—then met Michael by the trailer door. The thing was small but pleasantly cozy. A tad cold but they got the heater going enough to knock the chill off.
“This is more than I expected,” Josiah said after inspecting the tiny bedroom. “But I sincerely appreciate the room. Even if it’s only for a few nights.”
“You’re welcome. I can’t lie and say I know what you’re going through, exactly, but I can sympathize with someone else blowing up your life. Not giving you a choice in the matter. Happened to me a few weeks ago. I wasn’t sure how I’d get through it. So I came home.”
“I don’t have a home to go back to.”
“Okay. But you know what you do have? Friends. Dad and I got your back, Josiah. We’ll get your stuff.”
“How?”
Michael’s mouth twisted into a smile both secretive and sinister. “Doesn’t matter. But we will. Promise.”
Scared and alone and not entirely sure this was a good idea, Josiah decided to believe in Michael’s promise. The older man hadn’t lied to him yet. Hadn’t done anything to make Josiah doubt his word or his intentions. But he’d believed the same things about Seamus once upon a time—a hero swooping in with a place to stay and lots of attention for an affection-starved man.
But Michael wasn’t Seamus. Josiah saw that in Michael’s eyes and smile. Kind eyes and a gentle smile that held no ulterior motive. No malice that would pop up without warning. While Michael did not have his complete trust yet, he did have some. Josiah latched on to that and said, “I believe you.”
“I’m glad. Come inside for breakfast around nine?”
“I can do that. See you in the morning.”
“Yeah. See you then.”
Michael tipped an imaginary hat at him, then left the trailer. Josiah gazed around, a little overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the last few hours. He locked the door, grateful to have even the flimsiest of barriers between himself and other people right now. On the rare occasion Josiah had slept in his “own room” Seamus never let him lock the door. Even if he had tried, Seamus had a key.
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.