His Reluctant Cowboy--A Gay Cowboy Romance: Woods Ranch Series Book 2 Read online

  Once upon a time, Josiah had considered Seamus handsome. Now his smiles always seemed sinister, his touches one small squeeze from painful. To the residents of this county, he was a hero and the man in charge of keeping them safe. To Josiah, he was a walking time bomb.

  “Smells good,” Seamus said. “You eat?”

  “A little while ago. I wasn’t sure when you’d be home.”

  “Okay.” He calmly put his service weapon in the lockbox he kept inside one of the cabinets, every motion smooth and without malice. As if he was in an actual good mood for a change. “Give me a beer.”

  Josiah deposited both the bowl of food and a chilled, open beer on the table at the same time as Seamus sat to eat his dinner. A very late dinner, but Josiah wasn’t going to mention it. He hovered nearby, unsure if Seamus wanted company or to be left alone. Some nights he simply couldn’t read the man or his intentions. Not in the last few months. Not since the stabbing. It was almost as if Brand Woods openly living his life in a gay relationship was personally offensive to Seamus.

  Or it made him feel trapped in his own environment. Josiah had been out of the closet for years before Seamus shoved him back inside and slammed the door. Locked it. And he wanted to get back out again, but deep down he knew that wouldn’t happen while he lived here. While he let Seamus...use him. Seamus had to come to terms with his own sexuality and stop hiding. But Josiah had a funny feeling that was never going to happen.

  Right now, they shared the same closet and it was slowly suffocating him.

  A stifling closet was, most days, better than the street, though.

  “Do you need salt or pepper?” Josiah asked after Seamus took his first bite of dinner. Seamus preferred to season his own food, so Josiah was sparse in adding too much of either when he cooked. Having to chew on a mouthful of black pepper for thirty seconds because he’d accidentally overspiced a steak was an experience he would never, ever forget.

  “No, it’s good,” Seamus replied. “Get yourself a drink.”

  That was not a question, so Josiah fetched himself a glass of water to sip while Seamus ate. “I might have a lead on a new job coming up. Elmer Pearce had a stroke early this morning, and he’ll likely need home care for a while. Hayes asked if I’d be interested.”

  “And you said yes.”

  Again, not a question. “I did. I’ve met Mr. Pearce, and now that Mrs. Wellington is going into a nursing home, my schedule is clear. I’d like to take the job.”

  “Nights or days?”

  “I’m not sure. Everything happened today, and Hayes is coordinating with a social worker. Apparently, Mr. Pearce has a son who is coming into town but I don’t know how long he’ll stay.”

  Seamus forked a bite of meat. “Okay. Keep me informed.”

  “I will.” The low-key reaction surprised Josiah and lowered his alertness level a few degrees. “How was your day?”

  “It was a day. Broke up a brawl over at the Roost this afternoon, which is why I’m so late. Ramie insisted she hadn’t overserved either of them, so they probably just got into it over a woman. Got ’em both cooling off in lockup overnight.”

  Ramie was one of the main bartenders at the Red Roost, and she knew better than to overserve her guests. A night in the drunk tank would probably do those two brawling idiots a world of good. “At least no one was stabbed this time.” As soon as the statement slipped out, Josiah regretted the reminder of that night.

  Seamus didn’t seem angry, though. He simply kept eating, paying more attention to his phone than to Josiah, so Josiah sipped his water and watched his “roommate” eat. He wasn’t sure what to call Seamus anymore. Roommate was real to the rest of the world. Lover had been right for a very brief period of time before Josiah realized Seamus didn’t actually love him. Seamus used him for his own needs, Josiah’s needs be damned. Once in a while, Seamus was sweet and doting like a proper boyfriend, but it never lasted.

  I’m an object, something to use, and I need to get out before he destroys me. But I have nowhere else to go.

  No family, no real friends to rely on. He’d kept up a very casual text friendship with Hugo Turner ever since Brand was stabbed, but that was it. He was isolated here, exactly how Seamus liked him. Existing without really living.

  “If Elmer ends up needing care,” Josiah hedged, “do you mind if I take the job?”

  “No, I like the man. And it’s not too far from home. I can think of worse people to care for.”

  Josiah swallowed back a comment about judging who deserved health care based on their background or whatever and sipped his water. No sense in provoking a fight, especially when Seamus seemed to be in a good mood. “Do you want coffee? I can make a pot.”

  “Coffee sounds great. Make enough for yourself.”

  He wasn’t a huge fan, especially this late at night, but Josiah did as asked. He waited by the brewing pot while Seamus continued eating, and he had two mugs on the table by the time Seamus’s bowl was empty. “Do you want more?” Josiah asked.

  “No, that’s fine.”

  Josiah exchanged the bowl and fork for the mug of coffee, still slightly unnerved by how calm Seamus was tonight. No yelling, no blustering, no demands. He reminded Josiah of the man he’d first met two years ago. The man he thought he was renting a room from. Nothing like the man he eventually turned into. The man Josiah both cared about and feared.

  “Sit,” Seamus said. “Drink your coffee.”

  The quiet demands sent Josiah into autopilot. After putting Seamus’s bowl and fork in the dishwasher, he sat across from him with his own mug of black coffee. Josiah used to prefer sweet drinks with syrups and whipped cream to black coffee, but Seamus had disabused him of that habit quickly. Cheap and simple were two of Seamus’s favorite words.

  Didn’t matter that he had both of their incomes at his disposal.

  “Do you want a toothpick?” Josiah asked.

  “Sure.” Seamus was busy reading something on his phone, so Josiah took his time getting a toothpick from the box in the cabinet. Walking back to the table with it. Placing the toothpick next to Seamus’s coffee mug. Sitting in the chair opposite Seamus at the round table.

  Josiah sipped at his coffee while Seamus drank his, did something on his phone and picked at his teeth. Familiar things, sure, but it was all almost too easy. Too quiet. Josiah was braced for an explosion of some kind.

  An explosion that never happened. After finishing his coffee, Seamus quietly went into the living room to watch TV. Josiah cleaned up their mugs, wiped down the table, put all leftovers away, including a portion for Seamus to take for lunch tomorrow, and then set the dishwasher to run. After thirty seconds of talking himself into it, Josiah followed Seamus into the living room.

  Some science fiction movie they’d seen before was playing on the television, which relaxed Josiah even more. Old favorites meant Seamus was in a good mood, unlikely to lash out or demand anything from Josiah tonight. When Seamus raised his arm and beckoned Josiah to join him, Josiah did, settling on the couch next to his...boyfriend? Roommate? He never knew what word to apply to Seamus.

  Whatever the label, they existed together in peace that night.

  Precious, fleeting peace Josiah clung to for as long as possible.

  Chapter Two

  Michael didn’t pull into the driveway of his childhood home until after ten that night, and his entire body hurt from so much sitting and driving in one single day. Not to mention the still-lingering remnants of last night’s binge. Dad hadn’t woken up for the hour or so Michael had visited before a nurse politely asked him to leave, and that was okay. He’d probably do better seeing and talking to Dad after a good night’s sleep.

  The property had become almost twice as cluttered in the twenty years since Michael had last seen it. More metal artwork along the fence line, more iron sculptures in the yard of various animals and a few
abstract things he couldn’t begin to name. The fifth wheel was still parked in the side yard, lights off and probably empty of tenants, since the only other vehicle there was Dad’s trusty old 1955 Ford truck with Elmer Fudd painted on the hood.

  Michael had several bags with him, but the only one he grabbed was his overnight nylon bag for now. He still had a key, but the sagging, ancient two-story home wasn’t locked. The paramedics who’d scooped Dad up and run probably hadn’t thought to bother. Not that burglary was a high crime out here in the middle of nowhere. While Weston and Daisy probably had their fair share of drug addicts looking for something to steal, there wasn’t a pawnshop within thirty miles to hock their shit.

  He let himself into the cluttered living room, not surprised to see previously empty spaces filled with boxes of metal and spare parts and all kinds of things Michael didn’t have the energy to identify tonight. A half-finished puzzle of a tranquil lake scene took up most of the dining room table. The wedding photo of Dad and Mom still hung on the wall, the frame dusty and glass filmy from age. Dad had never been the best housekeeper, but the state of the place made his nose twitch and skin crawl, especially after living with Kenny and his OCD about cleanliness.

  Whatever, that was a problem for tomorrow.

  Michael chugged down a glass of water from the kitchen spigot, forever grateful they had their own well, then took a second glass upstairs with him. Every single step creaked with age, and one groaned so loud he half expected his foot to fall through. The place had seriously fallen into disrepair since Michael had last been here, and it was likely to collapse if Dad didn’t do something.

  Again, another problem for tomorrow. Or maybe next week, depending on Dad’s condition and recovery expectations. A stroke was a big fucking deal.

  His old bedroom was still a mix of Michael’s own things and other crap Dad had added to it in the form of sculptures and boxes of more clutter. The bed was only slightly musty so Dad had to have been changing the sheets every once in a while, and there wasn’t too much dust on surfaces. The Green Day and Foo Fighters posters were still on the walls, probably brittle enough to crumble if Michael dared take them down. He’d grown up in this room, had his first girl-kiss in this room, and realized he was very much gay in this room.

  Let a much older family friend who’d had too much to drink take his virginity in this room. At least he could take comfort knowing that pervy old bastard had died of pancreatic cancer a few years ago.

  Michael shoved those thoughts away, opened a window for some fresh air, and got ready for bed. His entire body and soul were exhausted after being dumped, going on a bender, and losing his dog, and now he had to figure out how to care for his dad for an unknown length of time, all while selling his overly expensive home back in Austin. More thoughts for tomorrow.

  He changed his clothes, brushed his teeth, drank more water, and finally settled in his lumpy, somewhat stale bed, but when he shut off the light, it was too fucking quiet. Not a cricket, not a fan whirring, not even passing traffic. So he downloaded a noise machine app on his phone and set it to Play. The constant, soothing sound helped ease him into sleep for a little while, only to wake to the jarring noise of someone pounding on something downstairs.

  He leaped from the bed, chilled by the cool air trickling in from the open window, and hauled ass downstairs, vaguely aware the sun was starting to rise. Disoriented and a little concerned, he grabbed what looked like part of a jack handle and held it by his side like a baseball bat as he approached the front door. Peeked around the pleated sunflower-pattern curtains his mother had sewn a lifetime ago.

  A tall man in a sheriff’s uniform and a belt too tight around the middle stood there, sunglasses on but hat in his hands. Waiting. No flashing lights on the car, which eased Michael’s apprehension a fraction and he put his weapon down. Unlocked and opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  “Sorry to disturb the house so early,” the man said, “but I was passing by and happened to see your vehicle. I’m Sheriff Seamus McBride.”

  “Michael Pearce. Can I do something for you, Sheriff?”

  “I take it you’re related to Elmer Pearce?”

  “Yes, he’s my father. I got the call yesterday about his stroke and drove up from Austin. I didn’t realize staying at my father’s house was suspicious.”

  McBride’s eyebrow twitched. “Under normal circumstances, no, but your father had a burglary a few months ago. I was simply trying to watch out for the property while he’s in hospital.”

  Even though Michael’s irritation was rising, he didn’t want to pick a fight with a sheriff. “I appreciate the attention, sir. I’m in town for the foreseeable future, so you’re likely to see my car out and about. I’ll be figuring out my father’s future care.”

  “Good, good. Helps to have family around when you’re ill.”

  “Yes, it does. And may I ask about the burglary issue? My dad and I aren’t very close and this is the first I’m hearing about it.”

  “An issue with an ex-con, who is rightly back in prison. Stole something from your father to set up an innocent man, but the property has been returned. Nothing to do with what’s going on now. And again, sorry to disturb you. Welcome back to Weston, Mr. Pearce.” McBride put his hat on, tipped it politely, and headed back to his car.

  Michael waited until the man left the property before closing the door and locking it. Growing up, they’d never locked the front door. Not once, even when going away for a few days to a cattle or feed show a day’s drive away. But someone had broken in recently, and Michael wasn’t going to risk his safety or Dad’s property.

  He set the old coffeepot to brew while he took a fast shower. The upstairs bathroom had a claw-foot tub with an awkward shower attachment and plastic shower liners that hung on an oval ceiling ring and clung to his skin if he let too much steam rise in the small room. Fast was best.

  Since visiting hours didn’t start until ten and he wasn’t keen on the box of wheat biscuit cereal in Dad’s cupboard, Michael poured his coffee into the first travel mug he could find, then headed to Weston’s only diner for breakfast, drinking his coffee along the way to try and wake up. He got a seat at the counter, since most of the booths were taken, and ordered more coffee from a young blonde named Shelby.

  “Don’t know your face, honey,” Shelby said as she poured piping hot coffee into the same brown ceramic mug every diner in the country seemed to favor. “Passing through?”

  “Something like that. Visiting family for a while.” He pointed at the oversize menu of breakfast items. “Anything you recommend?”

  Her smile brightened. “You can’t go wrong with Donnie’s classic breakfast platter. Two eggs, two sausage patties, home fries, and toast.”

  Donnie wasn’t in the diner’s name, so that had to be the current cook. “Sounds fine. I’ll take the eggs scrambled, whites only. And can I swap the sausage for some sort of fruit cup?”

  Shelby scribbled on her notepad. “We can do that. I’ll put the order in for you.”

  “Thank you, miss.” Michael hated being a fussy eater sometimes but he wasn’t going to eat crap just because he was back in the sticks again. Especially now that he was single for the first time since graduating college. Not that he was on the hunt but it was a lot easier to gain weight than to lose it, especially after forty.

  No, that was Kenny talking, whispering in his ear about looking his best at all times. He could eat what he wanted, damn it.

  He sipped his black coffee and studied the specials board above the counter, his only other view straight ahead into the busy kitchen. He’d heard too many stories from friends in food service over the years to truly want to see how his food was being prepared; all he wanted was to eat it. This morning’s visit from Sheriff McBride still bothered him and he couldn’t put his finger on exactly why. On one hand, he appreciated the sheriff taking care with the property of
the locals; on the other hand, it was a little creepy. Did he act that way every time a neighbor had a guest?

  The food arrived fast and after slathering his home fries and eggs with ketchup, Michael tore into his breakfast, hungrier than he thought for some decent home-style cooking. Shelby refilled his coffee twice. Considering how busy the place was, she was on top of things with every customer at the counter, and even a few at tables and booths. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar but he couldn’t put his finger on why. She was way too young to have gone to school with him.

  He was finishing his last piece of toast and orange marmalade when a young man strode into the place with an upset blonde girl in his arms, maybe five years old. The man went right to the counter where Shelby was wiping her hands on a towel and handed the girl over. “I’m so sorry to drop her off early, baby,” the young man said, “but Hugo’s got some kinda food poisoning, Brand is out at a meeting with a possible new vendor for the beef, and I need to get to work.”

  Shelby bounced the little girl on her hip, her expression clearly unhappy with this turn of events, and Michael tried not to stare. “It’s fine. My shift ends in an hour anyway. Susie can play in the office for a while.”

  “Thank you, you’re the best. Love you both.” He kissed Shelby and Susie on the forehead before turning and leaving as quickly as he’d come.

  “They have got to get more help at that ranch,” another waitress said to Shelby as she came by with a tray of food to deliver to tables.

  “They’re trying,” Shelby replied.

  “What ranch?” Michael asked without thinking.

  “Woods Ranch. It’s my husband’s family’s place, and they’ve been having trouble keeping a full staff for about a year now. Men come and go, but it’s hard to find really qualified rustlers right now.”