Vaqueros and Vigilance

By Bailey Bradford

What starts out as a one-night stand ends up changing two men forever.

Joaquin Almodovar has been disowned by his family and shot by a mad man. To say that he's had a few bad months would be an understatement. When he finds out he can't be the vaquero he's always been due to the extent of his injuries, Joaquin is even more lost than ever.

He might be the best-lookin' man at the Mossy Glenn, according to Hector and the others, but that doesn't make Joaquin a man at all. Not when he can't cowboy up like he used to. Learning that there's more to him than the job he's always loved isn't easy, and Joaquin's not a hundred percent certain he's up to the task. In fact, he's lost so much faith in himself that he doesn't know what or who to believe in anymore.

Time heals all wounds, the saying goes, but it sure doesn't seem to be doing much to heal Joaquin. It'll take the help of a man he shouldn't trust to learn that there's more to himself than how well he sits a saddle, and how good he is with a rope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Dec 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781784308865

Bailey Bradford

A native Texan, Bailey spends her days spinning stories around in her head, which has contributed to more than one incident of tripping over her own feet. Evenings are reserved for pounding away at the keyboard, as are early morning hours. Sleep? Doesn't happen much. Writing is too much fun, and there are too many characters bouncing about, tapping on Bailey's brain demanding to be let out. Caffeine and chocolate are permanent fixtures in Bailey's office and are never far from hand at any given time. Removing either of those necessities from Bailey's presence can result in what is known as A Very, Very Scary Bailey and is not advised under any circumstances.

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Vaqueros and Vigilance

ISBN # 978-1-78430-886-5

©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2015

Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2015

Edited by Rebecca Scott

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Mossy Glenn Ranch

VAQUEROS AND VIGILANCE

Bailey Bradford

Book eight in the Mossy Glenn Ranch series

What starts out as a one-night stand ends up changing two men forever.

Joaquin Almodovar has been disowned by his family and shot by a mad man. To say that he’s had a few bad months would be an understatement. When he finds out he can’t be the vaquero he’s always been due to the extent of his injuries, Joaquin is even more lost than ever.

He might be the best-lookin’ man at the Mossy Glenn, according to Hector and the others, but that doesn’t make Joaquin a man at all. Not when he can’t cowboy up like he used to. Learning that there’s more to him than the job he’s always loved isn’t easy, and Joaquin’s not a hundred percent certain he’s up to the task. In fact, he’s lost so much faith in himself that he doesn’t know what or who to believe in anymore.

Time heals all wounds, the saying goes, but it sure doesn’t seem to be doing much to heal Joaquin. It’ll take the help of a man he shouldn’t trust to learn that there’s more to himself than how well he sits a saddle, and how good he is with a rope.

Dedication

I’ve had so much support from my family, and especially from my husband. He’s the best person I know, and every day with him is a gift.

Love you lots, honey.

Trademarks Acknowledgment

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Yelp: Yelp, Inc.

Pop Rocks: Pop Rocks

Coke: The Coca-Cola Company

Grindr: Grindr LLC

I’ve Always Been Crazy, Waylon Jennings: RCA Victor 1978

Hoover: Techtronic Floor Care Technology Limited

Brillo: Armaly Brands

Google: Google, Inc.

Chapter One

Jail was an experience Sebastian Honeycutt never wanted to repeat. When the iron bars had clanked shut behind him, he’d nearly pissed himself. To describe himself as terrified in that moment would have been an understatement.

All he’d been able to think of was that he was locked up again, a prisoner, unable to escape. Then a second, horrifying realization slammed him—he could have been found by the very man who’d held him prisoner for five years. The man he’d escaped from only to be caught hiding in some dingy shack in Montana.

The man he’d lied about when he’d been interviewed by the local Ashville police.

The man who was a police officer, whose name he’d known despite telling that Officer McCain otherwise. Seb knew how cops worked—a band of brothers and all that, no matter what some of them did.

So he should have been smart enough to avoid jail, the second to last place he ever wanted to be, but no. He’d been picked up for loitering. It was stupid, all of it—him being arrested, and him standing around outside the physical therapy place to begin with.

At least he was out of jail now, though that was little consolation. He’d given his real name when he’d been arrested. Now he could be found, and would be, he was sure of it. He’d have to run and hide again. Seb blinked back tears as Reverend Mary Olinger gave him a kind look.

Sebastian, you know you can confide in me, Mary said, not yet starting the van.

Seb swallowed and shook his head. There was nothing to confide. His secrets were his own, and sharing them might endanger others. He had only to think of the man who’d gotten shot because of him to remind himself of that fact.

I’m fine. Just stupid, Seb muttered.

You aren’t stupid, Mary replied in her usual calm, firm tone. Loitering arrests are generally just an excuse to arrest people some police suspect of being prostitutes, although sometimes it’s also because the loiter-ee appears to be a threat in some way.

"I’m not a threat and I wasn’t doing that, Seb protested, turning to look at her. I wouldn’t!" He’d never had sex, or even been kissed. Selling his body was completely unthinkable.

Mary nodded. And that’s what I told my sister, who just happens to be the lieutenant in charge of the night shift. Everything will be dropped from your record in a few days, Sebastian.

But you bailed me out, he protested. If you had to do that—

Mary waved one hand at him. Don’t worry about it. If you feel the need to repay me, you can volunteer extra hours at the shelter. We’re always shorthanded there. You’ve seen that for yourself.

Seb had been staying at the homeless shelter run by the church ever since he’d been released from the hospital a month and a half ago.

Right now, you’re working twenty hours a week for the shelter, Mary continued. Add an extra hour a day for a month or so, and we’ll call it even. With the holidays coming up, we’ll hopefully be getting a lot of donations that will need sorting. Clothes, food, toys—stuff like that. You can be in charge of dealing with it, after you’ve done your cleaning and other work that you’re paid for. Deal?

Telling her that he needed to run away in case his former ‘Master’ found him would be the wisest thing to do. The safest thing.

Except the words wouldn’t come, and Seb murmured, Yes ma’am, instead. He’d have to leave. It wouldn’t be safe for him to stay. Will it be on the police report that I live at the shelter?

Mary started the engine. Everything will be taken care of, Sebastian. Jane—my sister—will see to it. You’re safe at the shelter.

Seb wanted to ask her how she could say that, if she knew what he’d been through. He hadn’t told her. The only person who knew the even half of the extent of what had happened to him was the counselor he saw twice a week, and Seb didn’t like to think she’d told Mary anything.

In case you’re worrying over it, no, I don’t know what’s haunting you from your past, Mary said.

Seb sucked in a breath, startled by her perceptiveness. How did you know what I was thinking?

Mary shrugged. It was just a guess. You looked really worried, and you shouldn’t. It’s clear from the way you never discuss it that your past has some very bad stuff in it. Plus, you wouldn’t be at the shelter if you had a family and a warm home to go to. Ergo, I deduced that you have had a rough time of it, kiddo.

Seb felt his cheeks heat up with a blush. He was twenty-three, hardly a kid.

Not everyone in this world is your enemy, Sebastian, Mary said, driving the van out of the parking lot. "You don’t owe me any explanations, but I really will take a trade on the volunteering thing."

Maybe I could stay around just a few days longer. And he’d stay away from the physical rehabilitation center.

And hope that, if there really was a God above, He’d keep Seb from being found by Peter Hughes, the sadistic bastard who’d stolen five years from him.

I’ll do it, of course, Seb promised Mary. He just hoped he could keep his word to her.

* * * *

Goddamn it, I am so fuckin’ tired of hurting, Joaquin grumbled. Tired of being too weak to lift a fuckin’ dumbbell so light a toddler could pick it up and toss it!

Craig, the physical therapist working with Joaquin, only smiled through the outburst. Glad to see you’re feeling feisty. Now give me another rep of ten.

Joaquin’s chest was tight with the force of his anger and frustration. Ever since getting shot seven weeks ago, he’d felt less than a man, or at least, less than the cowboy he was.

You keep bitching about not being able to do much, but you’re lucky to be alive, Craig reminded him. The man was more like a friend than not, though he was a downright bastard when it came to Joaquin’s therapy. He didn’t let Joaquin get away with even the smallest pity party, either. Buck up and get those reps done.

Gritting his teeth, Joaquin did the reps, his right arm trembling before the first set was done. His chest and shoulder blade ached since the bullet had hit him below his collarbone on that side. It hadn’t gone through him, but had nicked his shoulder blade inside, and it had fucked up all kinds of things.

Come on, put more effort into it if you want that right arm to be as good as the left, Craig nagged.

Joaquin almost dropped the weight as anger hit him in an instant. It won’t be, and we both know it. Not with the damage to the tissues and bone in there.

Never say never.

Yeah, and how is being unrealistic about my physical limitations going to help me, huh? Joaquin asked.

Craig chuckled as if Joaquin had said something amusing. Joaquin, the human body is an amazing thing. Haven’t you heard stories about people who awoke from comas after years of being unresponsive? People who walked when they were told they never would again? The power of positive thinking is seriously underrated.

So the people in comas, if they wake up, it’s because they were doing some intense powerful thinking? Joaquin snarked.

Who knows? Maybe they were. The human mind is even more amazing than the human body. Of course Craig would be perky and optimistic instead of letting Joaquin goad him to anger.

Joaquin kept his mouth shut after that outburst until he was done with his PT session. He was wiping the sweat off his brow and trying not to let on how much he was hurting when Will came bounding around the corner as he usually did, not content to stay out in the front office waiting room.

Hey, how’d it go? Will asked—not of Joaquin, but of Craig. Was he a snarly beast again?

He doesn’t snarl, Craig replied. Joaquin worked very hard. He’s a great patient.

Joaquin sometimes thought Craig had to be on some kind of happy pills. He was just too perky all the time.

He does so snarl, Will argued. I’ve heard him.

Joaquin was about ready to snarl right then.

Craig patted his shoulder—the uninjured one. You’re a good guy. It’s always a pleasure working with you.

Joaquin half suspected Craig was flirting with him sometimes. He just wasn’t sure if that was the case and wasn’t interested if it was.

Sex and dating weren’t on Joaquin’s radar. He wasn’t just physically injured, something else was broken in him—something that had shattered when his family had disowned him right after his mom’s funeral.

One more week of therapy, then you can go home, Craig said. That’s a goal worth working toward.

It always had been. Joaquin missed his room at the bunkhouse, but the drive from the Mossy Glenn to Bozeman was a little over two hours, and making that drive and back three times a week was too time consuming. For that reason, Carlos had insisted that Joaquin stay in Bozeman, and had paid for a suite in one of the rent-by-the-month hotels. The place wasn’t bad, but it also wasn’t home, and with everything that had happened to Joaquin in the past few months, he dearly wanted the familiarity of the bunkhouse and his friends at the MG.

See you Friday, Craig called out as Joaquin followed Will out.

A pang of guilt hit Joaquin. He stopped and turned enough to see Craig in his peripheral vision. Thanks. His mom had raised him up better than he was acting.

Craig’s broad smile seemed to hold an offer, or maybe he hoped for one. Or maybe I’m just making shit up to try to feel like a man again. Joaquin was leaning toward that explanation.

He turned back around and Will slipped his arm around Joaquin’s waist. There was nothing flirty about it. Will was affectionate and he always chattered on incessantly when he was the one who came to visit. Joaquin hadn’t really known Will or the other two bosses well until he’d been shot. Now they’d become good friends of his.

And somewhat annoying friends.

Joaquin, there’s something serious I need to tell you.

Joaquin’s heart might have skipped a beat as they stopped walking.

Will tugged and pulled him to the side of the walk, out of the way of any potential passers-by.

What is it? Joaquin asked. Just tell me. God, if it was more bad news, he’d be hard pressed not to punch something. After getting shot and finding out that he might never fully recover, and being disowned by his family, Joaquin had had his fill of bad news.

This isn’t bad news, so stop scowling, Will said. This is good, I think.

Then spit it out. I could use some good news.

Will patted his arm. Okay. Ian told us they found a body and a motorcycle they think belong to the guy that shot you. Looked like he screwed up and went over a cliff more than a month ago, so probably when he was fleeing from the ranch. The point is, he’s dead.

Relief almost took his legs out from under him. He’s dead?

Will nodded. Are you okay?

I’m fine, just… Joaquin searched for what he was feeling. Better, knowing he’s dead. He hadn’t known until that moment he’d heard about his shooter’s death how much he feared the man coming for him. Stupid, irrational fear that it was, it had gripped him.

You have every right to be relieved. That fucker was a sadistic bastard. Will curled his lip and Joaquin halfway expected him to spit on the ground in disgust. Instead, Will shook like he was flinging off his anger, then he continued. Yeah, so he’s dead, and it’s got to be him. Ian’s still trying to find the guy’s name, but the day after they found the body, another officer found a rifle. They’re going to have to check the bullets from it, but Ian fully expects a match. The fucker is dead, whoever he is. He frowned. I just wish we had some way of letting Sebastian know.

A fissure of warmth trailed down Joaquin’s spine. He had no idea why, and wasn’t in any mood to try to parse it out. When will Ian have ballistic results?

It takes a lot longer than on TV, he said. Will shrugged. That’s all I know.

Joaquin took a deep breath then slowly released it. Chances were, the dead man was the same guy who’d shot him. Now that he’d let