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Josiah was only partially making sense, and Michael wasn’t sure if it was the head wound, the cold, or a combination of both. “Okay, listen, we’re going to get you up and into the house. It’s freezing out here, and you need to get off the ground.”
“M’kay. Wanna sleep.”
“Oh no, no sleeping right now. You might have a concussion, and an ambulance is on its way. You need to get your head looked at.”
He grunted. “I’m a nurse.”
“A wounded nurse who is in no condition to diagnose or treat himself.” Michael leaned down and traced his thumb across Josiah’s cool cheekbone. “Please. I need to know you’re okay.”
Any remnant of fight Josiah had in him disappeared. “Okay.”
Michael tucked his glasses into his jeans pocket before pulling the dusty horse blankets off Josiah. Josiah sat up with a loud, pained groan of displeasure, and he sat there, awkwardly hunched over, while Michael tied the fleece around his shoulders. It wouldn’t do much, but they’d be indoors soon enough. Getting Josiah to his feet took a bit more effort, and Josiah swayed into him. Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, the other holding the shotgun, and he took as much of Josiah’s weight as necessary while they began a slow trek to the house.
A distant siren’s wail met his ears at the same time as Dad unlocked the front door. He took the shotgun and rolled out of the way. Michael led Josiah straight to the couch and helped him lie down on his back. Covered him with the throw blanket, then grabbed two extra quilts from the steamer trunk tucked beneath one of the living room windows. The trunk had belonged to Michael’s great-great-grandfather and traveled across the Atlantic from Wales many generations ago. The quilts were pretty ancient, too, but they were warm.
Dad wheeled out of the kitchen with a dish towel and settled by Josiah’s head. Gently dabbed at the blood on his face without asking questions. The paternal way he tended to Josiah sent a jolt of jealousy through Michael that he shoved away. Josiah needed looking after and comfort right now; it didn’t matter who gave it to him.
The siren came closer, got louder. Michael grabbed a light coat off the hooks by the door and jogged down to the gate to unlock it and allow the ambulance onto the property. He wasn’t surprised to see a county sheriff’s car following them. His temper did explode, however, when McBride and not a deputy climbed out of the driver’s door. Ignoring the focus of his anger for the moment, Michael told the two paramedics to go inside the house—that’s where their patient was. Then he turned the full force of his ire onto McBride. “What are you doing here?”
McBride blinked at him, his expression annoyingly blank. “Call came through about a possible assault here. I was on duty and am responding to the alert. Is your father all right?”
“Dad’s fine. Someone hit Josiah in the barn.”
“What?” His head swiveled first toward the open barn doors and the lights still on inside, then to the house. “What happened? How badly is he hurt?”
As if you don’t know, you bastard?
Michael kept his temper and suspicions in check. After all, who else had any motive to hurt Josiah? “Someone came up behind him in the barn and hit him in the head. He isn’t sure with what or who did it. I found him unconscious on the ground less than ten minutes ago, and I took him inside to get warm.”
“Who the hell would do that?”
Not exactly a professional response from the county sheriff, and the genuine surprise on McBride’s face cracked some of Michael’s belief that McBride had done this. “I don’t know, but I guess that’s your job to investigate, huh?”
“Yes, it is. Can you show me where you found him?”
Michael led McBride into the barn and the scuffed spot on the hard earth where Josiah had been. The horse blankets were in a pile by a stall wall. McBride shone a flashlight around, mostly at the floor and at the stalls, but he didn’t seem to come up with anything. Michael didn’t bring up the mysterious shirt, curious if that’s what McBride was looking for, making sure evidence was gone.
“I don’t suppose you have any sort of security cameras on the property?” McBride asked.
“No, we don’t.” Michael had floated the idea after Mom died but nothing had ever come of it. There were plenty of inexpensive options nowadays, though, so it might be time to add it to his list of future home improvements. He hated thinking Weston was no longer the safe place it had been for the last two decades, but Brand nearly being killed by a drunk asshole a few months ago had already tarnished that shine.
“Other than a bit of blood in the dirt, I don’t see anything helpful. If it’s all right, I’d like to speak with Josiah now.”
“Yeah, fine, just don’t stress him out.”
The bite in his tone got McBride’s undivided attention, but the sheriff simply raised an eyebrow at him, then silently followed Michael to the house. The couch faced away from the front door. One of the paramedics was placing steri-strips on Josiah’s forehead cut, so Josiah didn’t notice their extra guest right away. When he did, his head jerked and he nearly took tweezers to the eye.
Michael stayed close to McBride, hoping his presence kept Josiah calm while facing down his ex. Especially after such a trauma.
“I know you probably just want to rest,” McBride said in a gentle tone that didn’t match his generally gruff exterior, “but I need to ask you a few questions about what happened tonight. While it’s fresh.”
“Fine,” Josiah replied, as grumpy as McBride was calming.
“First, are you all right?”
“Do I look all right? Someone attacked me, Seamus.”
“I’m sorry, that was an insensitive question. Can you please tell me about your evening? Take your time and be thoughtful.” McBride produced a small notepad and pen.
