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“Naw, Dad said he tore that barn down about fifteen years ago after a bad summer storm rolled through. He thought it was a tornado, but it was just superhigh winds. Hit it and ripped off the roof. Since he didn’t have cattle, he got a bid for someone to tear it down and haul off the lumber.” Michael’s gaze went briefly distant. “There was some nice old lumber in that barn. Our family built it by hand with their neighbors back in the eighteen-eighties. The Pearces and the Woodses were two of the first families to settle out here and build the town of Weston.”
“It’s amazing to have those kinds of roots.”
“You don’t have any roots in Tulsa?”
“No.” Instead of annoyance at the personal question, Josiah felt only melancholy. “No, my parents...drifted a lot around Oklahoma. Job to job, city to city. I tagged along, went to school when I could.” Much easier than admitting he and his parents were homeless for the better part of ten years. “We were in Tulsa the longest, so that always felt the most like home. But no, no roots or emotional attachment to the place.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be.” Josiah wandered to a long worktable that had various metal sculptures on it. The first looked like a horse made out of cutlery, screws, nuts, and other metal things he didn’t recognize. But it was definitely a horse. “This is really good.”
“It is.” Michael came up beside him, distractingly close. “Mostly he does larger lawn sculptures or cuts silhouettes out of sheet metal. This small stuff is pretty new.”
“I love it.”
“I’m sure he’d give it to you if you ask.”
“Oh no.” He put the horse down and took a step back. “I’d never presume. Just admiring it, that’s all. I’m impressed with artists of any caliber.” One of his favorite things to do was watch Andy graffiti the underside of an overpass, or the corner of an abandoned building. Leaving his own artwork behind on the world in swirls and loops and colors that represented the future he longed for but would never experience.
“Josiah?”
“What?” He blinked up at Michael, whose hand was paused a foot from Josiah’s arm. “Sorry, I spaced out.”
“You looked a little upset just now. Was it something I said?”
“No, it was something I said. Don’t worry about it.”
Michael’s soft scowl said he was definitely going to worry about it. “Well, feel free to poke around. I’ll look for something to make a bell sign on.”
“Okay.”
While Michael scoured the workshop for what he needed, Josiah inspected the pieces on the table. Something that looked like the body of an insect but without legs. Horseshoes welded together but not into anything in particular yet. An abstract tower thing that could be a base or simply a finished sculpture. Josiah stroked the joints with his fingertips, admiring the deft hand that had created the welds, and the mind that had led those hands toward a finished piece. A piece that lived only in Elmer’s mind for now but would one day be complete.
“Here we go.” Michael approached with a triumphant smile on his face, as well as a piece of plywood about three feet tall and two feet wide, plus a can of black spray paint. “I’d make the sign in here, but the fumes might make us both pass out.”
“Good call. It’s already a little stuffy.” He’d seen enough of the barn for now, so he followed Michael back out to the front yard.
Michael leaned the board against the side of the barn and sprayed Ring Bell for Service with an arrow pointing up. It seemed a bit silly, but it wasn’t his gate. They situated it against the main fence, to the left of the gate latch. Josiah had noticed the old, iron bell on a post right by the gate, but he’d never paid attention to the rope tied to it. Michael pulled the rope, and the bell let out a sharp clang.
Josiah flinched. “Yeah, we’ll definitely hear that from the house.”
“Yes, we will. It’s a simple padlock on a hasp.” They went through and Michael shut the gate. Flipped the hasp over onto the staple, put the padlock through the staple’s loop, and snapped it shut. Unlocked it again with his key. “We can lock it at night, too, if that makes you more comfortable.”
“During the day is fine.”At night, I know you’re here.
Not that he’d ever say that out loud to Michael. The man should not make him feel so at ease but he did. Michael had only ever been his friend. He didn’t flirt, he never made a pass at him. He was safe. And so freaking handsome he took Josiah’s breath away some days, especially decked out in his cowboy boots, hat, and flannel jacket.
A real Texas cowboy, even if reluctantly so.
“Do you expect some kind of trouble?” Josiah asked. Not that such a simple lock couldn’t be ripped off by a determined man and his pickup truck, but the precaution seemed a touch, well, overprotective. Probably because of his dad and his medical condition. Nothing to do with Josiah and Seamus at all.
“I don’t expect it, no, but I’d rather be prepared in case trouble comes knocking. And before you ask, no, I wasn’t a Boy Scout. Just practical from a young age. Plus...” Michael ran his hand along the top bar of the metal gate. “We didn’t lock it once and we lost something very precious we’ll never get back.”
With Michael’s back to him, Josiah couldn’t see his face but could hear the grief in his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with a little precaution. I know I appreciate it.”
Michael rested his upper arms on the top of the gate and leaned forward, gazing out over the vast land on the opposite side of the road. Josiah mimicked his pose as best he could, but he was about six inches shorter than Michael, so his chin basically met the top of the bar. They faced south, and the sun was slowly setting on their right, casting a gorgeous golden glow across the acres of waving grass and scrub bushes.
“I never thought I’d be anything but restless here when I came back,” Michael said, his voice near a whisper. As if the moment was too important for loud words. “Guess I don’t know myself as well as I thought I did.”
