Protecting Paul

Protecting Paul Joy Danvers Copyright Copyright © [Year of First Publication] by [Author or Pen Name] All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. Contents 1. Sam 2. Paul 3. Sam 4. Paul 5. Sam 6. Paul 7. Sam 8. Paul 9. Sam 10. Paul 11. Sam 12. Paul 13. Sam 14. Paul 15. Sam 16. Paul 17. Sam 18. Paul 19. Sam 20. Paul 21. Epilogue 1 Sam “Hey Sam!” My Dad calls across the yard, “When you’re done out in the barn come up to the house, I’m headed in to start lunch.” Hard physical work is awesome. My job is hard mentally and emotionally, and I love a good gym workout, but there’s really nothing like actually working with your muscles to make you feel accomplished at the end of the day. I really like working on our family ranch, I always have. It’s just not what my calling is. Since I was a kid, I wanted to help those in need and protect them. It just made sense to take the oath to ‘serve and protect’. I help my dad and Mark on the ranch whenever I go over to see them, like I am today. When I came back from the service, one of the very few things that was different about Shafter Falls was that Mark, my best friend since we were kids, and my dad had fallen in love. That was a little weird at first, but now it’s just the shape of our family. Today, Dad just got in a couple of new rescue horses, and I’m working on his normal chores so that he can focus on them. The rescues usually need a lot of care to get them settled in and calmed down. I’m not out on the ranch as much as I used to be when I first got home. I stayed with Dad until I got an apartment in town. Being in town makes it more convenient for my new job as a deputy sheriff. I’ve come to really enjoy it, and I feel like I fit in pretty well with my coworkers. Shafter Falls isn’t a high-crime area, so it can be slow sometimes. That’s a good thing for the town, but the downside is sometimes it leaves me with too much time for my thoughts. Working on the ranch chores is a good way to keep busy. I’m generally happy, but it is the first time I’ve lived alone. While there are a lot of benefits to having my own place, I would be lying if I said that it didn’t get a little lonely sometimes. Most of my days are filled with work, dinner for one, and sleep. I’ve come to a stopping point and wipe my hands on my pants and wipe off my forehead. I head inside to find my dad and Mark already setting up lunch. Mark greets me as I sit down across from him. “I can’t believe you’re out here working on your day off. Do you ever take a break, Sam?” “Breaks are overrated,” I say, smirking. Mark’s always teasing me. He did it when we were kids and all through the service. Nothing has changed yet. To be fair, I usually took the opportunity to return his teasing in kind. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Mark? I’m wounded.” “Aw, Sammy boy,” Mark says a little mockingly. “It’s so sweet you like spending time with your best pal so much.” “Shut up.” I kick him under the table, and he grunts before kicking me back. I can’t help but smile. Mark is like the brother I never had. We may mess with each other, but he always has my back. “You’re such a jerk.” “Would you two stop?” My dad says as he sets lunch on the table. He’s smiling as he says it though, and I know he really gets a kick out of it. “You give me a headache every time you guys get together.” The rest of the day passes easily, full of more hard work and spending time with the two people I’m closest to. By the time I get home, I’m exhausted and full from a great dinner. Every time I eat at home – I mean their house - they go all out. I get home to my empty apartment and toss my jacket and keys aside. I’m struck by how quiet it is when I get home. Sometimes it’s unnerving. I take a quick shower and fall into bed. It’s a good thing I fell asleep quickly last night because today, work is crazy. I barely have time to finish my cup of coffee before I’m halfway across town towards a domestic dispute call. These are always the worst calls for me. When I pull up to the address and park my cruiser, I’m met with a shaking, crying woman on the lawn. My heart drops instantly as I see her. She looks broken and terrified. Something about her gaze is off, almost as if she’s not all here. I can see bruises dotting her arms and even peeking out past her collar. I know all too well that dissociating comes with trauma, and a memory starts to itch in the back of mind. I remember a time years ago when I saw a similar look in someone’s eyes, but unlike now, I didn’t know how to help them. I shake that memory away and vow to help this woman as best I can. “Ma’am?” I ask gently as I walk up to her. It’s like she didn’t notice me before, and when she finally registers me, she looks startled. “I’m Officer Conroy. I’m here to help, alright?” “Okay…” She says softly. Her body language is completely closed off, and she’s wrapping her arms around herself in a