Page 13 of My Apocalypse Cowboy
George laughs. "You see any other ranches out here, boys? Any other places to run if this goes bad?" He gestures to his men, whospread out in a practiced formation. "You're outnumbered and isolated. Be smart about this."
"I am being smart." Joseph's voice drops to that dangerous rumble I remember from our first kiss. "I'm protecting what's mine."
The words send heat spiraling through me despite the danger. His. When did I become his?
When did I want to be?
"Last chance," George says. "Hand over the woman and half the cattle, or we take it all."
"Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged."
That's when I make my choice. Not to run, not to hide, but to fight for this place that's become home and the man who's become everything.
"George!" I call out, stepping fully into view. "You want me? Come and get me."
What happens next is chaos, but not the kind I expected. I dive sideways as Joseph opens fire—warning shots that send the Iron Wolves scrambling for cover. I roll behind the water trough and start shooting too, aiming high, making noise, showing we're not helpless.
The Iron Wolves are tough, but they're used to terrorizing defenseless settlements, not facing organized resistance. Joseph moves with tactical precision, using every bit of cover, every angle of the ranch layout to his advantage. We're outnumbered, but we know this ground and they don't.
I do my part, keeping them pinned down, making them realize this isn't going to be the easy score they expected. When one of the raiders tries to flank us through the barn, I put shots close enough to make him think twice. When another goes for the cattle, thinking to use them as leverage, Joseph drives him back with a series of shots that kick up dirt at his feet.
"This is bullshit!" one of George's men shouts from behind their truck. "I didn't sign up to get shot at over a few cows!"
"Neither did I," another agrees. "There's easier prey out there, boss."
George looks around at his men—some wounded, all shaken, none of them eager to continue a fight against dug-in defenders who clearly know what they're doing.
"This isn't over," he shouts across the yard.
"Yes, it is," Joseph calls back calmly. "Because you're going to spread the word that this ranch is protected. That anyone who comes here looking for trouble will find more than they bargained for."
"You can't watch your back forever!"
"Don't have to. Word gets out that the Iron Wolves got their asses kicked by two people defending their home, how many settlements are going to roll over for you next time?"
The silence stretches, and I can practically see George doing the math. They came here expecting an easy score—lone man, maybe some cattle to steal. Instead they found a coordinated defense that bloodied their nose and made them look weak.
In a world where reputation is everything, that's almost as bad as losing a fight.
"Mount up," George finally orders his men. "This place isn't worth the cost."
They pile into their trucks, some limping, all looking thoroughly demoralized. As they drive away, George leans out the window for one last parting shot.
"You got lucky today. Don't expect it to last."
"I don't believe in luck," Joseph replies. "I believe in being prepared."
The trucks disappear down the valley road, leaving us alone with our racing hearts and the realization that we did it. We actually did it.
"Is it over?" I ask, still gripping my pistol.
"For now. Word will spread that the Iron Wolves hit organized resistance and backed down. Should make other raider groups think twice before coming here."
We spend the next hour checking the property—making sure no equipment was damaged, calming the cattle who got spooked by the gunfire, securing anything that got knocked around during the confrontation.
By the time we're done, the sun is setting and adrenaline is crashing. This time, when I look at him, it’s like I’m seeing him in a brand new light.
