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ROSIE
THREE AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER
None of the men around here are dumb enough to fuck with the Redford brothers.
But I’m not a man, and I have no sense of self-preservation.
I let out an exasperated sigh as I stomp toward the barn, searching for Dolly, the only girl in the Redford family and my best friend since first grade.
Duke, Dolly’s brother, is about to be stripped of his title as my boyfriend if he doesn’t stop pissing me off. He’s been an ass all day, and I just got done telling him to leave me the hell alone before I go around spreading a rumor that his dick is the size of a baby carrot.
My daddy already hates his entire family with a burning passion. It wouldn’t be too hard to get the rest of the town on the anti-Redford brothers train that the mayor is happily joyriding.
“Dolly? Where the hell are you?”
It’s midnight on a moonless Saturday night. I can’t see shit. My boot catches on something in the dark, pitching me forward and nearly landing me face-first in the dirt. I steady myself, resisting the urge to scream at the top of my lungs in frustration.
My mama says the short temper I have came straight from my grandmother on my father’s side, the only other redhead in the family.
“Some best friend you are, Doll, abandoning me during a squabble with your stupid brother,” I mutter into the night.
I finally reach the big red barn, searching around for the cold metal handle in the pitch-black February night. My fingers finally make contact with the steel. I shove the massive door open, and a dim light from inside spills out to illuminate the scattered hay on the floor of the barn.
“Dolly?” I’m whispering now, trying to avoid waking up any of the horses who might be sleeping. Duke’s been training one for a while now that’s meaner than a rattlesnake mama with brand-new babies.
My boots don’t make a sound as I inch farther inside, peering around in the shadows in search of an ebony head of hair. The Redford matriarch was a full-blooded Tigua Native American, and all her kids have the thick, dark hair from their mother. Dolly was only eight when she died, and we were already best friends. I grieved the deep loss with her, and we grew as close as sisters.
My skin starts to crawl as I step farther in. The barn is lined with high stacks of hay bales, which can be crawling with snakes and rats. They’re nocturnal creatures, so this is their ideal playtime.
I was raised in the country, but that doesn’t mean I like things that slither. I reach into the back pocket of my jeans for my phone.
I could try calling her again.
A rustling sound comes from the hay to my left, causing me to jolt in fear and take a step back. I remain frozen in place, listening for more signs of life that would indicate a human’s presence instead of an animal.
A soft moan, followed by more rustling, reaches my ears. My taut muscles relax. I wonder who would possibly be in the barn at this time of night, doing … things. Curiosity gets the best of my virginal mind, causing me to step forward again.
I search the stacks of hay bales for where the sound is coming from, curious to see if it’s Dolly and one of the ranch hands. Last I heard, none of them were even cute enough to flirt with, much less fool around in the hay with. Dolly wouldn’t do anything like that without telling me first.
I take another step forward, holding my breath so I don’t get spotted by whoever it could be.
Finally, I see a head of hair that nearly blends in with the hay. It’s blond, so I immediately know it’s not my best friend. The head is moving ever so slightly, which ignites even more curiosity in me to see what the hell they’re doing and who it’s with.
I take another step closer, eliminating the last bale obscuring my vision before screeching to a halt.
The blond head facing away from me is bobbing up and down in front of a rippling set of tanned and toned abs. My eyes travel over his muscular frame and up to the ebony head of hair that’s attached to the face of a man I instantly recognize.
Holden.
Holden James Redford, the oldest of the Redford brothers.
His pink lips are parted, chiseled jawline as sharp as ever in the dim light from the lantern hanging on the wall a few feet away from him. I notice the shotgun he usually carries on his horse is leaned up against the wall underneath the lantern.
His eyes are closed, and his face is bathed in ecstasy. He reaches his veiny hand forward, gripping the roots of the blonde’s hair as he guides her head down over his dick.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, unable to command my limbs to move back before he sees me.
