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“So, when did the Dixon girl start working here, Pops?”
He shrugs, looking up at the sky. “A few months ago, I guess. She’s a great cook.”
I have to slow my long strides to match my father’s pace. “Whose idea was it to hire her?”
Pops shrugs. “They don’t tell me much. Cash runs things now.”
I could bring up my concerns with Rosie working here to Cash, but I’m aiming to keep things amicable with my brother. If I start questioning all his decisions two days after I got back, I’m afraid it could cause an unnecessary rift between us. I respect the hell out of the way he stepped up.
“I know Cash is running things. I just figured Duke had something to do with Rosie being here. Does she stay in his room?”
The idea of Clay Dixon’s daughter living under my roof makes my skin itch.
I’ve got to get her out of here.
Pops chuckles. “You seem awfully upset about a girl who’s just washing the dishes and baking cookies. What’s the big deal?”
I clench my teeth. Pops grabs a rope from a hook on the wall in the barn, looping it around like it’s second nature.
“Just trying to catch up with what’s all changed.”
He nods, leaning against the horse stall. “Well, son, it’s been quite a while. More things around here have changed than stayed the same.” He sways back and forth with his words, struggling to maintain his balance.
Well, ain’t that the damn truth, Pops.
5
ROSIE
When I pull up to my deteriorating apartment complex, I park in my usual spot. I try to avoid the potholes in the parking lot, but my car jostles into one anyway. My teeth chatter as I jog up to the third floor, looking over my shoulder every few steps to see if anyone unseemly has entered the vicinity.
Verbal harassment at this complex isn’t unusual, so getting in and out quickly is ideal. When I get closer to my door, I gasp at the sight of a shadow standing nearby.
“Shit, Mom, you scared me.”
My mother turns, her auburn hair in a bun on top of her head. She has streaks of makeup down her face.
“Rose, darling, I’m so glad you’re finally home. Your father spent the night with another hooker.”
I sigh, leaning up against the doorjamb as I insert my key. “Let’s go inside to talk.”
Once I get the stubborn, rusted lock to twist, I shove open the rickety door. No matter what I do, the inside always smells like leftover cigarette smoke from the previous tenant’s nicotine habit. I’ve tried every deodorizing spray, bleached the walls, and steam-cleaned the carpet. It still hangs around like an unwelcome houseguest.
My mom follows me inside, shutting the door behind her. She doesn’t dead bolt it, so I move around her and secure the lock.
“This isn’t the Hilltop Heights, Mom.”
The gated community my parents live in is extravagant, to say the least. The entry has a twenty-four-hour security guard.
“I am just disgusted with him and his gross need to stick his dick inside every willing girl in La Pradera. It’s like he doesn’t have a single shred of self-control!”
My mom moves to set her oversize handbag on my small round table. The legs wobble as she pulls out a bottle of vodka, twisting off the top.
I sigh, kicking off my tennis shoes to give my aching feet room to breathe. I worked all day, cleaning and cooking at Redford Ranch. The tension in my shoulders is more stiff than usual, probably because I was under the watchful eye of the eldest Redford brother, who seems to have a stark disapproval for my employment at the ranch.
My mom makes herself at home in my little kitchen while I grab the plush throw blanket from the basket and curl up on the corner of my sofa. I might not have the nicest place to live, but I will always splurge on cozy blankets.
After pouring herself some vodka over ice, she sits on the other end of the sofa with a big sigh. I would tell her to leave him, get a divorce and her own place, move on with her life and start healing, but I know it would fall on deaf ears. I’ve told her the same thing many times. I’ve realized that she just needs me to listen to her rant. She needs someone to care that she’s in pain even though it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hear the same story over and over and elicit a compassionate response.
