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Once I finish the bathroom, I move into the bedroom. I remove the gloves and strip the sheets from the bed. I find a set of clean white ones in the hall closet and begin to make the bed. I’m leaning over to straighten the comforter when I hear the door squeak open. I don’t turn to look, expecting Dolly to speak up and tell me she’s leaving for the store.
“What are you doing in my room?” a deep voice speaks from behind me.
My spine snaps straight. I slowly stand up, my copper-red hair hanging like a long curtain in front of my face, blocking my view of him. I tuck it back behind my ear, peering up at the tall, built form standing in the door.
Holden.
His arms are folded over his black T-shirt. Mud splatters are covering his clothes and muscled arms. His jaw is set, and I notice he’s shaved since last night.
Holy shit, his shoulders have gotten massive.
I didn’t have much time to look him over at the bull riding event, but I can’t help but do it now. His dark eyes are shadowed by his brows, which are furrowed in clear distaste for me. I bite my bottom lip. His eyes drop down to the movement before meeting mine again. He flexes his jaw, waiting for my response, and I realize too much time has passed since he spoke.
“I, uh … I was just cleaning up.” A flush creeps up my chest.
He steps closer to me, boots scraping across the floor. “You and Madi can keep trying, but flashing those tits in my face and showing up in my room ain’t gonna get you anywhere with me.”
My skin prickles when I realize that he thinks I’m here to seduce him.
And he just threw me in the same category as Madi.
She’s only grown more hopelessly obsessed with him in the last three and a half years, telling the story of their rendezvous in the barn over and over, to the point that no one even knows what parts are true and what she’s embellished.
Supposedly, he proposed and wrote her love letters from behind bars.
I clench my fists by my sides. “I work for your family now actually. I was told to clean your room this morning. But if you must know, my tits will never be anywhere near your face, and the only way I’ll ever enter your room by choice is when I’m getting paid to clean it.”
I bend down to grab the last pillow off the floor, tossing it onto the bed. Holden cracks a smile, taking a step toward his bathroom.
He lifts the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one motion. I try not to stare, but my mouth waters immediately at the sight of his rippling abs.
He sure didn’t miss a day at the gym …
He starts to unbuckle his belt before slipping the button out of the loop of his jeans.
“Is shower assistance part of your job description too, Dixon?”
I jut my chin out, crossing my arms and spinning on my heel as I march out without bothering to shut his door.
I can’t believe him. Seduce him? Ugh, what an entitled jackass.
Ex-convicts aren’t my type.
Typical Holden, expecting women to throw themselves at him and worship the ground his filthy boots stomp around on.
“Scrub your own damn toilet next time,” I mumble under my breath.
4
HOLDEN
My father was always determined to maintain my grandfather’s legacy and life work by building up Redford Ranch. After my mother died, he started seeking comfort in whiskey. I was sixteen, barely old enough by then to take over things, so ever since his gradual slip into oblivion, I ran the ranch. For years, it thrived. Cattle and bull sales were up until they sentenced me to fifteen years in prison. That’s right around when our profits went down, but we’ve stayed afloat well enough.
Our income sources are spread out over breeding steers for slaughter and bulls for rodeo. We train our bulls for the Professional Bull Riders, which means all us boys grew up riding the crazy fuckers since we were old enough to hold on for dear life. The secret, under-the-table side income we make is from “renting” out the bulls who aren’t fit for the PBR to The Riders.
While I was locked up, Cash and I stayed in communication. I continued to help run things from behind bars, keeping things moving smoothly. I couldn’t have done it without Cash. What my brother failed to mention to me was how badly our father had deteriorated over the last three and a half years.
Pops finally stumbles out of his room and into the kitchen around mid-afternoon, clutching the neck of a glass bottle containing a clear mystery liquid. He stares at me with hazy eyes for a few long seconds before his eyebrows rise in surprise.
