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.
“Well, shit. They don’t tell me nothin’ around here. Thought you were Cash for a minute.”
It’s undeniable that all of us boys favor each other, especially as we get older, but we’re not twins. Telling us apart is simple—for a sober person.
I fold my arms over my chest, debating if I even want to bother chastising him about the hour of day it is.
“Been home since last night.”
“Hmph,” is all he says as he walks over to the counter, reaching for the plate of poppyseed muffins—my favorite flavor.
“Mr. Redford, do you mind if I strip the sheets off your bed now to wash them?” Rosie chimes as she appears in the kitchen, her arms filled with folded bath towels. She avoids eye contact with me.
“Sure thing, honey. I’m up.”
It’s about time I find out whose idea it was to hire her in the first place.
Duke’s girlfriend prancing around the house and cleaning up after everyone doesn’t sit well with me, primarily because of who her father is. I guess none of my family members give a shit that the man is responsible for the last three and a half years I was locked up.
Why does she even need the money? The mayor is sitting on thousands of acres of generational farmland, rental property, and successful businesses.
Why is she really here?
He not only runs the town; he basically owns it. Redford Ranch is his only real rival when it comes to generating income.
“Rosie, take a load off. You’ve been running around all day.” Duke marches into the kitchen, making a beeline for the muffins. He doesn’t stop to kiss or hug her.
“Workday isn’t over yet,” I say, grabbing myself a muffin before the scavengers in this house eat them all.
Rosie’s blue-green eyes darken for a moment as she glares at me.
“He’s right; the workday is not over, but we have no more time for laundry! It’s cooking time, baby!” Dolly skips into the kitchen, a smile plastered on her face. She comes up to me, pulling me into a hug.
“Rosie and I are making your favorite—Frito pie with Mom’s venison chili recipe and meat from Duke’s latest kill. Whatever you’ve been eating probably didn’t even qualify as food. I used to lay awake and cry, thinking about what they were feeding you in that horrible place.”
Rosie doesn’t look too happy about the idea of having to cook for me, which gives me a small dose of satisfaction.
“Don’t overdo it, Doll,” I say, hugging my little sister back.
She’s eight years younger than me, and I’ve always been overprotective of her.
She pulls away from me. “I’m fine! Rosie does all the physical labor stuff now.”
My gaze lands on Rosie’s neutral expression for a moment before moving back to Dolly’s face.
My sister was born with congenital heart defects. Her heart was deformed at birth, causing her to need lifelong medication to treat the problem. She suffers from heart murmurs, fatigue, fainting, low energy, and a range of other symptoms. Sometimes, she doesn’t know her own limits. Since she was born, she’s received biannual checkups. One of the hardest parts about being in prison was not being able to go with her to her doctor’s appointments.
“Can you get the groceries from the truck, Duke?” Dolly asks.
Duke nods, walking out the back door as he shoves a muffin in his mouth. My dad helps himself to another muffin before planting his butt on one of the kitchen island stools. He’s getting into his mid-sixties, but he functions like he’s at least ten years older.
“Soo, when are you planning on taking Madi out on a fancy date?” Dolly reaches under the cabinet for the cherry-red stand mixer, placing it on the countertop before plugging it in. She has a knowing smile on her face.
I raise a brow. “What are you talking about?”
Rosie pulls a recipe book from the bookshelf, holding all of our mother’s old ones. She flips through the pages while Dolly starts to lay out glass jars with flour, sugar, and other baking ingredients.
“She’s really looking forward to it, and honestly, she talks about it nonstop. I can’t believe she isn’t here or at least blowing up my phone about how excited she is.”
I look from my sister’s face to Rosie’s, wondering where the joke is. Rosie’s expression gives nothing away. If anything, she looks bored.
“Madi who?”
Dolly tilts her head, her hands stilling. “Madi Wright.”
“I haven’t spoken to Madi Wright in three and a half years, aside from last night.”
A snort and giggle echo through the large kitchen. Rosie covers her mouth while Dolly gapes at me.
“Are you serious? You haven’t been sending her letters all this time?”
I shake my head, turning to Rosie, who is trying to contain her laughter. “Is something funny, Dixon?”
Rosie shrugs as she measures out the flour. “You wanna make a double batch?” she asks Dolly.
My sister nods at her question before replying, “That bitch has been lying to me this whole time then! What the actual hell? I will kick her ass!”
“No, you won’t,” Rosie muses.
“Like hell you will.” I speak at the same time Rosie does, both of us shutting down Dolly.
“I’m sure it was just an attention grab. She’s had everyone wrapped up in their angsty Romeo and Juliet love story all this time, and she thought she’d have more time to say they tragically broke up, and then he was just out,” Rosie suggests, waving a hand in my direction.
I take a bite of the muffin. “I don’t want her over here. I don’t want a party—and don’t think I don’t know you’re still trying to throw one. I have shit to do on the ranch. I don’t have time for clingy women and this bullshit.” I head toward the back door, needing to get out of the estrogen-filled space.
Dolly folds her arms. “Fine. I’ve never felt so used in my life. Our friendship for the entire time you were gone was a lie.” She turns to Rosie, pulling her tightly into a hug. “You’re literally the only friend I’ve ever had who wasn’t just talking to me to get close to one of my brothers.”
What about Duke? She’s here because she’s boning our brother, not because she’s Dolly’s friend.
Rosie smiles, hugging my sister back despite the flour that’s now coating the front of her leggings, which hug her ass perfectly.
It’s been way too long since I got laid …
Dolly starts murmuring about how they need a girls’ night, which jerks me back to the reality that I have no business hanging out in the kitchen with two women when there’s work to be done on the ranch.
My father is still sitting at the bar, but he seems to be in his own world and not paying attention to the conversation.
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “What do you say we go for a walk, Pops? I need to be brought up to speed around here.”
Pops nods, reaching for another muffin before standing up with a grunt.
“Careful, Mr. Dixon. You need to eat some protein with all those carbs, or you’ll get lightheaded. Here, take some of this sausage that’s left over from breakfast.” Rosie opens the fridge and shuffles through some glass containers. She pulls out one with sausage patties in it; she takes a few out, wraps them in a paper towel, and hands it to my dad.
“Thanks, honey.”
He turns and starts walking toward the back door with a half smile on his wrinkled face. I walk out after holding open the door for him, my mind spinning with questions about when the hell Rosie Dixon got so close to my family.
Rosie dating Duke was always an inconvenience, but after my arrest and conviction, things changed. The mayor of La Pradera, Clay Dixon, was a key player in my charges and sentencing. Rosie’s father and mine always had a healthy rivalry after my mother chose the Redford last name over becoming a Dixon.
It still amazes me how time doesn’t heal all, or even most, wounds. It just makes them fester and seep with infection.
Rosie’s part in all of it is unclear, but her presence at the ranch makes me uneasy.
Do her loyalties lie with my brother and sister or with her father?
The Texas chill is in the air as the early November wind sings around us. Pops shuffles through the dirt while taking bites of the breakfast sausage. The horse barn looms ahead of us, a few of the ranch hands milling about. I watch each of their hands, checking for weapons.
You’re home. You’re safe here.
I try to relax my shoulders, exhaling deeply.
“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.