UNTAMED

10. Holden

The struggle to keep my eyes locked on to hers is a battle within what little honorable parts of me are left.

I don’t have any right to fire her for this, but I’d say almost anything to get her off this stage and out of the spotlight illuminating her body for every pervert in the vicinity. Duke doesn’t seem to give a fuck that she’s up there, which pisses me off. It’s his job to protect her, not mine. As long as she’s with him, she represents our family.

She lifts her chin defiantly, taking a step back from me. I saw the look on her face when they poured the bucket of water over her head, and she had been completely unaware of what was about to happen.

Why the fuck do you care?

Something about the look in her eyes, like she’s terrified, reminds me of a mouse caught in a trap. The protective-older-brother instinct in me kicked into overdrive.

That’s it. She’s Dolly’s friend. That’s what this is. She’s my little brother’s pain-in-the-ass girlfriend.

Maybe it’s due to the time I spent in prison, listening to how the lowest men in society talked about women. Maybe it’s the fact that my brother is acting casual about the compromising position his girlfriend is in when he should be hauling her ass off the stage.

Whatever it is, I’m incapable of standing by and letting it happen.

“All right, girls, let’s see you shimmy! Remember, it’s a one-thousand-dollar prize!” the announcer’s voice booms over the microphone.

I turn to see that it’s greasy Old Harry himself, beady eyes leering at the stage. Every man in the room is, like they’re helpless to stop themselves.

I look back up at Rosie’s face, seeing that same expression—wide, panic-stricken eyes darting around the bar, looking for an escape. She shrinks back, clearly not wanting to participate in the competition that every other girl on the stage is enthusiastically joining in on, shimmying their chests back and forth and gaining hoots and hollers from the onlookers.

“Look at that, fellas. Hot damn, I love women! Don’t you?” Harry chuckles into the mic as the crowd presses in closer to the stage.

Before I can stop myself, I place both hands on the stage floor, lifting myself up and standing up as the wood creaks underneath my weight.

“Hey now! I said no touching allowed!” Harry bellows.

I take one step toward Rosie. The other girls around her gasp as they see my face under the brim of my Stetson.

“Holden, you’re out! Why haven’t you come to see me?” a female voice purrs.

I ignore her, reaching out to grab Rosie around the waist, careful not to touch her swaying breasts. She grips my forearm, digging into it with her fingernails. This is my first time to ever intentionally touch her.

“What are you—” she starts.

I lift her up easily, tossing her body over my shoulder before carrying her right down the stairs on the side of the stage like she’s a sack of cow feed. She yelps and kicks against me, which doesn’t slow my stride one bit. The crowd parts for me, a few men giving me knowing nods and slapping each other’s backs with approval. I keep my eyes trained forward, arm locked tight around my cargo.

We finally get outside, the cold air biting against my heated skin. I debate dropping her, but instead, I carry her all the way to the ranch truck Cash drove us here in. The door is unlocked—thank fuck—and I jerk on the handle before throwing her onto the worn leather seat inside.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she screams at me, slapping my shoulder.

I grit my teeth, making the mistake of slowly looking up at her, seeing her wet shirt that’s effectively sticking to her large breasts, nipples puckering under the thin, wet fabric. I can see the outline of her areolas, but the fact that every other man in that bar got the same tantalizing view ignites a rage inside me that simmers underneath my skin. They’re perfect, round globes that I’d need much more time and privacy to properly inspect.

I need to get the fuck away from her.

“You’re fired.” The words are out before I have time to think. “You’re not working for Redford Ranch and acting like this in public. It’s unacceptable.”

She gapes at me, blue-green eyes wide and unblinking. “You have no right to fire me. I’m not your employee.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want when it comes to my family ranch. I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere. There needs to be some changes around here, starting with you, Dixon. You’re gone.”

She blinks then, and I see a pool of moisture building up in her eyes. An invisible pang hits me in the chest. I ignore the feeling as I lean in closer to her ear, her vanilla scent in my nostrils.

“I don’t trust you.” My voice is a low growl, and I’m careful not to touch her again. “Who your father is will never change, and you dating my brother doesn’t mean a damn thing to me. He’ll grow up and see that I’m right. Now that I’m back, I won’t keep letting him make this mistake.”

Her lips part, the cold air visible as she exhales. “You think …” She blinks, swallowing. “Duke and I aren’t together anymore. Did you not know that?” Her voice is growing hoarse as her teeth begin to chatter.

My brow furrows just as Cash, Sterling, Duke, and Dolly all walk up together.

I turn to face my youngest brother. “You broke up?” I need to hear it from him directly.

Duke’s brows shoot up. “Uh, yeah, like, over three years ago. Right after you were locked up.” He glances at Rosie with squinted eyes.

Dolly is gaping at me. “What’s the issue, Holden? It was just a harmless competition. She was about to win!”

I glance down at my little sister’s face. “One you’d better not even think about entering.”

She snorts. “Right, like I’d ever win. Now, if I had Rosie’s set of knockers, then you might have something to worry about.” She laughs, skipping around to the other side of the truck.

Now that I know she’s not in a relationship with my little brother, I feel even stronger about the need to stay as far away from Rosie Dixon as physically possible. I turn back to her, grabbing her knees and tucking them into the truck before slamming the door.

“Let’s go,” I bark.

The collarof my shirt is itching my neck. The muscle I gained from doing prison workouts grew parts of me I didn’t even realize. Even now, I’m waking up at all hours of the night to do one-armed push-ups, pull-ups, and planks. It clears my head when I can’t sleep, which is most nights.

“I need some hard liquor to get through this shit,” Sterling leans over to whisper.

I keep my eyes trained ahead of me, where the mayor stands onstage. Clay Dixon is taking the podium to give a speech that’s full of bullshit and lies, as all politicians do when they’re approaching an election year. My blood is rushing in my ears as I watch him standing above us, still so powerful. Mayor Dixon waves to the crowd. He’s wearing a navy-blue shirt with a bolo tie and a sports coat with a black felt Stetson.

La Pradera is on the outskirts of one of the last remaining Indian reservations in Texas. The proximity to New Mexico and old Mexico has a heavy influence on the local fashion.

“Good morning. Thank you all for rising so early to come hear me give a boring old speech. As mayor of La Pradera, I’m always happy to see so many faces of the hardworking individuals who call Kowata County home. After all, I am only a humble servant to the people, chosen by you to keep our town a place of integrity, safe for your families to live.” His eyes skim over the crowd, a practiced smile on his thin lips. His gaze lands on mine, his smile faltering for a millisecond before he moves on.

“I’m sure you all have wondered what the next campaign will look like, but I can tell you now that I have no intention of wasting your time with empty promises. My new proposal for our great city is to not only increase funds to the schools for educating the next generation, but instead of raising the taxes on our good citizens, we’ll also be taxing the businesses and landowners who can actually afford it. Anyone who owns a business with an annual gross revenue of over one million dollars in specific sales will now see an increase in taxes. In addition, the local businesses that use cattle in events or shows will pay an additional tax to start finally paving the dirt roads that lead to the arenas—a project that is long overdue.”

The crowd roars with applause. I exhale a deep breath as my heart pounds loudly in my ears. Cash shifts in his seat next to me, forever the calm, quiet one.

The Dixon-Redford feud is an age-old bullshit story. It all started before I was born, when my mother ended up dating both Clay Dixon and my father, Wyatt Redford. She chose my father, ran off with him, and married him while pregnant with me.

Clay Dixon has hated every Redford descendant ever since.

I’m about ready to launch the cheap metal chair I’m sitting in at our good mayor’s head. To most people, his proposal sounds genuine. It appeals to a larger crowd of citizens who are not cattle ranchers and do not produce all the beef for hundreds of thousands of people. This new tax bill sounds like a promising idea to benefit the school system. Why shouldn’t the business owners pay it?

To a businessman who understands how it all really works, it will only hurt the layman and the consumer, and it will heavily pad the pockets of the local government. Increased taxes result in bigger personal bonuses for the politicians, which I’m positive is a detail that Dixon is leaving out.

Increasing taxes on my head of cattle forces ranchers like us to raise the price of it, which the consumer will pay. Just because Redford Ranch grosses over a million dollars a year does not mean we profit that much. We must first buy feed for the cattle, then pay our ranch hands, buy equipment like trailers and ATVs, build new barns to replace old ones, and the list goes on and on. Work on a ranch is never done. Just last year alone, we actually lost money by the end of the year, which means we all technically worked the entire year for free. We won’t be making that same mistake again.

“He sure knows how to convince a crowd he’s the second coming, doesn’t he?” Sterling mumbles under his breath.