22. Holden

The putrid smell of human excrement, body odor, and bleach brings on a wave of foul memories from my time spent in this prison. My throat constricts. I don’t know if I can continue walking through the metal detector without vomiting.

You’re not stuck here. They can’t lock you up. You were freed. You served your time.

Time for the crime of protecting my sister from a rapist.

Cash goes through before me. I follow him, making eye contact with the guard who doesn’t seem to recognize me. We never had any significant interactions, but I’ll never forget any of their faces.

They lead us through the sterile white hallways toward the visiting room. We’re surrounded by women and children, here to visit husbands and fathers. There are a few older couples who are most likely seeing their sons. This isn’t a maximum-security prison, so we’re able to meet with my buddy Connor face-to-face at a plastic white table.

He adjusts his glasses up on his nose, one lazy eye wandering as we speak.

“You really are a cowboy then? I’m not surprised. It’s weird to see you not wearing the orange.”

I nod. “It feels damn good not to be wearing orange.”

The Stetson on my head isn’t too out of the ordinary for Idaho, but a few of the other inmates definitely recognize me. My muscles are tense, waiting for an inevitable attack.

That can’t happen here. You’re not an inmate.

I tap on the table in front of Connor. “I came to ask you about something. It’s a cattle hormone called M-59. They’re saying it can make them gain weight rapidly without side effects. Ever heard of it?”

Connor pinches his brows together with his forefinger and thumb. “Do you know the chemical makeup?”

Cash pulls up the list of chemicals on his phone and lists them off to Connor.

After the first seven names, Connor begins to shake his head, chuckling. “They’re giving this to cattle? With FDA approval? My God, what is next? They should just inject us with cancer cells now.”

“It’s not FDA approved. They’re selling it under the table to ranchers,” Cash says. “They’re telling us it’s on the fast track for approval.”

Connor raises his brows, glancing from my face to Cash’s. “Well, they’re either trying to fuck you in the ass or they’re about to fuck us all. Maybe both.” His eyes shift to the tables around us before he lowers his voice and leans in. “It sounds like genetic engineering and expedited growth hormones. The kind of shit that’ll either kill you in your sleep or make you grow horns.”

Cashand I walk out of the prison, and I inhale a deep gulp of fresh mountain air. My chest relaxes with the expanse of open earth and the lack of walls and razor-wire fence surrounding me.

“Well, this situation just got more fucked.” Cash inserts the key into the ignition of our rented Ford pickup.

It roars to life, and he starts driving us toward the airport. I shut my eyes as the brightness from the sun sends shards of pain splintering through my head. I’m starting to get another debilitating migraine from only sleeping four hours over the last two days.

“We’ve got a bigger problem than genetically engineered cattle if that prick you beat to hell at the concert presses charges.” I tap my knee, the pressure in my skull lessening the farther we get from the prison.

Cash’s phone starts to ring. He answers it with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel.

“Yello?”

The guy on the other end talks for most of the call before Cash says, “Okay, well, I’ll talk to my lawyer about it. But it sounds fine to me.”

He ends the call, shifting in his seat.

“What?”

He shrugs. “She’s paying the guy to not press assault charges.”

“Who is?”

“Monroe Blue.”

I chuckle. “No shit? How much?”

“Hell of a lot, I guess.”

“Well, thank God you dodged that fucking bullet. Still doesn’t solve the problem of that fucker Clay Dixon.” I spit his name out of my mouth like the personal offense it is.

Cash’s left eyebrow is split and healing, but his black eye and busted lip look like shit. He took the same beating I did when I went to jail. Mayor Dixon takes his place at the top of the food chain to the next level. I don’t know if he blackmails the sheriff or if they’re both just evil pricks.

He smirks. “Maybe if two of y’all could stop trying to fuck his daughter, he’d ease up a bit.”

If he wasn’t driving eighty miles an hour, I’d give him another black eye.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

If Cash knows, there’s no telling who else does.

“Nothing, big brother, just thought we didn’t shit where we slept. Or where our enemies sleep.”

I grind my teeth together, attempting to slow the blood rush to my head.

“I tried to fire her. You can thank Dolly for that plan not panning out.”

“Oh, I don’t want her gone. Girl can cook.” A few beats of silence fill the air before he continues, “Just don’t know how any of us would feel about our brother screwing an ex.”

My jaw tics at his words. He’s not wrong. When and if Duke finds out Rosie is sleeping in my bed, he’ll try busting my face on principle.

Family matters more than anything to the Redford brothers.

A sick feeling settles in my gut as we pull into the airport. I know I’m fucked with Rosie sleeping in my bed, but I’m more fucked when she’s not.

It’sTuesday afternoon when I start blacking out while I’m riding my horse to check the newest batch of calves on the north side of the ranch. My hands tremble as I grip the reins. I don’t think I’ll make it back to the ranch house without passing out, but Queen Liz knows the way. She’s been my horse for six years now, and Duke took good care of her while I was gone.

My body moves slowly as I put away my saddle and tack. I return the mare to her stable, tossing her some alfalfa hay before stumbling toward the house.

I pull out my phone to send a text to Rosie.

Holden

Where are you?

She doesn’t respond.

I push through the back door and into the kitchen. For a moment, I stand frozen. The ranch kitchen disappears, replaced by the prison mess hall. I’m on dishwashing duty. I look down, and instead of seeing my crocodile leather boots and jeans, I’m wearing the standard issue black tennis shoes and faded orange pants.

My heart pounds as sweat gathers on my forehead.

In the next moment, it’s gone. I’m back at the ranch, and she’s standing right there, staring at me with slanted eyes.

“Holden?” She’s holding a gray dish rag.

I move over to her, desperate to feel her skin and make sure she’s real. She’s here. She’s not a figment of my imagination, like she was for so long. I reach for her cheek. She’s warm, and her skin is soft.

She’s real.

I close my eyes, leaning down to press my forehead to hers. I breathe in her scent, the sweet vanilla mixing in with the lemon zest she must have been baking with.

“Take a break. Come with me.” I don’t have the energy to come up with any excuse to get her to lie beside me, but I can’t fathom trying to sleep right now and waking up from a nightmare in two hours.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

I reach for her hand, throwing the rag into the sink. She guides me through the hall, down to my bedroom. I’m in a daze as we go into the room. I hear her twist the lock on the knob, feeling my eyelids droop as soon as the peace of her presence settles over me.

I make it to the bed, collapsing on it. I start to remove my boots, followed by my hat.

“Stand up and take off your jeans,” she says.

“Finally admitting you want in my pants?”

“Trying to keep the mud out of the sheets.”

I pull them off before stripping my T-shirt off too. I sprawl out on the bed, not letting go of her hand.

“Stay here,” I tell her, gripping her hand and placing it firmly against my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she promises.

She settles against my pillow, leaning her head back against the headboard. I let my eyes wander down the side of her face, inspecting her profile. She has long lashes, a cute little nose, and full pink lips that need to be bitten.

“Can you sleep?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I’m not a good napper. I’ll just stay awake.”

I lean over, reaching for the remote on my nightstand. I turn on the TV, which immediately starts showing the last thing I watched—an old Western movie with John Wayne, Angel and the Badman. I place the remote on the covers between us.

“Watch something.”

She grabs the remote, turning the volume down. “Have you slept since Friday?”

“A few hours.”

She bites her bottom lip, and I groan. My emotions are out in the open right now as the mental exhaustion tears down my defenses. My fingers squeeze her hand tighter as I pull her body closer to mine. I don’t stop until she’s forced to lie right next to me, her hip bone next to my forehead and her thigh pressing against my shoulder.

“Why do you have to be so tempting all the damn time, angel?” I tilt my body toward her, my arm curling around both her legs so that I’m snuggling her lower half while she sits up.

“Just to torture you, I guess,” she mumbles.

Ain’t that the truth?

I close my eyes, letting sleep take me under.

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