UNTAMED

40. Holden

The bull throws Jensen so high that he yelps as he comes down. He limps off out of the pens, a grimace on his face. They load another man onto the next bull. The sun is descending on the horizon, a stretch of pink spreading across the blue sky.

“We need an on-site nurse around here,” Cash muses.

I spit in the dirt near my boot. “Well, don’t ask me to find one.”

“Trust me, I won’t.”

My chest aches when I think about Rosie, so I try not to. I’ve been drowning myself in ranch work, putting in twelve-hour days, doing whatever I can busy my hands with so I don’t drive my truck into town and right up to the Dixon mansion. It’s the only way I get any sleep, but I still wake up in a cold sweat most nights. It’s mercifully not as bad as it used to be, but Rosie’s sweet scent is beginning to fade from my pillows.

My phone buzzes with a text. I look down to see that it’s in the family group chat.

Dolly

Dinnertime! I have a surprise. :)

Cash hollers to the men that this is the last ride of the night while I make my way up to the house. The ranch hands don’t live on-site, and most of them will head home soon. Warner’s name flashes on my phone as I walk through the door.

“Yep.” I answer it, adjusting the cowboy hat on my head. I probably smell like cow shit and sweat.

“Guess who just walked out of my office.”

I close my eyes, pausing in the hallway as he continues.

More bad news. If I’m not in cuffs, I guess it could be worse.

“Sheri Dixon and June Clancy.”

My stomach drops. Laughter floats out from the kitchen from two different female voices.

Rosie.

She came back?

She came back.

“What did they want?”

He chuckles. “They wanted to tell me that while Sheri Dixon was being held for ransom, she heard her husband’s voice outside the trailer, talking about cattle sales and animal supplements.”

Rosie’s copper-red locks come into full view. My lips part as she turns, and I see her stunning profile. My eyes laser in on her lips, plump and tempting.

“She also asked me to represent her in her divorce case,” Warner continues.

“So, it’s locked down then?”

Rosie turns at the sound of my voice. We both still. Her eyes dip over me briefly, flashing with some emotion I want to believe is desire before she turns away.

“Oh, yeah, that fucker is going down. He’s done for.”

“That’s good,” I say.

“Yep. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks.” I hang up the phone.

Dolly is merrily stirring a pot on the stove. She grins at me. “Well, hello. Are you the only hungry one?”

I observe my sister coolly. “Guess so.”

My pulse is skyrocketing. The surprise appearance of Rosie at the ranch after the last time I saw her, face down while being arrested, is unnerving.

I’m mad at her. I’m not as mad as I should be because all I can think about is kissing her … then spreading her legs open and tying her to my bedposts.

I want to tie her up.

I blame it on my ranch-life upbringing with frequent workdays spent tying calves down for branding and cutting. I used to practice knots with rope in the barn when I was bored, and I’ve gotten really good at it.

Those knots would look even better around her wrists or ankles.

Except you fucked it up.

Rosie refuses to look at me as she busies herself around the kitchen, setting bowls and spoons out before washing a dish left in the sink. I take a seat at the island on one of the new barstools Dolly ordered after Duke smashed two of them.

My sister smiles widely at me again, almost freakishly so. “We made your favorite. Venison chili!”

What is she so excited about?

“Smells good,” is all I offer.

My eyes roam over Rosie, the soft curve of her backside as she turns away to dry her hands. She’s wearing a perfectly fitted pair of Levi jeans and a sage-green sweater that hugs her chest. My mouth waters at the tiny dip of her cleavage.

She made her choice.

I’m fucked.

She doesn’t trust me to protect her, and it’s something I have to live with now, apparently with her spending time under my roof.

We eat the chili in silence. Dolly makes small talk with Rosie, who still won’t meet my eyes.

Cash, Sterling, and Duke join us, all greeting Rosie with confused expressions and murmuring, “Welcome back.”

I’m highly aware of everywhere she moves, soaking up each giggle and smile that she bestows on all my siblings, but never me.

My father joins us for dinner, cupping her shoulder in a hug. “My girl is finally home.”

She kisses him on his wrinkled cheek. He seems sober more often now than he is drunk, or maybe he’s just getting better at hiding it.

I finish my bowl of chili, rising from the table to go shower.

“Thanks for dinner, Doll,” I call out, rinsing my bowl to put it in the dishwasher.

“You’re welcome. By the way, we need you to start moving out tomorrow so Rosie can take your room.”

I freeze. Silence falls over the table. I resume my task, calmly placing my bowl and spoon in the dishwasher before pivoting to face her.

“Since when is she moving in here?”

Out of the question. I won’t get a damn thing done.

Dolly pours herself another glass of iced tea and shrugs. “I offered her the position of housekeeper again, but she needs somewhere to live. I figure since Sterling is shipping out to basic training next week, it’s the perfect timing.”

The hard stare I pin my sister with doesn’t faze her. She flashes me a sweet smile and takes another bite of chili.

“Duke, move your shit to the bunkhouse,” I bark, storming toward the hallway.

“Rosie can room with me; it’s no problem,” he pipes up.

I pause in the doorframe, gripping it so hard that I half expect to hear a splintered crack in the wooden trim. “Move. Your shit. To the bunkhouse.”

“Why don’t we let Rosie decide? She can sleep wherever she wants.”

Another ten seconds of silence permeates the space.

Sterling clears his throat. “Damn, this shit is good. You outdid yourself, sis.”

I continue marching down the hall, sick of this bullshit competition Duke keeps trying to force me back into. Rosie made her choice, clearly. She doesn’t want either of us. And at this point, I know he’s just fucking with me to be a dick.

After pulling off my dirty work clothes, I turn on the water to let it heat. I stare at myself in the mirror.

Finally, I turn away and step into the shower.

I let the hot water spray over me, washing away the grime and filth of the day before collapsing into my bed into a restless sleep. I beg my subconscious mind to just shut the fuck up already, refusing to listen for which door Rosie might walk through down the hall.

I don’t know how long she’s going to keep chipping away at my heart, taking one sliver of it with her at a time, but I can’t take much more of it.

I spendthe next day outside from sunup to sundown. Sweat drips down my brow despite the mid-December chill as I mend fences and move cattle from one pasture to another. Sterling rides with me in silence, and I’m grateful for his patient, calming disposition. Duke would fuck with me and probably end up with my fist in the center of his face, and Cash would ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Sterling doesn’t say a word.

Once my stomach is growling with a roaring hunger, we return to the main house. Dinner was already served, and a half-eaten pan of Rosie’s lasagna is sitting on the stove, covered in foil. Laughter from Rosie, Dolly, and Duke floats from the living room into the kitchen. Sterling heats up his food and walks toward the main area with his plate.

While my plate heats in the microwave, I turn around to grab a fork, smacking my head on an open cabinet door.

“Fuck,” I exhale as it throbs, shutting my eyes.

Light footsteps come through the kitchen. My eyes flicker open to see Rosie, still avoiding my gaze, walk through with two empty wineglasses. On instinct, I reach out and grab her wrist.

She doesn’t pull away, but her body grows still, eyes forward. She’s wearing a pair of forest-green leggings with a soft, billowy, long-sleeved white shirt with a classic Santa Claus face on it. From the gentle sway of her breasts underneath, it would appear that braless Friday has begun. My hands ache to reach underneath it and feel her supple nipples under my fingertips.

“How long are you going to keep ignoring me?” I speak in a low growl.

She sighs, finally turning to face me with her big blue-green eyes. “Who said I was ignoring you?”

Her face is schooled with an expression of boredom, but the racing pulse on her neck betrays her attempt at indifference. I slide my fingers up her arm slowly.

“Where did you sleep last night?” I have to know. It’ll eat me alive.

She’s given you no reason to believe she wants Duke anymore. You’re irrational.

She tilts her head slightly, stubborn bottom lip protruding. “Here. In a bed.”

“Whose bed?”

My fingers have reached the top of her shoulders, just above her collarbone. I squeeze her gently, using just enough pressure to make her eyes widen before her lids grow hooded.

“Why do you care?” she whispers.

“You know that I care.” I don’t bother hiding the desire or the misery in my voice from her.

Her eyes grow darker as she folds her arms across her chest stubbornly, still holding the wineglasses. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I release her, stepping back as if she’d slapped me. Of all the stupid, shitty things I’ve done in this life, not making it abundantly clear how deeply in love with her I am has to take the fucking cake.

She spins away from me, walking around the island the long way to get to the pantry. Duke bursts out laughing at something Sterling said while Dolly erupts into an animated story about something stupid one of the ranch hands did today. I turn around and stumble out of the kitchen, swiping a bottle of whiskey from the countertop as I head for my room.

I need to shower, to think, to figure out how the fuck to communicate to this woman that I am so deeply gone for her that I don’t have a fucking clue how to even express it at this point. I’m mad for her. I’m losing my mind. I can’t sleep without her. I can’t stop obsessing about who she might be cuddling up with at night. I can’t get her out of my head.

You’re a fucking pussy.

I chug some of the liquid courage down as I enter my bathroom. I strip down naked, then turn on the shower. I don’t bother waiting for it to heat up before stepping inside and letting the cold water shock my system. After another long draw of the liquor, the water finally warms me. I don’t know how long I sit underneath it, racking my brain for some kind of gesture, some way to show her I want her, desperately.

I could buy her a horse.

Too much.

I could build her a house on the ranch for us, then ask her to move in.

Way too much.

I could just grab her face and kiss her senseless until she weakens underneath me.

Not enough.

I could invite her to a picnic, make a fancy spread for her.

Still not enough.

All of it feels trivial, too small for what we’ve been through and how incredibly idiotic I’ve been. A creaking sound draws my attention to the door of the bathroom. I look over to see a flash of red hair.

Rosie is standing in my bathroom, arms crossed. Even through the foggy glass, I can see that her eyes are watery. There’s no sense in hiding it as my dick begins to swell.

I take another shot of whiskey, reaching for my growing erection. “Care to join me?”

She scoffs, grabbing the shower door and jerking it open. She doesn’t bother removing her clothes before stepping into the shower with me.

Hotel-flavored memories flood my vision as the whiskey swims in my head. Her down on her knees, lips around my cock. I’m about to open my mouth with a much-needed spilling of my guts when she rears back and shoves my chest with both hands. I step back, eyes wide.

“I’m only living and working here because I’m trying to get away from my father.” Her eyes are brimming with tears.

“Does that mean you finally believe me?” I bite back, expecting her to deny the allegations of him kidnapping her and her mother and framing me for it.

The water is seeping through her shirt, revealing the pebbled tips of her breasts through the white fabric. She nods, a barely perceptible motion. My throat tightens as I stare down into her eyes, searching for the truth.

“I believe you,” she whispers, her wet lashes brushing against her cheeks. “And I’m so, so sorry, Holden.” Her voice cracks.

My chest caves in. I grip the back of her neck, dipping my forehead down to hers. “I’m sorry, Rosie. I’m so fucking sorry for everything that’s happened.”

She sucks in a ragged inhale, choking on a sob. “I—I’m sorry … sorry for calling them, for telling my aunt where we were. I’m so fucking sorry that they locked you up again. You’d warned me what would happen. You’d told me they’d do it, that they wouldn’t give a shit about what I had to say. I should’ve believed you. I should’ve?—”

She drags in a broken cry, eyes lowering in shame. I want to hold her, confess my incredible addiction to her, make love to her, beg her to move into my house and never leave it.

Instead, I reach up to wipe away a tear mixed with water. “Sleep with me tonight? I need to hold you. I need … I just need you.”

Her bottom lip quivers as she nods, relief flooding her features. I drag the soaked shirt up over her head, tossing it on the shower floor. Then, I grab the waistband of her leggings and pull them down. I get on my knees to peel them off of each foot, one by one. She braces herself on my shoulder with one hand.

With slow, gentle movements, I use my bar of soap to clean her. I spend more time than necessary on her breasts and between her legs, grazing over the surface of her skin, deliberately moving at a glacial pace. Goose bumps prick her skin despite the scorching temperature of the water.

Her breath hitches when I use the showerhead to thoroughly rinse her from head to toe. I watch her face as she gasps with the spray between her legs.

“You look so damn good when you’re turned on.”

“Like an angel?” she asks.

“My angel.” I press a kiss to her hip bone, eyes on hers.