Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Maddox
I drag my fingers through my damp hair and make my way back down the stairs to the kitchen. I fix myself a plate and pop it into the microwave before moving to the living room where Granddaddy sits in his recliner watching Gunsmoke.
Setting a hand on his shoulder, I offer him a smile. “How’s it going, Granddaddy?”
He lifts his chin, and his eyes narrow as he tries to place me.
“It’s Maddox.”
“I know,” he grunts, his cheeks reddening slightly. He tears his gaze away from me. “You’re not invisible, you know? I can’t see my show with your big body standing in front of the screen.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. As much as I’ve gotten used to him dismissing me, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting.
I miss the days when he’d greet me as soon as I got in the door.
He’d ask me a million questions and offer advice.
Sometimes he’d tell me stories over dinner, and if he was having a good day, we’d sit on the front porch and enjoy a couple of beers.
My gaze slides to where Abby is sitting on the sofa across from him, her phone nowhere in sight.
I tip my chin toward her in lieu of a greeting.
After Judy left, I went outside on the porch and had a little chat with her.
I explained in a calm tone that I couldn’t afford her being distracted, and that I’d have to let her go if I caught her on the phone again.
To my surprise, she took accountability for her actions and apologized, and that’s when I saw it—the similarity she bore to my sister.
Della is generally a people-pleaser, and in that moment, I got the impression Abby is too.
After all, it takes a special person to care for the elderly.
They gotta have an abundance of patience, and a good heart.
She was clearly having a bad day, and as someone who has had their fair share of those, I convinced myself to give her a chance.
“Have you eaten?” I ask her. “Judy makes enough food to feed the entire ranch.”
She offers me a smile. “Oh, yes. William and I ate earlier. He was stingy with the cornbread, though,” she says, turning her attention back to my grandfather.
“Isn’t that right, William?” He meets her gaze, and she winks at him.
His lips curve slightly, but he doesn’t respond, and I shake my head slightly.
He may not know who I am or what year it is, but the man hasn’t forgotten how to flirt.
“He does love his cornbread,” I mutter. The microwave beeps from inside the kitchen, signaling that my food is ready. My initial plan was to bring my dish in here, that way I could spend some time with Granddaddy and not eat my dinner alone, but that doesn’t seem all that appealing anymore.
I jut my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to eat dinner. I’ll check in after his show and help with the nighttime routine.”
“No worries. The agency clued me in on William’s routine, and Betty left a very detailed list. We’ll be fine.”
I’m not entirely sold on that, but I nod anyway and make my way into the kitchen.
I take my plate out of the microwave and set it down on the table before grabbing a beer.
I eat quietly, listening as Granddaddy converses with Abby about the show they’re watching, and when I’m done, I help myself to another beer and head for the back porch.
I sit there for a while, just enjoying the quiet as I stare at the acres of land stretched before me, praying I figure out how to keep every inch of it. As the night drags on, I realize it’s likely not gonna happen, not without a fucking miracle.
I’m about to head into the kitchen to grab myself another beer when my phone buzzes from inside my back pocket. Figuring its Wyatt sending me another picture of my men raising their glasses, I ignore it.
True to his word, he stopped by before they all headed into town, but I didn’t answer the bell. Now it appears he’s on a mission to send me a play-by-play of their big night out, sending me a text every time they order another round.
I pop the top off my beer and take a long pull. Maybe if I double my beer intake, I might catch up to their shot consumption.
The phone rings again, and I lower the long neck from my lips.
I can ignore the drunk texts, but the spam calling, well, that’s a whole different beast. They can be a rowdy bunch, and if they’re three sheets to the wind after only a couple of hours, I’m going to be even more screwed tomorrow than I originally expected.
Setting the beer on the counter, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, my patience almost immediately evaporating when I spot Wyatt’s name on the screen. Accepting the call, I don’t bother with pleasantries.
“For fuck’s sake, Wy—”
“It’s Amelia.
Everything in my body goes still, and my hand tightens around the phone.
For a split second, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, but then she sighs into the line, and every fiber of my being suddenly comes alive in ways I wasn’t sure were possible anymore.
Ways only the woman on the phone has ever enticed.
She was just a girl then, and I was the guy destined to ruin us both; I just didn’t know it.
It didn’t take long for me to figure it out, though, and when I did, I made a conscious effort to avoid her.
Not an easy task when the girl you’re avoiding was your sister’s childhood best friend, and it’s an even harder one when you both live in Saddle Ridge, Oklahoma.
In a small town like ours, everyone knows everyone, and no one’s business is their own.
Still, I did my best for over ten years.
I can count on one hand how many times we were alone together, and we shared only a couple of words during those times.
That’s not counting the day her son was born.
In a moment of weakness, I couldn’t seem to help myself.
I visited her in the hospital and stood in the doorway, simply staring as she cradled that little blue bundle in her arms, thinking how cruel life was because they both should’ve been mine.
“I’m sorry for calling,” she says, her tone rushed, her voice a little unsteady. “But your boys are demolishing my bar, and I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t want to have to call the sheriff.”
There’s a lot to unpack in those words, but when I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. It’s like I’m transported back in time, standing in the doorway of her hospital room, paralyzed simply by Amelia’s existence.
A frustrated sigh rips through the line. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll call Shadow.”
The mention of my friend, who happens to be the vice president of the Fallen Demon’s motorcycle club and also Amelia’s cousin, seems to draw me out of my temporary paralysis.
It makes sense why she’d bring him into this, though.
The last time I saw him, he mentioned that his club had purchased Rodeo Roundup, one of the up-and-coming bars in town.
What he failed to mention was that his cousin was apparently working there.
“No, don’t.”
“Well, then I suggest you round up your boys before they break anything else.”
I might still be holding a candle for Amelia King, but the only thing she holds for me is a world of resentment and a lifetime of anger.
Biting back a curse, I drag my fingers through my hair. “Yeah, I’m on it.”
“Good,” she says. “And make sure you bring your checkbook. Someone has to pay for the damages, and something tells me your boy Wyatt dropped all his money on fast girls and top-shelf whiskey. By the way, he’s a horrible tipper.”
Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.
Fucking Wyatt.
Any other night, I would’ve called Tyler to go collect the boys, especially with Abby on Granddaddy duty.
But tearing Tyler away from his son because I’m a paranoid fuck didn’t feel right, so I sent him a text, asking him to keep an eye out, and grabbed my checkbook just like Amelia instructed before I pulled on my boots and fitted my Stetson to my head.
The second my ass was behind the wheel of my truck, thoughts of Amelia filled my head.
I wasn’t prepared to face her. Being in a crowded arena, watching the rodeo with hundreds of people acting as a buffer, is a lot different from having to speak with her one on one.
I didn’t want to look into her eyes and be reminded of all the ways I hurt her, and what might’ve been if I hadn’t.
Hell, I didn’t want to look at her at all.
Looking at her was dangerous.
It spurred something wild and reckless inside me.
Something I feared couldn’t be tamed once it was unleashed.
Spotting the trucks with the Meadows Ranch logo on the side, I turn into the parking lot and let out a stream of curses. I knew I’d have to rally my men, but I didn’t realize I’d be saddled with the task of getting all these vehicles back to the ranch too.
I’m going to kill them.
I kill the engine and hop out of the driver’s seat, slamming the door once the soles of my boots touch the gravel.
I ignore the few folks loitering in the lot as I make my way to the front of the building.
Chris Stapleton’s raw and raspy voice carries from inside, growing louder and louder the closer I get, and when I pull open the door my eyes scan the sea of people singing along to his hit single, White Horse, as it blares from the jukebox in the corner.
I spot a few of my guys on the dance floor, but there is no sign of Wyatt. I push my way through the crowd, reaching my wrangler, Grant, first. His arms are wrapped around a woman, and he’s doing a piss-poor job of dancing with her, but she is either too drunk or too smitten to mind.
Fighting the urge to roll my eyes, I tap him on the shoulder. He turns, his body rigid, and braced for a fight. But when he realizes it’s me, his eyes light up like a fucking Christmas tree.