3. Cash
3
CASH
“ I ’ll happily stand in the back of the line. I don’t need to be front and center.”
Holden chuckles as he tosses a bale of hay into the feeder. “Yeah, fuck that. You’re my best man.”
In our world, showing emotion isn’t a bad thing, but we don’t do it often. Growing up on a ranch in West Texas with a dearly departed mother and an alcoholic father meant that my three brothers and I expressed ourselves with fists and fighting. It’s a rare day when we feel the need to say anything nice to each other.
“It’s your wedding,” is all I say.
Holden is the oldest brother, and he’s engaged to the love of his life, Rosie. She’s our little sister’s best friend. She also happened to date our youngest brother, Duke, in high school, so her relationship with Holden didn’t go over well at first.
Thankfully, they’ve all worked it out, and since their recent engagement, she’s become like a sister to all of us, even Duke.
“Looks like they’ve got the new bulls rounded up for testing. Are we getting dirty today, brother?” Holden asks.
I adjust the straw Stetson on my head, wiping the sweat from my brow. “Damn straight. Gotta keep these cowboys in line.”
We make our way over to the arena, where the hired ranch hands and Duke are rounding the bulls into the chutes. We take our place up on the platform, where we observe and make notes on which bulls will be worth more when we go to sell them for sport. Pops, our father, is up there with the notebook we use to keep track of them.
One of the cowboys, Jensen, is already loaded up on one. These wild animals don’t fuck around. They’re mean, and most of them hate people.
Duke is up on a horse with a rope, ready to lasso any of the bulls who try to run off before they’re locked into a pen. Jensen nods, raising one hand in the air, and the gate swings open. The bull underneath him spins out and starts bucking wildly. He yelps as it darts to the left, his body weight throwing him out of balance. He swings down toward the ground, but his gloved hand stays attached to the rope wrapped around the bull’s chest.
He yells for help as the bull starts flinging his body around like a rag doll. The other cowboys try to get close enough to assist while avoiding the flying hooves of the animal. I lean over to spit into the dirt near my boots.
“Hope he doesn’t die. Last thing we need to deal with is a dead ranch hand,” I muse .
Holden snorts a laugh as Duke reaches the bull and finally releases the rope that was caught around Jensen’s hand. He drops to the ground, immediately crawling toward the safety of the fence.
Another one of the hands moves to help him stand, and he limps toward the house. I guess I missed the part where he hurt his leg, but it might’ve gotten trampled in the chaos.
“That one’ll fetch a pretty price at the Riders,” Holden tells Pops, who grunts his agreement.
The Riders is an underground bull riding ring, and we supply the bulls for them. It runs on illegal betting and reckless cowboys. We’ve all competed in it our fair share of times, padding our personal accounts and using some of the profits when the ranch needed it.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, tapping on the screen to see a familiar unsaved number.
Unknown
I hope you know if you had fully committed to me, he’d be out of the equation.
My on-and-off fling with Kacie is becoming an unnecessary headache. I clench my jaw and make my way toward the chute as they release another bull with its rider. I don’t always ride, but today, I need to release some steam. My phone goes into Duke’s hand as I don a worn pair of riding gloves from the community bucket of gear.
“Uh-oh, the big dog is up, boys. Make room in the line,” Duke taunts.
He’s the brother who never shuts the fuck up.
I climb over the fence and wait as they bring in the next bull. He’s a huge fucker with a tanned hide and a fully white face. His black eyes meet mine like he knows exactly what’s about to happen.
I grin at him, feeling the blood and adrenaline already starting to race inside my veins, giving me the much-needed high I wanted. As I mount his back, he’s completely still.
Fuck.
The calm before this inevitable storm is one of the most terrifying places I’ve ever been, but I keep returning to it time and time again, like a crazy fucker who enjoys the torture and pain.
“Ready, brother?” Duke asks.
I exhale, checking the rope around my gloved hand one more time before nodding at Duke to open the gate. He does it instantly, sending me to a place that feels otherworldly. My instincts react to the pure terror, and my brain switches to survival mode.
My left hand clenches around the rope as my right stays raised in the air. The animal bucks high before jerking me back down to the earth. Each round of kicks rattles my brain.
I control my breathing throughout the chaos. My lower body stays clenched tightly around the bull while my upper half remains fluid, following his movements.
“Damn! You’re a graceful motherfucker!” Duke calls out.
I finally hear the eight-second timer go off and reach down to grip the rope with both hands. Duke rides up next to me to release the flank strap. When I look up, my eyes catch a flash of blonde hair on the side of the arena.
Dolly and Rosie are brunette and redhead, respectively, but they could have a friend over .
After the bull calms down slightly, I slide off his back and walk to the edge of the pen, trying to shake off the feeling of my teeth being slammed together inside my skull. I spit blood on the dirt before looking up to grab the fence railing.
Bright blue eyes meet mine.
Monroe Blue.
Her curly, pale blonde hair blows in the breeze but still somehow looks perfect. She tilts her head slightly, eyes shifting back to the bull I just rode on the other side of the arena.
“You’re, like, a real cowboy,” she says, a touch of awe in her voice.
“Yes, ma’am,” I drawl.
She folds her arms across her chest. “May I have a word with you, Mr. Redford?”
She offers a sweet smile, but doesn’t wait for me to respond before pivoting. I’ve thought about those bright blue eyes in the last year more times than I’d ever admit.
She’s wearing a sky-blue button-down shirt, tucked into light-wash denim, which is a flawless, tailored fit around her curves. The fringed white booties she has on kick up a tiny cloud of dust into the breeze as she sashays toward the main house. Two men in black shirts and pants follow her from about ten feet away, both wearing sunglasses. A small woman with violet-red hair and flowy linen pants also trails after Monroe. A black SUV idles in the driveway, the driver seated behind the wheel.
I climb over the fence, hopping to the ground as Holden steps closer to my right.
“Is that the girl whose life you saved at the?— ”
“Yep,” I cut him off, expelling a breath.
Does she really think she can just march in here and demand my services?
“Good luck, brother,” he calls, returning to the work at hand with a smirk on his face.
I make my way over to the house, seeing Rosie’s shocked features when she opens the front door a few moments after Monroe knocks on it.
“Well, uh, hello! Come in,” she says, ushering her inside, along with her security detail and the other lady.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath.
All the women in this house are too nice. I reach the door, entering before she has time to shut it after the last black-clad security agent. I stomp the dirt off of my worn work boots onto the rug before walking toward the kitchen, where she led the world-famous country singer.
“Oh my! Holy shit,” Dolly exhales, eyes widening as she stares at Monroe.
“Hello! I’m so sorry for the unexpected intrusion. I just came to speak to Cash Redford about his potential employment as my bodyguard for my upcoming tour,” Monroe rushes to explain, smiling sweetly at Dolly and Rosie.
She remains standing a few steps inside the doorway of the kitchen, hands hanging by her sides. Her security flanks her on either side.
Dolly’s and Rosie’s eyes are wide, mouths slightly ajar, wearing twin expressions of shock and confusion. They both shift their gazes to meet mine after Monroe ends her explanation. I grit my teeth, irritation swirling beneath my skin. I fold my arms, remaining a few steps behind Monroe .
“I hate to say you wasted a trip, ma’am, but I’ve no interest in becoming a bodyguard.” I step toward her, but the men in black move between me and her, blocking my way.
A surge of annoyance rises inside me at their reaction. Monroe doesn’t call them off. She clasps her hands in front of herself, studying me.
“I understand you have rejected the formal proposition for the job offer that came from Sun Records. I came here to personally make you another offer—triple the previous amount. I know, at heart, you are a rancher and apparently a bull rider as well, but I’m simply hoping that if I explain to you how monumental it was for me when you saved my life and …” She stops, shutting her eyes and inhaling a deep breath, seeming to steady herself. She opens her eyes again, quickly recovering. “I have lived in fear for my life, my safety, since I was a teen. I’ve had stalkers, obsessive fans, people who are willing to do anything to get close to me for most of my life. When you saved me at the Sundance Pavilion … it meant a lot, more than you could ever know.”
She gulps, a flash of vulnerability in her gaze. A stillness comes over me. I haven’t thought much about how what happened last year would have affected her in the long run. It was a gut reaction to come to her rescue.
My sister and soon-to-be sister-in-law both sigh in unison, leaning into each other as they gaze at Monroe in awe.
“I can’t imagine what that’s like! You must be terrified every single day,” Dolly gushes, moving toward Monroe. “Would you like something to drink? I have water, wine, whiskey, Diet Coke. ”
Monroe’s soft gaze moves from mine to my sister’s. “I would love a Diet Coke. Thank you so much.”
Dolly rushes to fetch the drink from the hall pantry, where we have a spare fridge for beverages. Rosie shuffles her feet, eyes imploring me with some message I can’t decipher.
What? I’m not doing it.
She rolls her eyes at me before shifting her gaze back to the superstar in our kitchen. “So, Monroe, when does your tour begin?”
Monroe perks up. “I will leave for Korea in two weeks, if I can secure the security needed for the trip.”
Rosie nods enthusiastically as Dolly returns with the can of Diet Coke. She fills a glass with ice from the fridge dispenser before popping the can and pouring it into the glass. We watch the fizz slowly dissipate in complete silence.
Monroe accepts the glass graciously, murmuring, “Thank you,” before taking a sip.
“So, what happens if you can’t get the security team you need?” Dolly asks.
Monroe blinks at them, stepping forward to set the glass down on the counter. “I won’t be going.”
The girls gasp.
“I’d hate to disappoint my fans and have to cancel, but I’m not willing to risk my life for it without security detail that makes me feel safe so I can actually perform the way the fans deserve to see. What happened last year really shook my confidence with performing in crowds. I haven’t been onstage since.”
She turns to me with wide eyes, her pale blonde hair framing her angelic face. “I understand you may have reservations about undertaking something like this. If you would be willing to share them with me, perhaps I could help alleviate them. You would have time to visit home.”
She’s beautiful, well spoken, conniving, and talented—all things that terrify me to my fucking core.
I sigh, planting my dirty hands on the kitchen island. “It’s pretty damn simple. I’m not a bodyguard, and I don’t want to leave the ranch. They need me here.”
The offer to be her bodyguard for six months in exchange for one million dollars was mildly tempting from the start, although not enough to convince me to leave my home and my family. I hate crowds. I dislike most people. I have zero interest in spending time in the presence of spoiled, entitled celebrities.
“I don’t really see why it’s so vital for you to have me there. I’m not a professional.” I wave a hand at the statue-like men who followed her into the house, still wearing their sunglasses.
She nods. “These two do a fine job, but they haven’t been tested in a high-stress, high-stakes situation like what happened at the Sundance Pavilion. We vetted them as best as we could, and unless—or until—another attempt on my life is made, they won’t be able to prove how they respond during an actual attack.
“The man you took down was discovered to have been stalking me for seven months. He admitted that his plan was to kidnap me and keep me chained up in his trailer, which they found twenty miles from the venue, already outfitted with chains and a wall of mirrors. If that plan failed, his intention was to end my life. It was, of course, very poorly executed, but he shouldn’t have even gotten near the stage. I understand I’m asking a lot, and if tripling the original offer is not sufficient, then I’ll leave you alone, I swear.”
“How awful,” Dolly murmurs softly, shaking her head.
We stand in silence, Monroe’s bright blue eyes sending an invisible wave of a desperate, imploring plea.
She truly is terrified.
The fact that a woman in this world—any woman—has to live in fear of being attacked every single day while doing her job fills me with red-hot rage. My fists clench with the memory of wiping out the prick who had assaulted her onstage last year. I had been watching him the entire show, knowing he was up to something. At the time, I wasn’t concerned for Monroe because I didn’t think he could get to her. I was worried for my sister and Rosie.
Still not my problem.
Holden and Duke enter the already crowded kitchen. The large double island stands between Monroe and her security and my family. I’m to the left of Monroe, between the islands. Holden reaches for Rosie, tenderly kissing her lips as he threads his fingers through her hair. The sight of them brings a sting of jealousy to my gut. I’m over the moon for my brother, but I feel restless and lonely in my own life.
My cell phone burns in my pocket with the last text I received.
I hope you know if you had fully committed to me, he’d be out of the equation.
Kacie had every right to go back to her ex, although I would’ve appreciated a heads-up before seeing them out dancing and making out at the bar. I hadn’t ever labeled things between us, but we had both agreed to only date each other and see where things went.
It’s not that I’m hell-bent on having a girlfriend—that’s the problem actually. Kacie wanted commitment. I wasn’t there yet. I’m twenty-eight years old, still living at my family’s ranch. I’ll probably die here too.
And I’ve always been fine with that.
The glint of Rosie’s diamond ring flashes in my eyes as she raises a hand to cup her fiancé’s cheek. Holden was anti-commitment too—until he met her.
I can feel my family’s inquisitive gaze on us as Monroe takes a step closer to me.
“I was going to suggest, if you’re open to it, we could start with a much smaller commitment. One trial month for five hundred thousand. First two weeks would be training and preparation, and the second two would be the first two weekends of shows. If you hate it, you can leave and come back home.”
I stare down at her.
Five hundred thousand dollars.
“And your family can all have VIP tickets to the closest US show, regardless of what you decide,” she adds on, blinking up at me. Her tongue darts out to wet her supple lips, her expression expectant.
This woman is not used to being told no.
Her face is a mask of calculated indifference, like she’s pretending this isn’t that big of a deal. I chuckle, shaking my head as we face off. She has no fucking clue what she’s asking of me. It’s not just the money or the time away from my family, my ranch.
It’s my inability to physically be around so many fucking people.
On the other hand …
I could use a break from this place. And with five hundred thousand dollars, I could build my own damn house and actually get some solitude.
With Kacie’s recent rejection and the insufferable love bubble that Holden and Rosie are constantly in, I’m starting to miss being an ocean away from everyone who knows me.
There’s the issue of physical proximity to people—to strangers—that makes me want to say no.
Then, there’s the issue of emotional proximity to people—my family—that makes me want to say yes.
I consider the offer, mulling it over in my head—if it’s worth being around that many people for four weeks—when the red-haired woman appears from the hallway.
She rushes toward us with a phone in her outstretched hand. Her face is pale, eyes wide. Monroe takes the phone. She stares at the screen silently. She takes one more deep, steady breath before looking up at me, eyes growing hard.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Redford. This isn’t your problem, and I’ll be forever grateful for what you did last year at Sundance.”
She turns to Dolly and Rosie with a tiny smile. “If I do ever choose to do another tour and you’re interested in seeing the show, please reach out. I’d love to offer you tickets and backstage passes. Cash can give you the number to call. It was lovely to meet you.”
She turns then, not looking at me again as she grips the phone in her left hand, knuckles white. She walks toward the doorway leading into the hall, passing directly by me. My hand reaches out to grip her wrist, drawing an inhale from her. She stops abruptly, eyes trailing up my chest until she finally meets my gaze. I’m a foot taller than her, and at this proximity, she looks tiny.
I lift her hand holding the phone so that I can see the screen. She lets me, not offering any resistance.
The photo on the screen is of a bedroom. It has cream-colored decor with luscious green plants, a large and ornate mirror in the corner, and a massive king-size canopy bed. On the plush, undisturbed covers, there is a whip, a scrap of red lace underwear and a matching bra, and a camera. The text underneath the photo says,
When are you coming home, Monroe Blue?
The number isn’t saved as a contact, and there are no previous messages between them. Without releasing her wrist, I meet her eyes. They’re glassed over, but her bottom lip is beginning to tremble.
“Who is that?” I grit out, my chest tightening.
She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she whispers.
Fear, along with an ounce of acceptance, has filled her eyes. This is her life, her normal. Rage and fierce, foreign protectiveness surge through me. I slowly loosen my grip on her, letting her hand drop, but not fully letting go.
I turn my gaze back to where my brothers are standing. Holden has his arm wrapped around Rosie. Dolly and Duke are whispering to each other, but they stop when they see me looking at them.
“We’ll be just fine without you for a month. You think you’re irreplaceable or something?” Holden says, a smirk touching his lips.
Duke chuckles. “Yeah, seriously. You act like Holden didn’t up and disappear for three and a half years .”
Dolly swats his arm. Holden went to prison for bravely defending our little sister from a monster of a man, much like whoever sent Monroe a picture from inside her own bedroom.
“One month,” I confirm.
She nods, her eyes sparking with hope. “Okay.”
I let go of her. “And I’m bringing my own gun.”