the old man outta jail. I’ll give you one guess who he’s with, brain-dead bastards, neither one of them can hold their liquor or keep their dicks—sorry Miss—out of barely legal puss… girls. You’re dad sliced up a couple of our good vaqueros, he didn’t kill them, but Rafe has to hold him for a few days to see if they press charges.”
“Need me to go, too? No? I hope Rafe keeps Tom locked up for a good long while, my crazy old man should be in rehab. Do they have rehab for mean sumbitches who think they’re God with a switchblade?” Holt asks and he looks tired, just worn down by a lifetime of what he has briefly explained about his father’s deep-seated hatred of mankind in general and Holt in particular.
“I’ll handle it and catch up with you in the roping pen, shouldn’t take long. I believe I’ll confine my dad to his side of the house and threaten his fuc… his life, if he doesn’t reel in his ‘second go at puberty’ a couple of notches.” He shoots Holt a half smile and then notices that I’m not paying any attention to him, I’m staring at his watch. “My grandfather had good taste, right? It was his, the eccentric old bastard loved watches, he collected dozens of them and left them to my mother. Ridiculous to wear it out here on the ranch, but if not now, when?” He says, laughing a genuine laugh as he toys with it. He rubs a thumb across the thin gold face of the watch, and over its elegant leather band, then pulls the cuff of his sleeve down to cover it as if the fact that he’s wearing a vintage Patek Phillipe worth probably two or three million dollars might be a little weird. “It keeps perfect time, made in 1929 and still ticking, a good investment my old granddaddy Campbell always said. He never wore them, kept them locked away, but what’s the use of owning something beautiful if you can’t enjoy it?” He looks up at Holt, raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, and then he turns a panty-melting smile in my direction. “Don’t believe we’ve met, Holt is as uncouth and uncivilized as I am, we’re both the product of good women who made bad marital choices. I’m Campbell McCauley.”
“I’m Scarlet… Scarlet O’Neal. I’m doing the interiors of your fishing lodge… with Holt… he and I are….” I say, and he’s trapped my eyes with his, and I’m stuttering and stupid and thinking— Holy shit, Gigi is in major trouble if she has to choose between Jon-Wylder and Campbell, they are both scorching hot!
“So you’re the girlfriend, good choice, Holt. I have to hand it to you, she’s a stunning beauty, no wonder you were moping around and about as happy as a scalded cat the last couple of months.” He says, and places his hands on the edge of the truck, taps it a couple of times as if he’s pondering the situation before he looks in my eyes and says sincerely. “Holt is a good man, the best man I’ve ever known. And unlike his best friend—my little brother—he isn’t impulsive. If he brought you here and you’re staying with him, that’s a serious first, maybe the beginning of something truly special. I’m a little envious.”
“I doubt that,” Holt says and he laughs and Campbell grins. “You love your martyred bachelorhood, don’t lie. How ‘bout you finish up in town and get your ass back to the ranch, let’s see who those kids are most impressed with. You’re hell on a horse, but you can’t rope and tie for shit.”
“Yeah? We’ll see about that. Okay then, back in a few. Miss Scarlet, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’d like to discuss the fishing lodge if we have a minute later today. You know, no frilly shit… pardon me… just want to make perfectly clear that it will actually be used for fishing, hunting, poker playing, and consuming mass quantities of good Scotch whiskey. A retreat where my brothers and our friends can indulge in those time-honored redneck male bonding rituals. So no frills, no roses on the
“Need me to go, too? No? I hope Rafe keeps Tom locked up for a good long while, my crazy old man should be in rehab. Do they have rehab for mean sumbitches who think they’re God with a switchblade?” Holt asks and he looks tired, just worn down by a lifetime of what he has briefly explained about his father’s deep-seated hatred of mankind in general and Holt in particular.
“I’ll handle it and catch up with you in the roping pen, shouldn’t take long. I believe I’ll confine my dad to his side of the house and threaten his fuc… his life, if he doesn’t reel in his ‘second go at puberty’ a couple of notches.” He shoots Holt a half smile and then notices that I’m not paying any attention to him, I’m staring at his watch. “My grandfather had good taste, right? It was his, the eccentric old bastard loved watches, he collected dozens of them and left them to my mother. Ridiculous to wear it out here on the ranch, but if not now, when?” He says, laughing a genuine laugh as he toys with it. He rubs a thumb across the thin gold face of the watch, and over its elegant leather band, then pulls the cuff of his sleeve down to cover it as if the fact that he’s wearing a vintage Patek Phillipe worth probably two or three million dollars might be a little weird. “It keeps perfect time, made in 1929 and still ticking, a good investment my old granddaddy Campbell always said. He never wore them, kept them locked away, but what’s the use of owning something beautiful if you can’t enjoy it?” He looks up at Holt, raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, and then he turns a panty-melting smile in my direction. “Don’t believe we’ve met, Holt is as uncouth and uncivilized as I am, we’re both the product of good women who made bad marital choices. I’m Campbell McCauley.”
“I’m Scarlet… Scarlet O’Neal. I’m doing the interiors of your fishing lodge… with Holt… he and I are….” I say, and he’s trapped my eyes with his, and I’m stuttering and stupid and thinking— Holy shit, Gigi is in major trouble if she has to choose between Jon-Wylder and Campbell, they are both scorching hot!
“So you’re the girlfriend, good choice, Holt. I have to hand it to you, she’s a stunning beauty, no wonder you were moping around and about as happy as a scalded cat the last couple of months.” He says, and places his hands on the edge of the truck, taps it a couple of times as if he’s pondering the situation before he looks in my eyes and says sincerely. “Holt is a good man, the best man I’ve ever known. And unlike his best friend—my little brother—he isn’t impulsive. If he brought you here and you’re staying with him, that’s a serious first, maybe the beginning of something truly special. I’m a little envious.”
“I doubt that,” Holt says and he laughs and Campbell grins. “You love your martyred bachelorhood, don’t lie. How ‘bout you finish up in town and get your ass back to the ranch, let’s see who those kids are most impressed with. You’re hell on a horse, but you can’t rope and tie for shit.”
“Yeah? We’ll see about that. Okay then, back in a few. Miss Scarlet, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, I’d like to discuss the fishing lodge if we have a minute later today. You know, no frilly shit… pardon me… just want to make perfectly clear that it will actually be used for fishing, hunting, poker playing, and consuming mass quantities of good Scotch whiskey. A retreat where my brothers and our friends can indulge in those time-honored redneck male bonding rituals. So no frills, no roses on the
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