Read Rough (RRR #2) for Free Online Page A

camellias, no meandering river dotted with shaggy cypress and arching ferns or tall, reedy grasses.
    This is hardscrabble cattle and ‘black-gold’ country. Gnarled mesquite trees sprout like weeds in vast, empty fields with nothing but prickly-pear, armadillos, and diamond-back rattlers for company. Oil wells are scattered like sentinels here and there, and Holt talks easily about oil and indigenous creatures, using terms I’ve heard but don’t quite comprehend.
    “ Those rigs are new,” he tells me, pointing into the distance, his voice is as tender as lover’s as he talks about this place that made him, that’s branded forever on his heart. “Over there is an abandoned derrick, you’ll see a lot of rusty old pump-jacks, when I was a kid my old man called ‘em grasshoppers. The coyotes come out at night, stealthy bastards, they kill calves and sheep. This land is thick with bobcats, too, you can smell their stink a mile away, their eyes glow and flash in the dark. Those hills of earth, they’re fire ant mounds, a blessing and a curse. They clean up the land faster than vultures, I’ve seen them devour an entire goat carcass in hours, a dead cow takes a few days. They’re efficient little janitors, but stay clear of them, they bite like the devil.”
    He’s in his element here, part of a history as rugged an untamed as he is. We swerve onto a grass and dirt rutted path worn into the earth by truck tires, most likely, and a stunning glass and wood home rises up like a modern miracle among the rolling plains.
    Traeger waits for us, leaning against a tree trunk used as a column on a low, flagstone verandah that skirts the front of the house. He’s shirtless and grinning as he rakes a hand through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair.
    “Corrigan, hey asshole, where ya been? Ohhhh, I see! You’ve recaptured the heart and hand of our fair lady,” he says, stretching his long body with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans.
    I get out of the car and stop in my tracks, and I cannot look away from him no matter how hard I try. His jeans hang low on his hips and they’re faded, ripped, and worn, with a gaping hole a couple of inches below the fly, and the head of his penis is clearly visible, and large .
    “For fucks sake Traeger, your personality is showing. Isn’t that what you call that nasty thing?” Holt says, laughing. “Put some decent jeans on, Scarlet doesn’t want to see your dick, you dick .
    “Shit, sorry ‘bout that, the fucker has a mind of its own,” he says and doesn’t move an inch, just sticks a hand down his pants and moves it to the other side, where it bulges impressively. He smiles and says, “Guess I should go wash my hands now or Scarlet will think I’m a crude country bumpkin. Come on in, grab a shot of TNT and I’ll show you where the leak is. I know what I’m talking about, the fucking roof is leaking . You build a fine house, Holt, but the fucker has a hole or some shit, you’ll see.”
    We follow him inside and into the ultra-modern kitchen. I listen to their boyish banter and I just freaking love the sound of Holt’s deep sensuous voice. The way he draws his words out nice and slow, and anything with an ‘R’ sounds like a growl. When he says Traeger it comes out as—Trayyyyy grrrrr. He adds two or three syllables to words like ‘bay’ and ‘mare’ and ‘yes’. Yes sir, I am definitely in over my head and leading with my heart when it comes to this man.
    I’m still blushing from the glimpse of Traeg’s “personality” as I rest my elbows on the island and watch Holt. He listens intently while Traeger pours shots of his all-natural, incredibly tasty tequila. Traeger is nearly as tall as Holt, and his body is a marvel, all sleek sculpted planes and angles, lean but muscled, with abs that are so ripped they’re more like a twelve-pack than a six-pack. Still, standing next to Holt he doesn’t quite measure up, but seriously, what man could?
    “Show me