Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (13 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

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“Well, Nylen,” he said, grabbing the post by him and jumping down to the hard packed dirt below the stands. “I’m guessing you’d need the instruction in bed.”
He walked away, refusing to smile at the sight of Nylen’s red face and pissed gaze until he was well out of sight.
 
Peyton flung herself at Trace, knocking him back against the rig’s side. “We did it!”
“We didn’t do anything,” he argued with amusement, but he squeezed her in a bear hug all the same. “I don’t see any first place trophies coming home with us.”
“No.” Peyton stepped back and grinned. “But I did grab a third place. And you were kicking some ass, too. Tough competition. But the fact is, we showed our best and I’ve been talking nonstop to people who want to know more about M-Star. I had one guy whip out his phone and look at our website right in front of me. That’s the point!”
Trace tapped her nose. “I’ve had the same. People asking where I’ve been, asking about the place, the stock. It’s good.” He smiled slowly. “Real good.”
“Better than good. You both exceeded my expectations.”
Peyton’s insides melted a little before she had a chance to shore them back up and turn to face Red. “Why, thank you. Good to know you have such high expectations of us.”
Red just shook his head and looked at Trace. “Are all women capable of turning a compliment into an insult like that?”
“Every female I know,” Trace answered with a smile.
Peyton slugged him in the shoulder. “Nice back up, big brother.”
He flicked her hat, sending it flying into the dirt. “Welcome, little sis.”
Red picked up her hat and dusted it off, handing it back easily. “If you two are done playing sibling, I wanted to run through the schedule. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, around dawn, right?”
Trace started shuffling his feet. A sign, Peyton knew, that he was feeling guilty. “Yeah, about that . . .”
Peyton sighed. “You wanna head home right now, don’t you?”
His neck flushed but he nodded resolutely. “I do. I mean, Lad and I are done. You and Ninja are done. And the rest is all mouth work. Right? And scouting to see what’s what.”
“That’s about it.” Peyton crossed her arms. “So you want to ditch and run.”
“I want to take the horses back with me and make sure everything is okay at the ranch,” he corrected. “Plus, you’d still have Red here. Nothing difficult about that. Being away another two days won’t kill you. But dammit, I miss my son.”
He’d said it, and he looked so fierce about it, she couldn’t even tease him. “Okay,” she said softly. “Go home and give Seth a hug for me.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and shook Red’s hand, then climbed behind the wheel. As the dust settled after his quick exit, Peyton realized that he had left her with a long drive back and only Red for company.
That could be awkward.
 
Red stretched out in the passenger seat, laced his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes. “Sure you don’t want me to drive?”
He knew her answer before he’d even asked.
“No. This thing is testy and there’s a trick to driving it properly. Plus,” she added, sounding a little testy herself, “just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.”
“Never said otherwise,” he agreed easily, keeping his eyes closed. “Just thought to offer, seeing how we’re both tired and it’s the middle of the night. You just let me know if you get too tired and need relief.”
“Oh.” She sounded hesitant, as if regretting her tone of voice. But he didn’t open his eyes. “Thank you for the offer.”
“Not a problem.”
He let his mind drift off just a little, wondering what it would be like if she weren’t so stubborn. If she weren’t so determined to have absolutely no contact with him that wasn’t professional. If he could reach across the bench seat and take her hand, lace his fingers with hers and just hold it on the well-worn, cracked leather seat.
“Shit!”
Well, that wasn’t at all the reaction he’d expected. Wait, was he thinking out loud? Jesus.
He cracked one eye open only to suddenly feel the truck swerve and veer across the barely-two-lane road. Peyton’s small hands squeezed the steering wheel, her knuckles stark white, as if she hoped the power of her grip alone could control the vehicle.
Her rigid posture wasn’t going to do her any good if they ended up in a crash. Though out here, there didn’t look like much to crash into. But he took a chance and rubbed a hand over her back. “Easy. It’s fine, nobody’s around. Let up a little. There we go.”
She guided and coaxed and maneuvered with obvious difficulty until the truck rumbled, sputtered, and then finally ground to a halt on the side of the road. Under his hand, he could feel the tension and stress leak out of Peyton’s muscles until she went completely lax, letting her head drop down to the steering wheel with a bump.
“Oh my God. I think I just lost ten years of my life.”
He’d probably lost twenty, but no need to point that out. “Did we blow a tire?”
She shook her head, forehead still pressed against the wheel. “Something just clutched and the power steering went out.” She pounded a fist against the dash. “Damn, thing should have been junked years ago. We just . . .”
No need to finish that sentence.
Couldn’t afford to replace it.
From what Red could see, faint tendrils of smoke snaked out from beneath the hood of the rig. He opened his door, hopping down and closing it before leaning through the open window. “Pop the hood so I can see what’s going on. Stay in here in case I need you to start the engine or anything.”
She looked relieved. “Do you know a lot about cars?”
No. Nothing. But he figured even he could tell if the problem was minor or major. Slipping out of his button-down work shirt, he wrapped the fabric around his hand and went to open the hood after he heard the faint give of metal, signaling Peyton had pressed the button to pop it. The moment he did, he knew the rig was DOA. The blast of heat and stench of burned . . . something stung his nostrils. He backed away, waving his arms to clear the smoke from his eyes. Rounding the truck to the driver side, he waited for her to roll down the manual window.
“I’m thinking it’s a goner.”
Peyton once again let her head fall, this time back against the seat. “That would figure. This piece of junk just couldn’t get us back home, could it? Just couldn’t fight it out to the end. No. We had to break down here in BumFuck Nowhere.” She glanced around. “Where are we again?”
He shrugged. “You were driving.”
“Fantastic.” She grabbed the directions she’d been using from the dash and her cell phone from the cup holder by her feet. “Time to call for reinforcements.”
“And who would that be?”
“AAA, duh.”
 
“Sorry sweetheart, but this thing won’t be heading to any more rodeos.”
Peyton wanted to scream. Then cry. Then kick the son of a bitch for calling her sweetheart like she was some helpless little woman. Though the crying part wouldn’t help her maintain her dignity, so she nodded and bit her lip to cut the tears off.
“What broke?”
“What didn’t?”
“So it’s only good for parts?”
The mechanic who’d showed up on site scoffed. “Love, this thing is barely worth metal scrap. I know a guy who can give you a check tomorrow for what it’s worth, but that’ll have to keep until morning.”
Peyton ran a hand over her quickly fraying braid and shook her head, then nodded. Her mind was too foggy with exhaustion at this point to care. “Great. Fine. So, until then, is there a car rental place around here?”
“Sure is.” The robust man hooked his thumbs through the loops of his jeans, where a belt really should have resided, if the droop in his pants was any indication. “Course, that won’t be open until morning, either.”
And she was back to wanting to scream. “Then what do you suggest we do until morning?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I can hook up your trailer, drive you out to the motel in town.”
The motel. As in, only one. She wasn’t far off with her BumFuck Nowhere comment. Then again, they were driving through Wyoming. What was she expecting?
“That’d be great.” Red laid a hand on her shoulder, and though she’d rather chew her arm off than admit it, the weight of his hand was a comfort. “We’d really appreciate the ride. Wouldn’t we?” He squeezed gently.
“Yes. Thank you,” she said, feeling something like a puppet whose strings were pulled. Peyton waited while Red and the mechanic hitched the small trailer to the mechanic’s truck, then climbed into the dusty cab next to Red. When the alternative was to scoot closer to the man in the overalls, Peyton chose the lesser of two evils and slid until she was all but cuddled up against Red’s side.
He chuckled low in her ear and looped an arm around her. The infuriating man
would
enjoy this . . .
Chapter Twelve
T
he mechanic’s truck pulled into a poorly lit parking lot in front of the—singular—motel in town. The parking lot was shockingly full, even though there was nothing Red had seen of town to recommend it to travelers. The L had long-since burned out from the motel’s neon sign. As he and Peyton slid out of the truck, she muttered, “I think this place was featured as a crime scene on 48 Hours last week.”
“Remember which room number?” he asked, then laughed at the face she shot him. They grabbed their bags from the back of the truck and picked up directions to the rental car company in town before waving good-bye to their mechanic.
As they walked in, Peyton coughed a little at the smoky interior of the lobby. “I thought it was illegal to smoke in public places like this.”
“I don’t think it is in Wyoming.” Red glanced around, wondering how a dump like this could actually be a stopping ground for anyone. “Let’s just see what’s available.” He walked to the front desk, looked for a bell, then rapped his knuckles on top of the scarred wood when there wasn’t one in sight. “Hello?”
A skinny man with slicked back hair and red, glazed eyes popped his head around the wall. “Yeah?”
Nice customer service. “We need a couple of rooms. Hoping you’re not full up.”
The man, probably in his forties, slid around the door frame. “Not quite full yet.”
“Thank God.” Peyton dropped her bag on the ground and slumped against the desk. “Two rooms please.”
“Singles?” the man asked, his hand poised with a pen over a registration book. But the glance he gave Peyton was anything but service-like.
“Yes, two singles.” Looking relieved, Peyton sagged against the tall counter. Red’s back teeth ground together as the clerk’s eyes zeroed in on her breasts, now squished against the wood.
“I have a couple of singles left. One on the north side”—he pointed toward the left—“and one facing the back parking lot.” He motioned behind him, then gave Peyton a slow smile. “For you, I’d recommend the one in the back. It’s more private. What name can I register it under ?”
“Muldoon. M-u-l-d—hey!” Peyton yanked against Red’s hold as he grabbed her arm and tugged her over to a worn, ripped couch on the other side of the room.
“Just a second,” Red said, smiling widely at the desk clerk, who wore a startled expression. “I want to run something by my . . . business partner.” She scowled at him but said nothing. Red dropped his voice. “We should get one room.”
She stepped away, breaking his hold and crossing her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to worry about forking over the big bucks. It’s a work expense. M-Star is footing the bill, Callahan.”
“Fantastic. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
His mind was thinking of security, or lack thereof. Judging by the look of the lobby, the rooms likely didn’t even have a dead bolt. No way in hell did he trust the security in this place. And with the motel so full, there were a lot of people to account for.
But Peyton slid him the side eye, not following his train of thought. “Red. You can’t be seriously using this as a way to . . .” She waved a hand between them. “You know.”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know. Spell it out for me.”
When her eyes widened, he realized that was the world’s worst idea ever. “Forget that. I’m just thinking of safety in numbers, or however that saying goes.”
Peyton rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not the little woman, helpless and alone. Your concern is . . . interesting,” she finally decided on. “But unnecessary.” With that, she spun on her boot heel and went back to the front desk, where the attendant wasn’t even trying to make a show of giving them privacy.
“We’ll take the singles.”
“Very well.” The clerk grinned at her and gave her a wink. “I like a woman who can stand up for herself.”
“Uh huh.” Peyton bent over to dig in her bag for her wallet with identification, and the clerk practically dislocated his shoulders trying to get a better look at her ass.
Red clenched his fists.
Not mine to protect. Not mine to defend. Not mine to . . .
Oh hell, it didn’t matter whose she was or wasn’t. The whole thing creeped him the hell out. Taking a chance, he slid up next to Peyton and gave the clerk the universal stare that all men understand without hesitation.
Mine. Don’t touch unless you want to be missing a finger.
The clerk was less than amused. When Peyton straightened and handed him the ID, he made a nice show of looking it over. “Out-of-towners, huh? Traveling from the rodeo, then.”
“Yup.” Peyton’s short tone made it clear she wasn’t in the mood to chat.
The man’s pen slowed down even further. “We get a lot of rodeo traffic through here. Now you, you are sweet as can be. Did you compete for the rodeo queen?” He ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his teeth in a disgusting display. “I’d have voted for you.”
Peyton hesitated as he held out her ID. “No. I didn’t.” When she pulled back, the man kept his grip on the driver’s license. She pulled harder, but he didn’t let go. “Excuse me?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Not at all sorry, he barely glanced at Red’s ID before tossing it back across the desk. The shiny plastic went sliding over the top and then off the side, clattering on the floor.
“You know,” Peyton said suddenly. “I think one room was a better idea.”
The desk clerk was noticeably put off. “But I’ve already started registering you for two rooms.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. But we have, you know . . . business things to discuss.”
“We do?” Red asked, not wanting to give up the chance to tease, though he couldn’t argue with her final choice.
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “We do. About that thing you mentioned. You were right.”
Red almost choked. “Was I now?”
She gave him a smile that suggested pain was in his immediate future. “You sure were.” Turning back to the clerk, she softened the smile a little. “Just one room. But two beds.”
 
Peyton dropped her bag on the far bed, watched it bounce, and waited for a plume of dust or something to poof in the air or for the bed to collapse. But nothing happened. So at least the place wasn’t disgusting or deadly . . . with regard to the furniture.
She caught sight of the yellowed lamp shade—the one that wasn’t missing—and grimaced. It was a close thing though.
Red set his own bag on one of the two chairs by the tiny table, and scanned the room, hands on his hips. “It’ll do.”
“Well no kidding. It’s the only option.” She watched as he shrugged, toed off his boots, set his hat on the table, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and shut his eyes. “What, that’s it?”
He cracked one eye open. “What’s it?”
“You can just go to sleep like that? In this . . . place?” She’d be wired for hours. It really didn’t seem fair the man would be able to just pass out like nothing had happened.
He shrugged a little and settled his hands behind his head, eyes shutting again. “I’m used to hotels. Spend enough time in them between work. I’ll be just fine for the night.”
“The lights are still on.”
He smiled without opening his eyes again. “Funny thing about lights. When you close your eyes, it doesn’t matter.”
Peyton huffed, then realized there was no point in bothering. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her own boots, sighing a little as her sock-clad feet hit the threadbare carpet. Not that her boots weren’t comfortable, she’d broken those babies in about two years ago. But even comfortable boots weren’t better than bare feet. But she wasn’t about to walk on her bare feet on the carpet, so socks it was.
A sound broke through her reverie and she turned her head.
The damn man was snoring. Slightly, very slightly. But it was an unmistakable sign that he was already dead to the world.
Meanwhile, the simple fact that she would be sleeping next to him—in the same room—would keep her and her hormones up all night long. And no amount of self-lecturing was going to make a difference. If it did, she’d have stopped wanting Red Callahan weeks ago.
She peeked again, watched his chest rise and fall. The relaxed pose, his long body stretched out over the bed, brought all sorts of completely delicious—and absolutely off limits—ideas to mind.
Aaaaand, there she went again, doing that whole
not supposed to think about him but doing it anyway
thing. She rolled her eyes at herself and grabbed a T-shirt and shorts out of her bag. After changing in the bathroom—he might be dead to the world, but she wasn’t chancing it—she started to pull back the covers. She held her breath, but a quick scan revealed nothing scary. Before she could slip in, a soft, almost silent knock sounded at the door. Soft enough that Red didn’t so much as twitch.
Had to be the wrong room. Ignoring it, she slid into bed. But as she reached for the lamp, the knock sounded again, just a little louder this time. And a careful, quiet whisper through the door.
“Ms. Muldoon?”
Okay, that wasn’t a wrong room. She padded across the floor, giving Red’s bed a wide berth, and peered out the peephole. The front desk clerk with the slick, thinning hair stood in front of her door, shifting nervously from side to side like a skittish two-year-old before they brought out the saddle for the first time.
Well, shit. She made sure the chain was secured and cracked the door open. “Yes?”
He gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, but the maid on this floor let me know this room didn’t have towels.” He held up his hands and she saw a few folded white towels in his hands.
“Oh.” Peyton didn’t remember if the bathroom had towels or not, but a few extra never hurt. Her arm bumped into the door, and she realized she couldn’t get through the small crack the chain allowed. After a moment’s consideration, Peyton planted her foot a few inches behind the door, released the chain, and opened it wider. Reaching for the towels, she tugged.
But rather than let go, the clerk snatched her wrist and held on in a shockingly firm grip. “Why don’t you come out here and get them?”
“What the . . .” She jerked her arm, but keeping her foot planted so the door wouldn’t open further didn’t give her much leeway. Suddenly she was dragged off her feet and pulled back against something warm and hard. The door opened wider, propped by one thick, slightly hairy, tanned forearm. And Red’s voice rumbled from his chest, vibrating through her back.
“Well now, talk about hospitality. The front desk clerk, coming all the way down here just to see if we’re doing all right. Oh look. Towels.” He drawled the words hard, making a mockery of the conversation. His other arm snaked around her middle, pulling her more tightly against his front, fingers splayed over her abdomen. “Honey, did you call for some room service?”
Honey? Seriously? “No,
dear,
” she said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t.”
Red’s voice dropped, lethally soft. “Then I might just be wondering what our friend the desk clerk is doing here, away from his post, when we weren’t expecting him.”
The man muttered, “My mistake, wrong room,” and stepped away, his back running into the metal railing on the other side of the sidewalk.
“Okay, then.” Red pulled Peyton to the side and stepped around so he alone was in the doorway. “Nighty night.” And with that, he shut the door with a quiet, but decisive click, and locked the dead bolt.
“Jackass,” she muttered.
“He wasn’t going to win any congeniality awards,” Red agreed, leaning back against the door.
“I meant you.” She rolled her eyes.
Red ignored that. “And exactly what the hell were you thinking, opening the door to that idiot? Are you trying to get yourself hurt?”
“Please, like that excuse for a man would actually get through the door.” But the thought that things could have turned out differently chilled her a little. In her defense, she added, “I can do it myself. I’ve been taking care of me and my own for long enough.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
His soft words caught her attention. “What?”
He eased off the door and took a step her way. “You’ve been holding it together for years, haven’t you?”
“Uh huh.” She took a tiny step back. Not out of fear, but because she liked to keep her personal life private.
“Your family. The ranch. All the employees, the stock. Business.” Another step closer. “You.”
“Me?” She inched back just a little more, and her calf bumped into the edge of his bed.
“You. Taking care of yourself. From what I’ve seen, that one ranks lowest on your list of priorities.”
She shrugged, though the words sliced a little closer to her heart than she wanted them to.
“So who takes care of you then?”
“Nobody. I just said that. I can do it myself.”

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