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Authors: Kat Murray

Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (18 page)

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)

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Red waited.

His father ran a hand over his hair, now shot through with silver threads, his posture almost defeated, reluctant. His eyes didn’t quite meet Red’s when he said, “I missed you.”

Translation:
I missed the open ATM from the Bank of My Son.

Red silently chastised himself. Maybe his father was trying to turn it around. Maybe with age really did come wisdom. Maybe now, this time, in this place, they could finally start working on mending the fences of the past and—

“I’m hoping you can help your old man out. See, I met up with a few new friends here in town, and there was this game going. And the stakes got away from me. I was conned, I’d swear it, tricked into going higher than I realized. I just need a little something to get me by. Pay the debt. I’ll have it back to you before you even—”

Red gave himself a quick
told you so
. “No.”

“Ungrateful piece of shit. That’s what you are.” From vaguely apologetic to offensive in the blink of an eye. Yeah, Red didn’t doubt there was a con going on. But his father being the mark? Not likely. “You don’t even need money. You got everything you need out there on that ranch with that woman. You probably even have her, don’t you? A woman, a job, a place to park your boots at night. Respect. You lucked out and I didn’t. That’s all that was. You got the good hand and I got the fold. It’s pure luck you ended up on top.”

Red’s hands fisted, crushing the bill of his hat in his right hand. But he didn’t care. The insult to Peyton was too blatant to ignore. “You leave her the fuck out of it. Anything you wanna say about me, say it. But the Muldoons? They’re untouched by your brand of bad luck, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t continue.”

“I’m right here. I can touch them if I want.” The smug smile was more than a slick move of mouth. It was a promise, a silent threat. Someone else might not see it, but Red knew his father too well to underestimate what that expression meant.

Ice slid through his gut at the thought of his father coming near Peyton, having anything to do with her. And the fear had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with what Red knew Mac was capable of. From small cons to complete ruin, he could chip away at the family business in a million little ways before anyone knew what was happening. And the Muldoons were too raw to handle it.

“You have no right.”

His father blustered and Red knew exactly where he was heading next. So he straightened and loomed over his father a few inches.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll save you the time. You put me up on my first pony, taught me to ride, I’m where I am today because of you, blah blah blah.” For the first time in, well, ever, Red was finally ready to give his father what he deserved, straight to his face. The mere thought of the man coming close to Peyton gave him all the emotional ammo he needed for the final break. “Don’t come crawling to me again. Don’t call me for money because you were too drunk or too arrogant and lost it all in a game of chance. Don’t ask for a job reference, because the minute someone asks me about you, I’ll tell them the truth. Don’t step one foot on the M-Star ranch property, because I’ll have you arrested. And if I were you, I’d pack up and head out of town as soon as you can. I’ll even be generous and give you a two-week break before I go in and tell Mr. Hollins, the tack store owner, all about your multitude of other jobs and why you were fired from them.”

He waved a hand toward the door. “Now go hand in your two-week notice, and until you’ve got Marshall in your rearview mirror, don’t give me another thought.”

Red sidestepped his father—the only family he had, which was the single thought that kept him from swinging after the insult to Peyton—and walked out the door into the sun to wait for Bill.

“All set, Mr. Callah—I mean, Red. Did you find anything else you needed?” Bill walked up to stand next to him, plastic shopping bags in hand.

“No, nothing else I need in there.” Red slammed his hat back on his head and walked out to his rig. On the drive back to the ranch, though, a thought crept through his mind.

His father had been in town for weeks and he hadn’t known it. And the man needed money. Mac wasn’t above stealing, when it suited him. And stealing from his son, the son who he considered successful through luck alone, would likely suit his father to the ground.

His father had shown up before at ranches where he’d found work. But it was usually with grand fanfare, a big show, trying to give him no opportunity to escape. Never before had Mac snuck in like a thief in the night without making contact.

Thief in the night. Red snorted. Apt term. Red thought back to the old lock his father carried in his bag, the one he practiced picking. The proudest he’d ever seen his father was when Red had picked the lock in record time, beating even his own record. As a child, he’d thought the whole thing a game. As a teen, he saw the potential for disaster. As an adult, well . . .

If his father was snooping around his home or office, looking for money or another way of scoring fast and big, he’d be out of luck.

He resolved to have the locks to both his apartment and his office changed when he had five minutes. No, he’d make five minutes the minute they got back home. Though his father would have probably used some rudimentary lock-picking tools, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Just another reminder to keep from getting too far involved with Peyton. As if Red needed any other reasons. He had some seriously bad blood running through his veins. Damn his luck.

Red made a quick U-turn on the deserted road and headed back into town.

“Small detour on the way home, Bill. We’re heading over to the hardware store. I’ve got a few locks I’ve been meaning to reinforce.”

Chapter Sixteen

P
eyton waited until she knew Bea would be in the kitchen. Her sister was like clockwork when it came to her eating. For someone the size of a twig, she could pack it away. Only not when anyone was watching.

Trace followed Peyton into the house, as silent as possible, and both slipped their boots off. When Peyton heard the vacuum upstairs, she knew that accounted for Emma. And the soft scraping of a fork over a plate in the kitchen signaled Bea’s location.

Peyton crept on shoeless feet until she could peer around the kitchen door. Bea stood at the sink, shoveling what looked like a leftover piece of the pie Emma had baked for dinner the night before into her mouth.

Not so prissy and girly now, huh? Peyton grinned. “Leave any for us?”

Bea shrieked and dropped the plate, the solid stoneware clanging into the sink. One hand flattened against her chest and she bent over as if catching her breath after a long sprint. “Oh Jesus, Peyton. Don’t do that.”

Trace walked in behind Peyton and peered into the sink. “Damn, did you clean the entire plate? Emma’s gonna kill you.”

Bea shoved at Trace’s shoulders. “Don’t comment on what a woman eats. It’s rude.”

“Noted.” Trace leaned a hip against the counter. “Got some time to talk?”

Bea rolled her eyes and checked her watch. “No, sorry. Big day today.”

“Thought you might say that.” Without warning, Trace lowered his torso until he could fit one shoulder under Bea’s stomach to lift her. She shrieked again and beat her fists against his back while he carried her to the kitchen table.

“Dammit, Trace! This wasn’t funny when we were kids and it’s not funny now! Put me down!”

“No problem.” He dumped her in a chair, catching her by the wrist when she almost flew off the seat. “We’re going to have a talk, and if you won’t sit still for it, I’m not above getting some rope and practicing my roping skills on you.”

Bea huffed, her breath pushing a strand of hair from her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. Peyton sighed. It was like looking at Bea ten years ago. A sulky teen who had just found out she couldn’t talk or flirt her way out of everything.

“So talk.”

Peyton sat down and crossed her ankles, lacing her hands over her stomach. “The ranch is split three ways. You know that now.”

“Right.” She shifted in her seat, as if about to make a breakaway. But when Trace inched forward to crowd her space, Bea settled down. “I know. I read the papers that lawyer guy gave us.”

“Tim,” Peyton said, keeping a strangle hold on her patience. “And yes. We are all equal owners, currently.”

“And there was something about needing a majority to make big decisions.” Bea’s pouty mouth curved into a smile that would scare anyone paying attention. “But since that didn’t define what made up a small decision, we’re entitled to make those ourselves.”

“That’s something we’re going to iron out, with Tim’s help.” Trace sat down, apparently realizing Bea wasn’t going to run.

“So if I wanted to suddenly paint all the tack bright pink, I could. I doubt that’s considered a big decision.” Bea’s grin only widened.

Peyton let her forehead slap the table. “I told you.”

“Bea, be serious now.” But Trace’s voice was amused, as Peyton knew it would be. Even when they were kids, he babied her. Everyone did. Sweet, pretty, doll-like Beatrice. Needs pampering, not as tough and boyish as her sister. Someone has to look out for Bea. “You can’t just start making changes. You haven’t been here. Hell, I haven’t been here. Peyton has.”

Bea was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right.”

Peyton’s head snapped up so fast her neck ached. She watched Bea’s face for signs of trickery or sarcasm, but for once, her sister seemed to be shooting straight. No games.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bea snapped, anger firing her Muldoon-blue eyes to an icy sheen. “I’m not an idiot. This ranch was never mine. I just lived here. And frankly, I don’t know the first thing about running a place like this. I’d run it into the ground, the same way Mama tried. Daddy’s place deserves better.”

Peyton swallowed around the lump in her throat at the mention of their father. “Yes, it does.” After a moment, she debated, then pushed on. “I didn’t think you even cared for Daddy.”

Bea shrugged, but her fingers picked at a seam in the table’s wood. “I barely knew the man. I spent all my time indoors with Mama. You two were his shadows.”

If Peyton didn’t know better, she’d think Bea was upset by that. But years of dealing with her sister had taught her to read between the lines and not take much at face value. “So you’re not going to interfere.”

“Nope. Just write the check and I’m good to go.”

“Check?” Trace and Peyton said at once, looking at each other.

“Sure. To buy me out. Then it’s just a fifty-fifty split, unless Trace does the same. But really, ownership looks good on you, bro.” She patted his arm condescendingly, and Bea’s man-eater, I-don’t-care persona slid back into place.

“Bea . . .” Trace looked to Peyton.

“We can’t afford to buy you out,” Peyton said flatly. Why sugarcoat it? “The place isn’t worth much right now. You want a check cut? It wouldn’t pay for more than a few months of rent for you out there in Cali.”

Bea’s mouth dropped. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Peyton felt a moment’s satisfaction at having disturbed her sister’s perfect image of how things would work. Petty, and she could admit that. “If you want to wait it out, you can always head back to California and we can notify you when big things are coming up. Eventually, after things are off the ground, we can revisit the idea of buying you out.”

“And how long will that be?”

Peyton shrugged. “A few years, give or take. Hard to pinpoint more definitely than that. But it’ll be a while.”

Bea moaned and let her head drop back so she stared at the ceiling.

“Peyton’s right, Bea. If you want to head back home, nothing’s stopping you. You don’t have to be here. If there are papers to sign or anything like that, we can overnight them to you.”

She rolled from the chair with the grace of a dancer. Bea had always wanted to take dance classes, Peyton remembered suddenly. But they couldn’t afford them. “I’m going up to my room.” She left without another word.

“Well, that went well.” Peyton stood and turned back to the fridge to see if Bea had left any pie.

“Think she’s upstairs packing?” Trace opened the fridge, poking his head in to survey the contents.

“I couldn’t read Bea when we were kids, and I definitely can’t read her now after almost a decade apart. Who knows? She might very well just stay here to spite me.”

“Us.”

“No, me.” Peyton grabbed a clean fork and attacked the last of the pie, mostly crust. “She liked you better growing up.”

“Because we didn’t constantly fight. You two were always snipping at each other.”

Peyton thought back, realizing Trace was right. And didn’t like how she looked in the mix. “Well, if she stays, we’ll have to find something for her to do. Helping Emma or whatever. I don’t care. But if she stays, she gets a job.”

Emma sailed in, Seth on her hip. “Who’s helping Emma?”

“Bea,” Peyton said around a mouthful of crust. “If she stays, I mean. I’d give her a job out at the barn but, you know, I don’t even think she could tell the front end of a horse from the back.”

Emma huffed and used her other hip to bump Peyton away from the sink. “So you won’t have her messing things up around your end of the business, but she’s fine getting in my way.”

Trace flashed her a wide grin. “That about sums it up.” He reached for his son, the child holding out his arms with glee. “Come here, big guy.”

As expected, Emma melted at the sight of Trace and his son, so clearly in love with each other. “All right, off you go. Scoot. Trace, he needs to be put down for a nap.”

“I’ll go run him up.” Trace dropped a kiss on Emma’s cheek and headed out.

Peyton waited for a moment for Emma’s hands to slow down and stuck her plate under the water to rinse it off.

“Don’t be too hard on her.”

“Hard on who?” Peyton asked, her mind already moving on to the rest of the day’s schedule.

“Your sister.” Emma took the plate from her and opened the dishwasher. “Tough as nails on the outside, but there’s something more going on inside.”

Red kept his distance from Peyton the rest of the day in order to mull over the issue of his father. What he would tell Peyton. When. If he should say anything at all. If his warning—and the new locks he’d installed—would be enough to deter his father from trying anything else.

He kept his distance from Peyton for the rest of the day, knowing he wasn’t in a position to make rational decisions where she was concerned. But any time she was near, his eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. He couldn’t help but watch her from the corner of his eye.

And though she was careful, he caught her watching him, too. His gut told him she wouldn’t turn him away tonight. And the truth was, he was dying to hold her. After the long day and his father’s abrupt appearance in town, he needed something soft and simple to occupy his mind and erase the filth.

Red waited until the ranch slept. As he crept down and around the garage, he stood still for a moment. Something in the shifting wind warned him to hold off on crossing over the open land to the main house. Something—no, someone—else was out there.

Red’s blood boiled. His father. The damn man hadn’t even waited twenty-four hours after hitting his son up for money before deciding to take some for himself. But even as Red crept back into the shadow of the garage, he caught sight of what’d stirred his senses. And it most certainly wasn’t his father.

Lithe, graceful, and sure, the obviously female form moved with purpose across the dirt driveway from the main house toward the barn. He’d have said Peyton, but the figure was much too tall to be her. And much too fast to be Emma.

Beatrice, the youngest then.

But what the hell was she up to? The youngest, who hated the dirt and the outdoors and thought the horses smelled horrible, going to the barn on purpose. He watched her open the sliding barn door and walk in. Curiosity warred with a need to reach Peyton, but the curiosity won out. He snuck around until he was flattened against the stable wall, using his ears to detect what she was up to.

The sound of the tack room door opening. Soft, feminine murmuring, the wicker and ninny of a horse. Then the unmistakable sounds of a horse being saddled. Leather creaked, brass clanged. And without realizing she was being watched, Bea led the horse through the open door and into the darkness. From close up, he could see she wore jeans that were tight, but not impractically so, boots and a jacket. Her hair, usually fluffed and sprayed, was held back by simple clips from her face.

And as she and her chosen horse—Lover Boy, a responsive but spirited mount—cleared the stable, she placed her left foot in the stirrup, gripped the horn and back of the saddle, and launched herself into the seat with practiced ease. Those mile-long legs were a clear plus when it came to mounting without assistance.

“Okay boy,” she said, her voice much softer than the sharp-toned one he’d heard her use before. “Let’s have a little fun.”

With a click of her tongue and a nudge of her knees, they headed off.

Red debated a moment going out with her, following her to make sure she wasn’t going to hurt herself. But that little show was not the behavior of a woman unused to riding. Unless he missed his guess, she was more than a little familiar with the practice. Not to mention, she technically owned a third of the place, and that included the horses. If she wanted to go out riding in the middle of the night with one of the Muldoon horses, who was he to question it?

He shook his head and kept on toward the main house. But even as he reached the porch, another figure exited the kitchen door.

This time, he was sure, it was Peyton sneaking off into the dark.

“Out for a midnight ride, sweetheart?”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God. Don’t do that!” With her other hand over her heart, she turned her back to him a moment. After composing herself, she looked over her shoulder. “What are you doing out here?”

“Same as you, I suppose.” When she cocked her head to one side, he smiled, though he doubted she could see it. “Practicing my breaking and entering skills.”

Peyton started to laugh, then swallowed the sound and slapped at his arm. “Stop that.” She glanced around as if she were being followed. “Come on. Back to your place.”

“I like a forward woman.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and easily caught up, thanks to the fact that it took her two steps to make one of his.

“I’m not forward, I’m discreet. Something we can’t be if we’re in the house, with Emma and Trace and Bea in there.”

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)

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