Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (20 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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One thing was for certain. Red wasn’t about to let Peyton roam around the grounds in the dead of night. No way was he giving his father a chance to get to her.
Chapter Seventeen
S
he really had to stop doing this. Night after night of slipping out in the dark to meet with Red, then getting up earlier than normal to sneak back in was wearing on her.
But God, what a good week and a half it’d been. She smiled as she set her boots down on the floor by the door and tiptoed up the stairs in her socks, counting down the minutes she still had left to catch some sleep in her own bed before she’d have to start her day. And as she hit the top landing, she ran straight into something that squeaked.
“Oh my God!” Bea’s voice cried out in the dark. “Who’s th—Peyton?” Her sister’s hands gripped her upper arms. “Is that you?”
“Yeah. It’s me.” Peyton took a step back in case Bea could tell she was chilled from being outside. “What are you doing up?”
Bea took a step back herself, sliding closer toward her own bedroom door. “Bathroom.”
“You have your own bathroom in your room.”
“Right. Yeah.” Bea tapped her head and shook it. “Sorry, sleep fog. I meant water. I went downstairs for some water.”
Peyton surveyed her sister’s attire. Jeans and a sweater, though the details were difficult to make out in the dark. All that for a trip downstairs. But she wasn’t about to ask questions, which might only prompt Bea to ask where she’d been herself. So she nodded and slid to her room and shut the door behind her.
And within seconds, she was lying in her own bed, ready for a few moments of shut eye.
But her body was too wired, her nerves still singing from the delicious treatment she’d received in Red’s apartment.
The man’s hands were a gift from God.
A gift Peyton wanted to keep receiving. But each time, each night they were together, it was just another chance to get caught. Could she seriously risk being outted as sleeping with her trainer? It hadn’t exactly worked well for her mother’s reputation. That’s just what she needed . . . people thinking she was a carbon copy of Sylvia. Peyton had too much to risk. An entire staff of employees, not to mention Emma, who was more family than employee herself. Plus Trace was now on payroll, and Seth’s well-being was wrapped up in his.
And she couldn’t very well buy out Bea’s share if the place tanked.
Time to stop the nonsense, she lectured herself as she rolled over and punched her pillow into shape. Time to stop sneaking around, stop dancing with the devil just because it feels good. Time to grow up.
But oh God, she was going to miss those stolen moments with Red. All of them, not just the naked ones.
And that was the worst part of all.
An hour later, Peyton settled down to breakfast, a plate of Emma’s infamous blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon in front of her.
“You’re up early,” Emma commented lightly. “Normally you’d be rolling one of these pancakes dry and shoving it in your mouth as you ran to the barn. Couldn’t sleep last night?”
Peyton kept her eyes on the syrup as she dribbled it in a delicate pattern over the stack. “I slept fine.”
Emma’s form hovered for another moment; then she sniffed and headed back to the kitchen. “Drink your milk,” was all she hollered back over her shoulder.
Peyton blew out a breath and dug in, moaning in ecstasy around the fluffy warm mouthful.
“Sinful, aren’t they, sis?”
Peyton almost choked on her bite, grabbing the glass of milk and taking a swallow before blinking rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes. Her sister sat in the chair across from her, chin in her hand, smiling catlike at her.
When she could breathe without coughing, she pushed the platter toward her. “Want a taste?”
Bea glanced longingly at the offering, then shook her head. “That was hateful. I’ll make my smoothie in a minute.”
“All that alfalfa and grass in drinkable form. Yum. Maybe I should try that when the horses go lame.”
Peyton waited for her sister to shoot another barb back at her, like normal. But instead, her smile just grew. “Speaking of sin . . .”
“Hmm?” Peyton snapped a piece of bacon in two, popped one half in her mouth.
“I’m just curious where you were coming from last night.”
The bacon turned to dust in her throat, and she once again scrambled to take a gulp of milk before she stopped breathing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, come off it. I’m not an idiot, despite that bimbo I played on TV.” Bea snuck a peek toward the kitchen, then, satisfied Emma was busy, leaned over the table. Her voice dropped a few levels. “I know you’re seeing someone. So spill.”
Peyton shook her head, then realized that might look like she was admitting something. “I’m not seeing anyone.” At least, not on a permanent basis.
Bea looked annoyed. “Peyton, you are the closest thing I have to a girlfriend in this godforsaken town. So stop being selfish and share.”
“Well, with an invitation like that . . .” Peyton rolled her eyes. Once again, it was all about Bea. “Why are you here?”
Her sister sat up, spine straight. “I don’t know what you mean. Mama died.”
“Months ago. Mama died months ago. So why are you here now?”
“If I’m such an inconvenience, I can always pack up and go.” Bea flattened her palms on the table as if ready to push back in outrage. Peyton managed to keep from rolling her eyes again. But years with her sister had taught her to watch for the melodramatics. It made her sister a shoe-in for the soap operas. But having a serious conversation was a bit of a trial.
Playing her part in the whole farce, Peyton covered one of Bea’s hands with her own. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not an inconvenience. It’s just . . . this is the first time you’ve come back on your own since you left. Don’t the viewers wonder where you are?”
Bea scoffed and settled down. “Since Trixie West was electrocuted before falling down an elevator shaft to her death, I doubt they’re curious where I’m at.”
Peyton’s mind spun for a minute, but she came up blank. “I’m sorry. Who the hell is Trixie West? And how did she fall down an elevator shaft?”
Bea stared for a moment, her perfectly shaded mouth hanging open. “Trixie West was my character’s name on
The Tantalizing and the Tempting.
”
Well, crap. “Oh, right. Of course.” Who the hell would name someone Trixie West?
“Right now negotiations are working to see if Trixie’s long lost twin sister will make an appearance. Also played by me, naturally.” When Peyton stared, baffled, Bea’s eyes watered on command and her lower lip quivered. “You never watched while I was on, did you?”
“I’m always outside, working.” It was a weak defense, and they both knew it. She could have at least DVRed one or two episodes. But she hadn’t. Why? Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure. The show probably would have put her to sleep. But to catch a glimpse of her sister’s job . . . She always caught up with Trace, tried to watch for him when she knew he’d be riding in a televised event.
Maybe her childhood resentment of the Barbie doll went deeper than she thought.
“I’m sorry, Bea. I should have. I was wrong.”
Hearing that soothed whatever insult—real or imagined—Bea had stacked against her. “Yes, you should have. Some of my best work was on that show.”
“And now you’re dead. Hmm.” Peyton went back to her pancakes, expecting her sister to leave. But she didn’t. So Peyton took a chance. “Did it hurt?”
“What, being let go?”
“Being electrocuted.”
Bea’s lips twitched. “Stung less than being let go in the first place. But a death scene is always appreciated. And who knows. Maybe my evil twin will pop up next season to stir the pot.”
Peyton laughed at that. It felt good, laughing with her sister. Maybe they could try it again tomorrow.
“So you really aren’t going to tell me who the guy was?”
Peyton sobered and stared out the window. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bea rolled her eyes and broke a piece of bacon off Peyton’s plate. “It doesn’t count if it’s not from your own plate,” she said quickly before Peyton could snark at her. “And I know that look. That satisfied, loose look. You’re getting some attention from someone, and I’m jealous.” Bea chewed the tiny piece of stolen bacon. “Though around here, I don’t know who you would be with. Knowing you, you’d have some sort of weird rule about sleeping with any of the employees. Too Sylvia for you.”
Though it was a joke, Peyton’s throat closed.
“I doubt you went into town, since I didn’t hear the Jeep drive back up, unless you parked farther away and walked. Oh!” Bea’s eyes widened. “Morgan Browning. The Brownings still live down the road, right? Was it him?”
“No. Definitely not Morgan.” The finality in Peyton’s voice was convincing, especially since it was true.
“Definitely not Morgan, which means it’s definitely someone else.” Satisfied she’d pried that much from her tight-lipped sister, Bea stood and walked toward the kitchen. “I’m just glad you’re loosening up a bit. We all have more fun when you’re not so wound up.”
Peyton waited until she heard the blender start and let her head drop into her hands. How could she have thought for a moment sleeping with someone who worked on the ranch was okay? Even Bea had made the Sylvia connection. If someone as unobservant as Bea could put two and two together . . .
Pushing away her mostly uneaten breakfast, she stood and hurried to the front door to grab her boots and get to work. She needed a distraction from that thought.
“Peyton, you’ve got a visitor.” Trace laid a hand on her shoulder as she stood in the middle of the birthing barn.
“Who is it?” she asked without turning around. Red was working out a three-year-old in the training arena, and she was mesmerized.
Red’s shirt pulled across his back as he leaned over the horse’s neck for a moment to rub his neck. His hat was tipped back, enough that she could see the fierce concentration on his face. She could have stripped naked and he wouldn’t have noticed. In Red’s world, he and the horse existed alone, in a vacuum.
Red shifted, using his legs to maintain balance and then guide the reluctant horse in the direction he wanted. There were several hundred pounds difference between man and horse, but the man was in control, always. His hands, covered in their worn leather gloves, kept their loose grip on the reins, never pulling, but keeping firm pressure.
The thought of his hands brought up reminders of his touch, how his fingers skimmed over her body so gently, so tenderly. Almost reverent in his touch. And then more roughly when she raced him to the finish line, gripping and kneading and telling her without words that he was as lost as she was when they were together. Unable to stop reaching for each other at all hours of the night.
“Peyton.”
She worked hard to contain the flush. “Sorry, what?”
Trace eyed her a moment, then shrugged. “Your visitor, a guy named Peterson. Said you weren’t expecting him, but he’s here all the same.”
Peyton nodded. “Thanks.” A quick jog to the house and a stop in the kitchen to rinse her hands off took her all of five minutes. Luckily she saw Emma had played hostess for her in the living room. A wiry man with light brown hair going gray at the temples sat with a glass of lemonade in his hand.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Peyton Muldoon.” She held out a hand and the man stood.
“Chuck Peterson. Pleased to meet ya.” He set the glass on the coffee table on a coaster. “Wondered if we might talk a little business. I’m in the market for a stud, and I’ve heard you might just be the place for it.”
“Have you?” She guided the man to her office, her heart doing a giddy skip-dance in her chest. Word of mouth was the golden ticket in the horse world.
“Yup. Came over from Wyoming, so I’m glad you could see me with no notice. Was at an event a few weeks ago, saw your brother Trace competing. Asked around, heard he was a top-notch competitor.”
“Absolutely. He’s my brother, and I love him. But I don’t mind saying it pains just a little to say when he’s on, he’s unbeatable.” She grinned when the man chuckled. If only all business meetings started so promisingly.

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