Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (21 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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They sat, Peyton behind her desk and Peterson in the comfortable chair across from it. He asked good, solid questions, and she had an answer ready for each one. What’s more, he asked the right questions. Ones that showed he was aware nobody could give an absolute guarantee of a winner or a champion simply because of breeding. He was fair-minded, intelligent, and on the mark. Peyton all but salivated at the thought of claiming him as a customer.
As his questions dried up, Peterson sat back and laced his hands over his stomach. “So you’re the brains behind the operation after all, huh?”
Peyton smiled a little, confused. “I’m sorry?”
He shook his head. “When they told me a young woman ran the operation, I thought they joked, exaggerated. Figured either the father ran the operation, or Trace did and just needed someone to babysit the place while he was gone.”
Peyton felt the smile slide off her face.
He held up his hands in a hold-on-a-minute gesture. “I know, I know. Sexist of me. But I don’t mind admitting I was wrong. You’ve got the knowledge and the goods to back it up. And I don’t mind mentioning hearing Red Callahan worked here was another big item in the plus column.”
A month ago, it would have burned her raw to hear it, even if it was the truth. Now? She just felt grateful she could call Red an ally. “Are you satisfied so far, Mr. Peterson?”
“More than. I worried when Trace went to get you that you’d be a sort of ornamental figurehead. Little to do with the actual business, but someone they trotted out for show every now and again. I can see I was incorrect with that. I’m glad you’re not one of those flighty females.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t make a very good impression for their gender. And the opposite is the truth here. So. Let’s talk details.”
As Peyton led Peterson out to the barn to see the setup, she reassured herself that cutting the physical relationship with Red was truly the best thing. Her reputation meant everything in this business, and she wasn’t about to screw her entire family over for a little late-night fun.
Which was all easy to say in the light of day. At night when she instinctively reached out for him beside her in bed, it was so much harder.
 
Red snuck past the barn, noticed the sliding door standing slightly ajar. Though he wanted to get to Peyton as fast as he could, he took a moment to peer in. His entire body was on high alert after his father’s attempt to get in the barn. But his father’s stocky frame didn’t appear. To his relief, the same slim, long outline he was coming to know as Bea Muldoon 2.0 stood by Lover Boy’s stall, talking softly to the gelding. Satisfied it was only she, he crept on toward the house.
How long would Bea manage to pull off these midnight rides without anyone knowing? Surely the ranch hands playing night guard had to know. Did she bribe them to stay quiet? Peyton would find out eventually. And wouldn’t that be interesting. To be a fly on the wall for that revelation . . .
As she had the past few nights, Peyton slipped through the kitchen door silently. Over a week now they’d been meeting in the night. She never attempted to make plans with him, but he wasn’t about to let her creep around alone. So every night he snuck over and waited outside like a lovesick teenager waiting for his high school girlfriend to climb out her window to sneak away while her parents slept.
The things a man did to get a little quality time with his woman.
“Red?” Peyton’s voice cut through his mental wanderings. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.” He let a bush rustle just a little to give her some bearings. As she approached, he stepped out of the shadow of the tree and grabbed her upper arms. Swinging her around, he planted her back against the trunk and took her mouth with a kiss that left no doubt how badly he wanted her. Needed her.
Instinctively, she struggled a moment against his firm hold, but she melted into him after the token resistance. Wound her arms around his neck and showed him without words, she needed him, too.
But then she broke off with a gasp, stumbling out of his arms and out of reach.
“No. Can’t.”
Ah, she was going to do that bullshit thinking-too-hard thing again. “Yes, we can.” He kept his voice gentle, soft. “We’re pretty good at it, actually.”
She laughed and rubbed a hand over her face. But the laughter held no humor. More like self-mockery. “Yeah. Pretty good, all right. For what that’s worth.”
For what what’s worth? Red stood still, wondering if he was missing parts of the conversation. “What’s up, darlin’?”
“Peyton,” she corrected automatically, and he smiled. Some things never changed. “And what’s up is we can’t do this anymore.”
Another day, another way for Peyton to put up walls. “Why not?” He wanted to ask
why not this time?
But he decided to keep that part to himself.
“If this ever got out? I would be the laughingstock of the community. Nobody would take me seriously. I’ve already got one strike against me because I’m female, and I can’t change that. But this, I can change.”
“Peyton . . .”
“I will not be my mother,” she hissed, then deflated like a balloon. “I can’t be…I just don’t want . . .”
He gathered her gently in his arms, waiting for the smallest sign of resistance. But she came willingly, eagerly into the embrace. “You’re not your mother. Finding one man you respect and want to spend time with is not the same thing as landing on your back whenever you want to manipulate someone.”
She rubbed her cheek against his jacket. “I know that. What everyone else would see though, that’s another story.”
“Screw everyone else.”
She laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth, swallowing a few more giggles. “Easy for you to say. A man takes a lover and no matter who she is, he’s slapped on the back and winked at. A woman choses to have someone in her bed, and the whole thing is analyzed. Plus, it’s not your name on the sign. You pick up and go wherever you want when you’re ready to move on.” She fell silent then, and he could almost see her mind taking that new direction.
The one where he would eventually pick up and leave. Just another wall in a maze full of walls on his way to convincing Peyton this wasn’t a simple fling for him. Or her.
“Tell you what.” He took one of her hands in his, chafed it to warm the tips. “Why don’t we take things one day at a time? There’s been no mention of this in the stables, right?”
“No,” she said slowly.
He brought her hand to his mouth, blew warm air over her fingers. “So how about we worry about tonight, tonight. And when tomorrow gets here, we’ll deal with that then.”
She watched him for a bit, as if trying to read whether he was bullshitting her or not. Then she shrugged. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”
When he slipped his hand around hers and pulled gently, she followed like a docile mare being led in circles for a kiddie ride. He wasn’t a stupid man, though. Docile didn’t exist in Peyton’s DNA. She was biding her time, thinking things through. And when she wanted to break away, he couldn’t hold her back with steel bars if he wanted to.
So he’d take it one day at a time, like he’d suggested for her, and see how that played out.
Chapter Eighteen
R
ed polished up his last order form for the day and set it in the Outbox for Billy to call in tomorrow morning. Damn, paperwork sucked. But it was just a part of the job. Or, rather, part of this job. Drifting from one stable to another, he hadn’t been responsible for most of the paperwork. His focus was the animals and the riders.
His cell phone rang, and he jumped at the chance to clear his mind from numbers and order sheets. “Callahan.”
“Red—” Arby’s voice was tense. “Get to the stables. Now.”
“What?” Red’s boots hit the floor and he slammed the office door behind him, glad he’d changed the lock to the office for one that automatically locked every time the door closed. “Is it one of the mares? Peyton? What?”
“Your father,” was all Arby said, then hung up.
Shit. Red shoved the cell in his pocket and kicked up his speed from a fast walk to a jog. It’d been twelve days since Red had seen Mac at the feed store. With forty-eight hours left on his deadline to get the hell out of town, his father should have been too busy packing and gassing up his truck to come over and cause trouble.
His father’s laughter met him before he set foot in the stable. Mac laughed like a man with nothing to hold back. Usually because Mac didn’t believe in holding back. Red’s boots clicked over the concrete as he worked his way back to the tack room where Mac and a few hands were polishing hardware.
“So anyway, there Red was, scared spitless over this bucking bronc, and I had to pull his ass out of the way before he got himself trampled to death. You’da thought the boy was slow the way he just watched, begging to get kicked in the head.”
The hands shook their heads, as if unable to believe it.
“I took that scared kid and turned him into a horseman, I did.” Mac’s pride—however false—resonated in his voice.
“Great story, Dad.” Red crossed his arms over his chest and stared. “You came to see me?”
Mac grinned and dropped his rag. “Sure did. These boys here were just keeping me company. Say, remember the time you—”
“No, can’t say that I do.” Red grabbed his father’s bicep and pulled until the man started to move. “Let’s go talk in my office.” Talking was the last thing Red wanted to do, but getting him out of the stable was the first priority.
Mac let his son pull him a few feet, then planted his heels. Though Red wasn’t weak, his father was a big man. Short of finding a wheelbarrow, he wasn’t going to move him without some cooperation.
“I rather like the atmosphere in here.” Mac’s eyes roamed over the stables, taking in the clean floors, the high ceiling, the few curious horses who were watching. “Nice setup. Classy joint.”
“Agreed. I can give you the grand tour, starting with my living quarters.” Desperate to move the man, Red threw one arm around his father’s shoulder as if hugging him from the side, trying to step forward. But Mac didn’t budge.
“Nah. I like it here. I was just telling your boys back there how glad I was we were living in the same town now. We haven’t been close for a while, nice that we have this time to catch up.”
The boys, as Mac called them, were listening with poorly concealed curiosity, soaking up every word, every bit of body language. Red nodded. “But since you’re heading out of town soon—”
“Oh, no. Where’d you get an idea like that?” The gleam in Mac’s eyes sent red flags flying through Red’s brain. “I’ve got plans to plant some roots, I do. Make a name for myself here. You’ve already started. The Callahans of Marshall, South Dakota. Has a nice ring to it.”
From the corner of his eye, Red caught Arby leaning in a doorway, watching silently. Another hand stood with him. The crowds were slowly gathering. Drama in the stables brought all the ants to the picnic.
Dammit. He didn’t want to actually use the threat he’d given his father, but he was left with no choice. “Dad,” he said softly, angling his back to the onlookers. “Your deadline’s almost up, in case you forgot.”
Mac nodded. “Sure, sure. Deadline. About that, though.” Mac scratched at his week-old beard as if thinking things through on the fly. “See, I’ve got a bit of a problem with how you tried to push me out of town. Made me wonder if you had something to hide.”
No. Not here. Please, God, anywhere but here. “Dad, don’t make me do this. Go somewhere else, start fresh, and move on.”
“I think not. I think I’d rather stick around.” Mac took a step back, out of Red’s reach. “Shouldn’t hold threats over someone’s head unless your own nose is squeaky clean.”
What the hell could he possibly be talking about? Red had no criminal history, had no problems with previous employers. He was bluffing. “No problems there, then.”
Mac stared at him, judging, considering a long moment. Then he shrugged. “Maybe there isn’t a problem after all. I didn’t realize everyone around here was good with you screwing the Muldoon gal.” Slapping a thick hand on Red’s shoulder, he said, “Take what ass you can, when you can, right? Though banging the boss is a bit of a cliché, even for us Callahans.”
Something behind him dropped, a piece of brass hitting the concrete. Boots shuffled over the floor, edging away, as the men finally realized this was the wrong conversation to be listening in on.
Fuck.
One corner of his father’s mouth twitched, as if holding back a satisfied smile. “I think some of the local businessmen might be interested to know what all goes into a Muldoon business deal.”
Red shrugged his father’s hand off, resisting the urge to plow his fist through his father’s face. Satisfying, yes. Helpful, not in this case. “I don’t know where you get off making up shit like that,” he growled, feeling the heat creep up his neck. Heat from temper as much as embarrassment. “But you need to get the hell off the property. Now.”
Mac smiled and shook his head. “Manners. I keep telling ya, you’ve got no manners. But I’ll head out for now. Call if you want to grab a bite to eat or something, or stop on by. You know where I work.”
Sauntering away, as if he’d just scored big at the craps table, Mac headed out the stable doors. A moment later an engine started up, and tires crunched down the driveway.
Red swiped his hat off and ran a hand down his face. So his father had seen more than Red could have guessed the other night. It made Red’s stomach turn to think about his father spying on that intimate moment with Peyton. And his entire body clenched at the thought of what his father’s little show would mean for them both.
Peyton wasn’t about to see this as anything more than an excuse to end what they had together. The truth was out there, though not everyone knew whether it was really fact or fiction. And even if he and Peyton both denied it, the hands would always wonder.
Goddamnit.
He took a few steps, then realized everyone was still staring at him, frozen in time. “You see that man on the property again, you boot his ass out.” When nobody moved, Red barked, “Get back to work!”
The scurry of boots grated over his nerves as people beat a hasty retreat to, well, anywhere that wasn’t in his line of vision. Red ignored them, waiting until the sounds calmed before walking out into the sunlight. He needed quiet, peace, a moment to himself to figure out how he would break the news to Peyton. Because he had to tell her. Hearing from someone else—and she would, he had no doubt—would be worse. But how to do it without pissing her off . . . that was something he needed to think about.
As he headed through the barn doors and into the sunlight, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Peyton, standing with Arby, locked deep in conversation. She kept shaking her head, hat angled so he couldn’t see her face. But when Arby saw him, he shook his head, mouth pulled down in a frown.
Shit.
Peyton nodded and placed one hand on the older man’s arm. Then she nodded and headed his way. “Arby says you need to talk to me.”
He tried to ask for a few minutes, but his tongue swelled and trapped him.
She raised a brow. “He said it’s important?”
Red nodded.
Peyton glanced around the yard, noting the not-so-subtle presence of several hands who just happened to be working quietly within earshot. “Do we need to head to the office, then?”
“My place,” he managed to choke out. The office seemed so . . . final. So official. He needed to talk to her somewhere personal.
She shrugged and walked ahead, still unaware of exactly what was in store. Red only prayed she would be as calm ten minutes from now.
As they walked around the garage, Peyton bounded up the first few steps and sat down. “It’s nice, let’s stay out here.”
“Okay then.” He checked around, but the garage door was down and he knew nobody had any reason to be out their way at that point in the day.
Peyton smiled. “Stop pacing, Red. You’re making me dizzy.”
He glanced down, saw the boot marks in the dirt and realized he’d started walking in a circle without any thought. He propped one boot on the bottom step, took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “Peyton . . .” How the hell did he start this conversation?
“Okay, you’re starting to scare me.” Peyton’s face morphed from amused to confused. “What’s up? Is it one of the mares? The Jacobson mare?”
“No, no. Nothing with the animals.” He was screwing this up, big time. “Peyton, my dad came by today.”
Her brows rose in surprise. “I didn’t know your dad was in the area.”
“He shouldn’t have been,” Red muttered. “He is, but not for long.”
I hope.
“The problem is, my dad’s not . . . I mean, he’s not what you’d think . . .” He sighed. Talking about his father wasn’t something he did, ever. Breaking the habit was harder than he’d thought. “He’s just not a good guy. He won’t win any Father of the Year awards.”
Peyton smiled sadly. “I get what you mean. Sylvia was the same way. No Mama awards for her. Sucks sometimes, when parents are less responsible than the kids.”
“Sucks. That’s one word for it.” He slammed his hat back on his head and started pacing. Too bad if it made her dizzy. He needed to think. “My dad was in the barn when I got there. I didn’t invite him. I didn’t want him here. But he was in there. And he said . . . things. He said things he shouldn’t have.”
Peyton leaned back, elbows propped on the step behind her. “Such as?”
“He said things about you. And me.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Together.”
Understanding lit her face. Her body froze, and he would have sworn she stopped breathing. “He knows?” she whispered.
The horrified look on her face said more than any words. “He doesn’t know,” Red said firmly. “He played the odds, I’d bet anything. Guessed. Took a chance that he’d embarrass me and get me to back off.” And it worked. At least for the moment. For once, Mac Callahan had come up with the right cards at the right time.
“Back off from what?”
But Red wasn’t done yet. “He took a gamble and said something about us”—he wasn’t about to repeat the actual words used—“and the hands overheard every word. Every goddamn word,” he muttered.
“So, now they know.” Peyton’s voice became soft, almost too calm for the situation. Her hands clenched and unclenched, as if holding an imaginary stress ball.
“They don’t know. Peyton,” he said when she wouldn’t look at him. “They don’t. They heard one man they’ve never met before blowing smoke. If I just take the time to tell them my father’s a jackass who likes to stir up trouble—”
“But they’ll know.” Peyton rubbed her palms over her jeans. “I don’t hire stupid men. You might tell them it’s not true—which is a lie in itself, and I hate even the thought of lying to my staff—and they might nod and agree and say it’s too bad we all had to deal with that man. But the seed was planted. It’ll always be in the back of their minds now, won’t it?” She looked up at him, almost begging him without words to disagree with her, tell her it wouldn’t happen, tell her everything would be all right.
He couldn’t. “Yeah. It will.”
“And now they’ll be watching closer, looking to see if there are any subtle signals between us. Which there probably are,” she added, almost biting the words off. “Because I can’t get within ten feet of you and not get flushed.”
“Really?” Hope sparked for a moment. “Peyton—”
“And your dad is mad at you for some reason I don’t know or understand, and he might go spreading this to other people. People I do business with. People I depend on for their loyalty. God, just when I thought things were starting to get better.” She clenched her fists and pounded against the side of the garage, metal ringing dully.
“Peyton, come on—”
“Stop.” She let her head droop for just a moment until her forehead touched her knees, like a child in protective mode. “Just give me one moment, please.”
He heard a gate opening in the distance, closing again. The almost inaudible sounds of men speaking to their mounts, speaking to each other. The ranch hummed with activity beyond the walls of the garage.
“Okay. All right. Okay.” She did that palm-rubbing thing again, bit her bottom lip, then stood with enough force to almost catapult her off the step. “That settles it then.”

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