Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (22 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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“Settles what?”
Peyton watched him for a minute, as if she couldn’t believe he hadn’t put two and two together yet. “What we need to do. We’ll deny it, though I hate lying. It’s just nobody’s business. We’ll chalk it up to a guy with a personal grudge spouting off stuff he doesn’t know about.”
That sounded simple enough. Red nodded.
“You and I will have to keep our distance for a while.”
Wait a second. “I don’t think that’s—”
She rolled right over him. “And eventually, once something else happens in this small town or some other piece of gossip floods the area, you can quietly slip out and move on to your next job.”
“Next job?” What the hell? “This was a permanent thing, Peyton.”
She huffed out a breath. “You’re never permanent, Red. I knew that going in. I hoped you’d stay as long as possible. Hoped I’d keep you. I mean, the ranch.” She flushed and turned to the side, looking out past the property line. “I’d hoped M-Star would keep you. But I think in the back of my mind, I knew you wouldn’t stay.”
Just a slip of the tongue? Or was she sharing more than she wanted to? He shook his head numbly.
“You were going to take off eventually—let’s not kid ourselves on that one. So it’ll just have to be sooner than later. God knows, with your reputation, you could find a dozen operations in this state alone that would drool all over the chance to snap you up. Give it a week or two and you’ll get other offers in the surrounding states.”
“I don’t want to go.” He grabbed her arm, shook her a little. “Stop doing this. We can work around it. Don’t push me out the door.”
“I’m not pushing. I’m just . . . clearing a path.” She stepped back, out of his reach, then slid past him down the stairs. “It’ll be fine.” Her eyes were a little bright in the late morning sun, but her mouth was firm and her shoulders set. “It will be fine. We can weather this, and we’ll do okay.”
She turned and left, disappearing around the corner of the garage. Red sat down, butt thumping heavily against the old wood of the stairs, and flicked his hat out of his way.
That couldn’t have gone worse if he’d scripted it. She was upset, and he’d known that part would come. But tossing him out on his ear? Sending him on his way? That hurt. That fucking hurt. He thought they had enough time together now to fight for each other.
Apparently not.
With a heavy sigh, he headed upstairs, needing to soak his head, grab some lunch, take a breather. His nerves were too jittery to do any horse any good, and the men would see his mind wasn’t in it in a quick minute.
As he reached for his keys, he realized he didn’t need them. His door was propped a few inches open. “What the . . .” He listened quietly for a moment, heard nothing, then slowly stepped inside and surveyed the damage.
Whoever had been in his apartment had done a thorough job of making their presence known. Whoever? He rolled his eyes at himself. His father, of course. Mac must have made a quick stop here before heading to the barn to start raising hell.
Chairs were tipped over—one with its legs completely busted off. The small table was tipped on its side. Curtains lay in heaps under the windows where they’d hung, the kitchen cabinets had been emptied onto the small tile floor in front of the stove. The bed, which he’d made out of habit that morning, was stripped bare, the mattress leaning against one wall, box springs angled drunkenly off the frame. And his closet was bare, his things scattered over the length of the apartment.
He shut the door behind him and propped his shoulders up against it. Today was a mother of all days. And now, on top of deciding whether he should convince Peyton to let him stay or sneak out with his pride intact, he had to figure out how to handle his father, and what the hell the man’s end game was.
Chapter Nineteen
P
eyton was not a crier. Muldoons didn’t cry—except for Bea, and usually only when she wanted something. They gritted their teeth, bore down, and got the job done. So the tears that constantly pricked her eyes until the end of the day did more than confuse her. They pissed her off. She wasn’t about to cry because some jackass had guessed about her love life and spread it where it didn’t need spreading. He didn’t deserve her tears, her emotion, her pain.
But even as she gave herself the pep talk, she knew it wasn’t Red’s father that had her so close to losing her hold on her emotions. It was Red. God. For once, she’d felt safe, and actually wanted, by a man. Not on her toes, not having to play the
you’re so much smarter than me, I’m just a silly woman
card. She’d finally found a man who wasn’t threatened by her ownership, by her essentially being his boss.
And it was ruined. Their chance at . . .
Their chance at what? She pushed back from her desk and stared out the window into the open field. At nothing. From the start, it’d been a bad idea to get involved. And look what happened.
Though she trusted her ranch employees, something like this just couldn’t be stopped. They’d mention it to one person—like a wife or girlfriend—in confidence, and suddenly it was everywhere.
A soft knock sounded behind her.
“Peyton?” Trace stepped into her office hesitantly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She uncrossed her arms and sat down in her chair. “What’s up?”
“I was coming in to ask you the same. You’ve been in here all day.” Trace looked around the office, anywhere but in her eyes. “I thought maybe you wanted to, you know, talk or something.”
Peyton stifled a smile. God love her brother for trying, but he was definitely not the person she wanted to see right now. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“You sure?” Trace wandered over to the bookshelf, grabbed the biggest textbook from the shelf and started flipping through it. One of her old animal husbandry textbooks from college. Riveting stuff.
“Yeah. It’s sort of a girl thing.” When Trace’s eyes widened, she snickered. “Your face right now . . .”
He shut the book with a snap. “I don’t do the girl talk thing. That’s Bea’s area.”
“Oh, hell no.” Peyton stood up fast enough to send the rolling chair back several feet. “Don’t you dare corner me in here with her. I will hunt you down.”
Trace smiled wolfishly at her. “Tempting. But I won’t take it that far. I like my skin right where it is.” He placed the book back and gave her a once-over. “If you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure,” she said quickly, pulling the chair back toward her to sit down. She stared at her computer, making a show of reading the completely blank screen until Trace shut the door behind him. Then she let her forehead drop to the desk with a thump.
She was in deep water.
“Knock, knock!”
It only needed this. “I’m busy,” Peyton said to her shoes, not raising her head.
“Busy napping? You complain so much about how hard it is to run this damn place, and here you are sleeping on the job. I could do that.”
Peyton lifted her head to stare lasers through her sister. “Go. Away.”
Bea tsked and sat down softly on the guest chair, legs crossed daintily, foot swinging in some delicate, impractical sandal. “I’m here on official business.”
“Business?” That made Peyton do a double take. “What business?”
“Ranch business. I was thinking about making some changes to spruce things up.”
Peyton blanched. “What?”
Bea rolled her eyes. “Well, you said I had to wait before I could cash in on my portion, right?”
“Yes. I also said you could wait back in California, since there isn’t anything specific you can do here.”
“But there is. Something specific,” Bea clarified. “I got to thinking, and I’m really not the person to help in the barn.”
“Shock among shocks,” Peyton muttered.
“I’m ignoring that for now. But my main reason for staying is that I would like to help with the M-Star’s image.”
“Image.” Peyton rolled the idea around her mind a moment like a marble. “Nope. Still don’t get it.”
Bea stood and then balanced one hip on the edge of the solid desk. “You’re selling horses and experience. But you’re also selling an image. All businesses have an image. We want ours to reflect the right tone. Professional, knowledgeable, but not ostentatious. You don’t want to scare away the novices with something that will intimidate them, but you also don’t want grand champions to think we only cater to kids and weekend cowboys. An every-cowboy ranch. Beginners to winners.” She grinned at the thought. “That’s a good pitch point.”
Peyton filed the fact that Bea used the words “we” and “ours” in regard to the business for later thought and went with the more immediate questions. “Exactly what did you have in mind?”
“Oh, just little changes here and there.” She waved a hand in the air like that was helpful. “Nothing major, since I’m sure you and Trace would veto me without even giving it a chance.”
Peyton thought for a moment, then shrugged. If it gave her sister something to do, then why not? “Nothing major,” she repeated again.
“Of course. Now I’ve got something to do.” Bea looked around for a minute. “Hey! Idea time. Let’s go grab a drink.”
The thought of going into town on purpose, when she had no clue how far the gossip had already spread, made something bitter and vile rise up and choke her. She shook her head.
Bea’s face softened. “What was it Emma always used to say about people gossiping about us? When Mama would make a fool out of herself again and kids would tease us at school?”
Peyton rolled her eyes and mimicked Emma’s voice. “When people start flinging the shit, pull on some waders and trudge through.”
Bea smiled. “Hiding won’t make it any better. But showing your face, as if you have nothing to hide, that stops the talk a lot faster.”
“You have no clue what this is even about,” Peyton shot back.
“You and Red?” When Peyton’s face flushed, Bea nodded. “Trace told me, more as a warning to not tease you than anything.
“Trace knows, too?”
Bea nodded again. “So there it is. It’s out, it’s in the open. Time to deal with it.”
“I don’t want to just ‘deal with it.’ ” Peyton crossed her arms over her chest, knowing the action was childish. “I want it to go away.”
“And it will, if you just show your face, keep your head up, and act like there’s nothing to talk about. If a man slept with a woman in his employ, nobody would give a damn.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Peyton mumbled. Life was so not fair.
“So show them you can take the lumps but you’re going to keep going. Show them how tough Peyton Muldoon is. Show them the backbone M-Star was built on.”
Peyton stared, openmouthed, at her sister. Her baby sister, the one who she would have sworn had nothing but cotton stuffed between her ears, had just given an amazing, motivational speech that had Peyton wanting to hug her and cry on her shoulder in gratitude.
“Wow. Bea . . .” Peyton shook her head, amazed. “That was something else.”
Bea grinned. “I know, right? It was from a scene they cut from my second to last episode of
The Tantalizing and the Tempting
. I just changed a few words.”
Ah, there she was. And the world made sense once more. “I’m not going.”
“Peyton, please? I am dying for some company other than Emma and the kid. And you’re the best thing I’ve got.”
“I feel so loved.” Peyton stared at the blank screen of the computer once more. It might have been a scripted speech, but Bea’s words sank in, swirling around in her already-busy mind. There was one surefire way to make the whole thing stop.
“Okay, fine.”
Bea squealed and clapped her hands.
“But I refuse to drink anything with an umbrella in it or something with sex in the name,” Peyton qualified.
Bea rolled her eyes. “As if you could get a good Sex On The Beach in this town. Please. Now go change.”
She looked down. “I haven’t even been in the barn. My clothes are clean.”
“Oh my God. My work is never done with you.” Standing up, and with a startling strength for someone who looked like she ate Life Savers for breakfast, Bea hauled Peyton out of the chair and through the office doors. “We’re going to find something—anything—in your closet that doesn’t scream
cowgirl not-so-chic
. This might be my biggest undertaking yet.”
“Feel free to give up now.”
Bea glanced over one slim shoulder. “Oh, hell no. You agreed, and I’m not letting you out of the deal now!”
 
Red stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d actually be able to die from exhaustion. After Peyton’s talk, he knew it was no use going to her that day and asking her to reconsider. So instead, he’d worked his ass off. The hands had given him a wide berth, though whether that was due to the scene earlier that morning or because he worked like someone had cattle prodded him, he had no clue. Didn’t matter. He picked the dirtiest, toughest jobs and tackled them, working until his muscles screamed and his mind begged him to stop. Once those were complete, he’d brought out one of their meanest horses and given them both a good workout.
And still, after a shower and changing into a pair of sweatpants, he flopped on the bed and his mind turned to her. There was something sick and twisted about that. But this obsession was the price of going against his mind and using his gut. He’d known from the get-go working with Peyton Muldoon would lead to something bad. He’d been half in lust for her and they’d barely exchanged more than three minutes of conversation before. Putting himself in close proximity with the female had been asking for trouble.
And he’d gotten it. A double serving.
A knock at the door brought him a welcome reprieve from running through all the mental images of Peyton his brain had stored up. Unless it was Peyton . . . nah. She wouldn’t have cooled off that fast. Trudging to the door, he opened and stared, slack-jawed, at Trace Muldoon and his kid, stuffed into that same baby carrier.
“What the . . .”
“Boys’ night.” Trace shoved in past Red, careful to shield the kid from any contact. “All the girls are gone and I’m dying of boredom.”
“Isn’t that why you have a kid? To keep you busy?”
“No, I have a kid because the rubber broke.” Trace’s harsh words were tempered by a gentle hand stroking over his son’s head. “As you can see, he’s not in a mood to settle down, so I thought we’d go for a walk. We just ended up here.”
“I see.” Though he really didn’t. Resigned to company, he grabbed a shirt from his closet and stuck his arms through, not bothering with the buttons. “Drink?” he asked, shuffling to the kitchen area.
“Sure, I’m not driving.”
“Beer for Daddy and . . .” Red popped his head up over the top of the fridge door. “What’s little man having, whiskey sour?”
“He’s had his nightcap,” Trace said dryly.
Twisting the top off the two beers, he met Trace at the table and sat. They both drank silently for a minute. Seth, taking the silence as his invitation to show off, gurgled and blew spit bubbles. Red winced when a little drool ran from his chin down to land in a puddle on Trace’s forearm. But the man—a one-time major rodeo contender, total ball buster and overall cowboy badass—simply wiped his arm on his jeans and shrugged.
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“What’s not?” Red couldn’t stop watching as Seth’s hands flailed around and pounded on the table.
“Having a kid. Wasn’t my first choice. Or at least, not the timing of it. I had more shit to do. More to get done, more to see.”
Red could understand that.
“But he’s here, and I wouldn’t give him up for the world.” Trace’s hand molded over his son’s head, thumb rubbing a path between the crown and the tip of his ear. Seth leaned into his father’s touch, eyes drooping a little, lulled.
“And the mom? She still off doing that shit she had to do?”
Trace’s face closed up tight. “She’s irrelevant.”
Red shrugged. Not his business. “Just trying to make conversation.”
“How about we try this topic on for size then? Peyton.”
Red choked on the swallow of beer, leaning over his knees, thumping his chest to dislodge the bubble that formed in his airway. After a few false starts, he glared at Seth, who was chortling with glee at the show. “Think that’s funny, huh?”
Trace started unhooking his son from the harness contraption. “Judging by your reaction, you’re not real keen on talking about my sister.”
“Not with her brother,” he admitted. “Not with anyone, right now. That’s a . . . sensitive subject.”
“Figured it would be. I assume Bea’s out with Peyton trying to get the same info I’m trying to get.”

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