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Authors: Kat Murray

Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (7 page)

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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Lilly Mae made a soft nickering sound in response. Peyton smiled and decided to take the noise as an
It’s okay, you’ll do better next time
.
“She’s sweet.”
Her skin prickled at the sound of Red’s voice, but she didn’t look up. A new tension momentarily vibrated through Lilly Mae’s muscles, but she calmed down quickly when there was no threat.
“She’s mine.” With a scratch between the ears, she stepped back and grabbed a brush, intent on doing something with her hands while they talked. “I’ve had her almost my whole life. Learned to ride on her. She’s ancient, but she’s my favorite.” Leaning forward, she mock whispered, “Don’t tell the other girls,” into Lilly’s ear.
Red chuckled and stepped forward cautiously, holding out a hand for Lilly Mae to sniff and nuzzle. “Nice. Bet you’re the queen around here, aren’t you?”
Peyton took it as the peace offering it was. “I sure am. Oh, you meant Lilly.” She grinned when he smiled.
“Thought I might find you riding some two-year-old around the ring for a hard workout to work off the tension.”
“Too pissed for that. Does nobody any good when you can’t keep a cool head to train a stubborn horse. Especially an arrogant two-year-old.”
“Glad to hear it. Good instincts.” Lilly Mae stepped forward, bumping into him hard enough to send him back a step, shoulder hitting the nearest wooden post. “Well, hey now. I didn’t mean to ignore you, I’m sorry.” He scratched her between the ears, smoothing down to her nose where he rubbed with gentle thumbs. Lilly Mae sighed with delight and took another step into him, all but snuggling against his chest.
“Floozy,” Peyton muttered.
Red just grinned. “The ladies know what they like.”
She rolled her eyes, but watched from behind lowered lashes as he charmed her horse. He had such gentle hands, not at all like Nylen’s. Strong, she knew they could control a horse with a simple tug of one rein, distract a rearing stallion with one wave. But then lovingly caress the velvety softness of a sweet old mare well past her prime.
Lilly Mae’s rump bumped her and she snapped out of the trance. Admiring his hands? Jesus, what was her deal?
“I’m sorry. I never meant to imply you weren’t doing your job or taking things seriously. Just trying to get a handle on the situation around the ranch.”
Peyton nodded and tapped the brush against her thigh, stirring the dust a little. “I realized that after about five minutes. It’s still sore with me, here.” She fisted one hand against her breast bone and tapped once. “But I’m working on it.”
Another minute passed with only Lilly Mae’s rhythmic breathing and happy snuffling to break the silence.
“I haven’t seen the outer perimeter of the ranch yet. Wanna saddle up and show me around?”
A leisurely ride to get her mind off things, give her some time to compose herself and still get ranch business done? Sign her up.
 
“Yes, Mr. Schneider. Absolutely. No, all our work is done out in the open. You’re more than welcome to come on over and take a peek.” Peyton tapped the edge of her pen on the desk, listening to the potential client’s hemming and hawing. “Naturally. We have an open door policy to all potential clients. Yes, I realize not all—yes, this is a new policy. I understand we were more closed up in the past.”
Back when Mommy Dearest was running things.
After another moment of the man’s indecision, she sighed and dropped the pen. “Have you met our new trainer yet? Redford Calla—yes. That Red. Uh huh. Same one.”
She rubbed at the throbbing between her temples with her thumb and forefinger.
“Of course. I’m sure Red would love to speak with you on that subject. Not a problem. Let me patch you over to his office phone. If he’s not in, you can leave a voicemail for him. Does that sound all right? Excellent, hold on just one moment.”
Peyton clicked hold, then a few more buttons to send Mr. Schneider over to Red’s office phone. Odds were, he wouldn’t be in, but the voicemail system always made people feel like the M-Star was a more legitimate business. She never understood why. Jotting down the question and the man’s name and phone number just in case the phone system failed, she pinned it to her corkboard as a reminder to pass off to Red when she ran into him next.
Emma walked in just as she was making a final note for her own records about the call. “Potential client?”
“Yup. Wasn’t overly certain about things until I mentioned Red’s name. Then it was all ‘Oh, that’s great! When can I come by? Can’t wait to get there!’ ” Peyton snorted. “The man doesn’t even sound like he knows which way to saddle a horse, but he’s heard of Red and suddenly we’re sent from the bottom of the barrel to the top of his list.” It still burned that she had to use someone else’s reputation to bump her own. But she’d do what she had to.
Emma wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist and eyed her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t that the entire purpose of hiring Redford?”
Peyton smiled. “You know, I think you’re the only person who calls him that on a casual basis.”
“It’s his name, isn’t it?”
“That it is. And yes. It’s why we hired him. And he’s done some amazing work in the last two weeks.” The fact that Peyton had been sneaking over to watch him work with the horses more than she should have been was only a little lowering. “It’s just a bit humbling, being reminded that our own reputation isn’t doing the job.”
“That’ll change,” Emma assured her. “Now, do me a favor and take a tray up to your brother.”
“He’s got legs,” she whined in a childlike voice. “Make him come down and get it.”
“He’s got Seth with him upstairs. Be a good sister and just run it up.”
“Fine,” she muttered, but inwardly was pleased to see the baby. Not that she’d admit it, hell no. But that little boy was her new favorite thing in life. Except when he needed a diaper change. Her auntie skills only extended so far.
She passed by the living room to grab the tray in the kitchen, getting a glimpse of the training yard and Red working a yearling.
Seth isn’t your only new favorite thing . . .
Ugh. Definitely not what she should be thinking right now. She grabbed the tray Emma had left on the kitchen counter and hustled back through the sitting area and toward the double stairs. She hated the first floor, except for the kitchen and her office. Her mother felt that the appearance of wealth was the way to woo potential customers, so she’d turned the place into a gaudy palace, with floors everyone was scared to walk on, uncomfortable furniture, and artwork nobody liked, simply because they looked—in Sylvia’s word—artsy.
Peyton had another word for it. Ugly.
The upstairs, though, was the family’s haven. Comfort reigned and the main purpose of the space was to be lived in. The staircases opened into the family living area, then broke off into several bedrooms.
Trace and Seth were sprawled on the carpeted floor of the family area. Well, Trace was sprawled. Seth lay facedown on a quilt spread out on the floor, screaming his head off and flailing his arms.
“Should he be eating the quilt like that? I think a nice bottle would be better, don’t you?” She put the tray down on the coffee table and settled on the edge of the couch to watch.
“It’s called tummy time. It’s supposed to help with crawling and neck strength and crap,” Trace replied testily. But when he reached out to rub his son’s back, his movements were smooth and soft. “He’s not a fan, but the book says it’s good for him.”
As she watched, Seth struggled to raise his head, arms helplessly pushing against the blanket to support his upper body. Tears streaked his cheeks and his gums were showing as he wailed in protest.
“What book was this, 101 Ways To Torment Your Child?”
“Okay, dude. All right. Come here.” Rolling onto his back, Trace grabbed Seth and plopped him stomach-down over his chest so they were nose to nose. Instantly the crying stopped and a gurgle of happiness sounded.
“Why is it he hated being on his stomach on the blanket, but that’s fine?”
“Face to face contact, best I can tell.” Trace smiled and ran one fingertip down his son’s cheek. “I don’t really mind. I’d rather hang with the guy this way than listen to him cry anyway.”
Watching the tender father-son moment had Peyton swallowing back tears. Being an aunt was something she hadn’t thought of before, though she was catching on easily. A kid as cute as Seth made the aunt gig a no-brainer. Watching her brother as a father was a daily source of amazement. Not that he didn’t have it in him. But knowing he was capable and seeing it in action were two totally different things.
The number of books he read on the subject of child-rearing was almost comical. He constantly asked Emma for her advice, which she was more than willing to impart. And he didn’t try to foist the kid off on the older woman more than necessary, choosing to stay home rather than run wild in town at night. More than once she’d heard him singing a soft sweet country lullaby to Seth when he was fussy at night.
“Still not going to mention his mother?”
“Nope.”
It’d become a daily question and answer session, and neither was angry when the other spoke their part. She figured eventually, he’d give up the goods. When he was good and ready.
He shifted a little, his voice dropping to a lower pitch. “I think I’m going to take Ninja with me to a smaller rodeo next weekend, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few guys who are coming through. Not many, it’s small stakes. But I figure it’d be a good trial for me to figure out how to sell the biz without scaring people away. Plus,” he added, rubbing a thumb over his son’s downy, nearly bald head, “it’s close by, so I’ll only be gone overnight, I hope.”
“Why not Lonestar? He’s got better coloring, might catch more eyes. Plus, for roping, he stands at attention quicker.”
“I’ve had more time with Ninja,” he countered.
“Good point.”
“Can you keep Seth? It’s not fair for me to ask Emma to give up her weekend, and—”
“Say no more, brother.” She watched as the child’s eyes closed, and his mouth went slack. As if the mere sound of his father’s voice and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling was enough to lull him to sleep. “I’ve got plenty of time for my favorite nephew.”
“Thanks.” They both watched as Seth’s arm, normally ungainly and uncoordinated, slowly drifted up with precision and his thumb landed in his mouth. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy being a dad this much,” he whispered. “This wasn’t the plan at all.”
“Yeah.” She leaned forward and traced one finger down the baby’s back, rubbing circles over the onesie he wore. “Just wait until he’s two.”
Trace snorted softly. “Thanks.”
“I’m your sister. It’s my job.”
Chapter Six
P
eyton stumbled down the stairs at an ungodly early hour. No matter how many years she’d been doing it, or how many years she had to go, early mornings were not her thing. She dragged her heels through the kitchen, popping an English muffin in the toaster and regretting she didn’t have time for one of Emma’s full-course breakfasts.
The woman in question wandered in a moment later as she was slathering butter and jam over the bottom muffin, slapping the top over that and grabbing a paper towel to wrap it up in.
“That’s not breakfast.”
“It is when you’re on the run.” Peyton saluted her with the sandwich. “Where’s the munchkin?”
“Still asleep.” Emma motioned to the baby monitor clipped to her belt.
“If you’ve got that, where’s Trace?”
“Your brother was up an hour ago. Said he wanted to get Red’s opinion on the horse he’s taking with him next weekend.”
“Ah.” She nodded and headed for the door to slip her boots on, the housekeeper hot on her heels.
“You gonna do anything about that man?”
She glanced back at Emma, one boot half on. “Which one? There’s about a dozen of them roaming around here at any given time.”
Emma’s face said she wasn’t a stupid woman. “Don’t give me that. Redford Callahan. That boy’s a looker, sure as I’m standing here. Why, if I were thirty years younger, I’d—”
Peyton shoved the sandwich in her mouth and plugged her ears with her fingers, shaking her head violently and moaning around the muffin.
She watched as Emma laughed and turned back to the kitchen. With a final shudder, Peyton walked out the door and shut it quietly. Normally she’d let it slam behind her, but Seth had gotten her in the habit of taking care with doors. Pointing her boots in the direction of the training arena, she took a moment to take in a calming breath. Yes, mornings weren’t her favorite. And yes, she’d still rather be snuggled in bed under her quilt, dreaming whatever she’d had on her mind before she woke with a smile on her lips and no clue what had put it there. But there was something to be said for the peace that came when the rest of the world wasn’t quite awake yet.
She just wished she didn’t have to be awake herself to experience it.
Nearing the barn, she heard the unmistakable sounds of Red calling out commands. She entered, waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior after stepping out of the sun, and narrowed her eyes on Trace working to control a three-year-old paint named Lad—the horse she’d been working with recently, in hopes of using him in some cutting competitions.
Trace pulled the horse up to a full stop, both rider and animal’s breath turning into steam in the cool morning air.
“Feel that?” Red asked quietly from his perch on top of the metal gate.
“No.” Trace looked confused a moment before Lad shied and took a few quick steps to the side before he could control him again.
“He signaled his discomfort before he made the move. That’s when you have the chance to make the difference. Before they take flight or react. You have to be more in tune with the horse.”
“Easier said than done when it’s not your usual mount,” Trace shot back, obviously annoyed.
“Course it is,” Red replied easily, not at all bothered by the snippy attitude. “But that’s your job as the rider. Wanna make you both look good? Pay attention. Still your own body, cancel out your own mind.”
Trace shook his head but brought Lad to a full stop again. Peyton walked up quietly behind Red, listened to him talk to himself in low, almost nonexistent tones.
“There. Right there. The ears first, then the—yes. Yes. Now watch how his—got it.” Jumping down from the rail, he approached horse and rider. “Much better. You felt it that time.”
“Yeah.” Trace gave Lad a nice pat on the neck. “Just had to do that mind thing you talked about first. Never thought about it that way before.”
Wrapping one hand around the horse’s bridle, Red nodded. “Most don’t. You ride a horse long enough, you come to expect their moves. But a brand-new horse doesn’t work that way. Gotta make the effort. Easier for me to see it on the ground sometimes.”
“Nice work, you two.” Impressed, Peyton bent at the waist, slid between two railings, and approached as well, coming to the other side of Lad. “I think this is the most still I’ve ever seen this guy.”
“Just needs some attention. Don’t you, boy?” Trace gave him another affectionate pat.
“Mind if I see you on Ninja next? I want to take a few pictures to put up on the website before you head out to the event.”
Trace glanced at Red before looking back at her. “Uh, right. First, we were thinking—well, actually I wasn’t thinking but we started talking and then the topic got brought up—Actually it’s more like—”
“He’s taking Lad, not Ninja,” Red cut in. “Might as well grab your camera since they’ll be working for a while yet.”
“What?” Blindsided, Peyton took a step back. “Is Ninja okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine,” Trace assured her quickly. “It’s just Red thought that Lad might give a more . . .” He shrugged. “You tell her, it was your idea.”
Red smiled at the accusation in Trace’s tone. “You were doing fine.”
“Someone tell me something.” When neither man spoke, she shoved one braid over her shoulder, away from her neck where it tickled. “We’d already decided on Ninja.”
“I’m the expert you hired to help get things back on track.”
“They’re my horses. And Trace has been working with Ninja.”
“It’s my job.”
Narrowing her eyes at him, she almost bit out a laugh when Red mirrored the expression back at her. “Trace?”
Trace held his hands up in the sign of surrender. “I’m staying out of this one.”
Lad took a few quick steps to the left, bumping Red out of his way. Sensing the horse was picking up on her agitation, Peyton moved back a few more feet and tried a calming breath. “Let’s take this into the office.”
“Sure thing.” Red released the bridle and made a circle motion with his hand. “Keep working on those circuits, and this time shut your mind off to the garbage and tune in to him. See how much better that works for you.”
“Got it.” Trace led Lad over to another corner of the ring as Peyton stalked off to the trainer office, Red trailing behind.
She waited until he shut the door and leaned against it, arms crossed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to kick his arrogant legs out from under him . . .
“I can’t do my job if you don’t trust me.”
She stared at him a moment. “Trust?”
He nodded. “Trust.”
“Huh.” She walked to the side of his desk and stared at the blank wall. No pictures up, no framed awards or certificates. Nothing tangible to prove his success. Nothing that made the space his. “Trust is . . . not easy. I haven’t been able to trust anyone with this place. Daddy, God bless him, wasn’t sure what to do with the business. Mama was worthless. Nylen was a cheat and a jackass. When I could have used some help, my brother and sister took off. All the people in my life I was supposed to be able to trust. So sure, we can talk about trust until the cows come home. But in the end all you’ll have is a pasture full of cows and nothing more. This place is my responsibility.”
“And I can appreciate that. But you hired me for a reason. And it wasn’t to stand around looking pretty and filling out forms. It’s for the horses. I chose Lad for a reason. He’s going to show better.”
“He’s not as experienced. Hasn’t been tested before. Ninja’s calmer.”
“That’s the problem. If Trace can keep Lad’s focus straight, then the horse is going to show like nobody’s business.”
She scoffed. “And if he eases up for even a second?”
Red nodded. “Yeah, Lad will run away with him, I know. But Trace can handle it.”
“So either a spectacular showing, or a dismal failure.” She held out her hands. “You want me to bet our reputation on it.”
“Your brother can handle it.”
She ran a hand over the top of her hair, pushing the flyaway strands back from her face. “Go big or go home, huh?” She lifted one shoulder. “Trust. Fine. Let’s go with it.”
As she walked past him to open the office door, his quiet question stopped her in her tracks.
“How much did that just cost you?”
Hand frozen on the doorknob, she answered without turning around. “The price is dropping.” Then she pushed through the door and left the training arena.
 
Red let his hat fall on the small table by the door of his apartment, too tired to bend over and replace it when it slid to the floor. Toeing one boot off, then the other, he kicked them under the same table to rest with his hat and padded to the kitchenette for a bottle of water.
Gulping half the bottle in one try, he wiped his mouth with one wrist, then looked around the small studio-style apartment. Something felt off.
Had he left that lamp on when he’d walked out the door that morning? He was almost positive he had dressed in the dark and left the same way. And his closet door was cracked open. And one dresser drawer. Walking suspiciously over to the closet, he realized his clothes had been shifted through. Boots on the floor—normally lined up in good order—were scattered and out of place. A few shirts were falling off their hangers. A box on the top shelf containing his buckles was tipped on its side.
Someone had most definitely done a half-assed job of rifling through his stuff. Though he’d be willing to bet they didn’t find anything to steal.
If stealing was their main motivation in the first place . . .
His hand squeezed into a fist, plastic crinkling as it was smashed. He set the bottle down on the bedside table and returned the closet to its original tidy order, his temper rising with each minute that passed.
Dammit, this was his own private space. He didn’t own the ranch or the stables or even his own office. But his living area was off limits. And the only other person who would have a key to his space would be the infernal Peyton Muldoon.
Not thinking twice, he stomped his feet back in the boots, grabbed his hat, and thundered back down the outside steps, around the barn and toward the house, where he assumed Peyton would be at this hour.
He was half right. He spotted her coming from the stables, angling the same direction as he was heading, back toward the house. But she wasn’t alone. The tall vet was with her, and she all but bounced next to him, trying to keep up with his normal walking pace. Her braids tumbled down her back like whipped ropes.
“Pippi freaking Longstocking. Thinks she can just mess with my stuff anytime she wants.” He slammed his hat down on his head and kept going until he was about to cut them off. “Muldoon.”
She stopped, the vet stopping with her. “What’s up, Red?”
“I need to talk to you about my apartment.”
He watched her face for signs of guilt, worry, anything that would incriminate. But she merely tilted her head and asked, “Something wrong with the place? If something needs fixing, that’d be Arby’s area. He’d know which one of the guys to send over.”
Odd. He figured she’d have the world’s worst poker face. He seemed as tuned to her moods as he’d told Trace to be with Lad’s, whether he wanted to be or not. He’d drag it out of her though. “You could say that.” To Browning, he nodded toward the vet’s truck. “You could give us some privacy now.”
Her eyes widened. “Red! That was rude.”
Morgan just smiled and nodded. “No problem.” He leaned over to whisper something in Peyton’s ear, something that had her grinning, and had Red’s hands balling into fists. Then with a mock tip of his hat, Morgan was off.
Peyton watched as he walked away—was she checking him out?—and waited until he was out of earshot before crossing her arms over her chest and staring at Red hard. “What was so important that you had to be completely rude to my favorite vet?”
“Favorite vet, huh? You know, it’s not great to mix business with pleasure.” Oh hell, this was absolutely not the route he wanted to take this conversation down.
If looks could murder, he’d be a cold son of a bitch on a slab. But while her eyes attempted to kill him from five feet away, her mouth curved in a sardonic smile. “Why thank you, good sir, for your kindly business recommendation. Why, we little ladies just don’t know what we’re doing out here in the big wild west.”
“Can it, Muldoon.” He reached out before he could talk himself out of it and snagged her elbow, pulling until she followed along behind.
“Slow down, cowboy, my legs aren’t exactly as long as yours,” she said on a pant. “Where the hell are you taking me? A cave? You’re supposed to club me
before
you drag me there, you know.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” he muttered, not expecting an answer.
Which was his mistake, because naturally she couldn’t resist. “Talking is my favorite thing to do, just behind annoying conceited cowboys. Now where the hell are you . . . no. I’m not going up to your apartment. Tell me what’s wrong with it, and I can send one of the guys to fix it.”
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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