Busting Loose (17 page)

 

Peyton slammed down into a booth next to the window and tossed her hat on the seat beside her. “You pick the worst times to do this, you know that?”

Bea smiled, a little sharp, but she smiled. “There is never a bad time for alcohol.”

Jo slid into the booth beside Bea. “Preach. Amanda?”

The perky waitress, a favorite of Bea's for her quick service and easy way with everyone, scooted over. “Boss is seated,” Amanda said. “Time to put my best foot forward.”

“Beer,” Peyton said quickly before Bea could order. “And if she tries to order something else for me, ignore it.”

Bea stared at her sister a moment. Had they truly come from the same womb? “Amanda, I'll have a rum and diet, and a water please. Thanks.” She waited while Jo ordered some new drink, which she'd told them ahead of time was the plan. Testing the new bartender on the drink menu. It was why they'd headed to Jo's Place instead of a more out-of-the-way establishment.

“You'll have to let me try a sip of that,” Bea said as she placed the drink menu back behind the salt and pepper shakers.

“Have one. Crash at my place tonight. I don't care. That dog is already upstairs right now sleeping on my sofa or in my bed.” Jo rolled her eyes. “And honestly, could you have gotten a dog that's any more codependent?”

“Probably not. Wasn't my intention. But he's had a rough life. I can't deny the poor baby now, can I? He deserves a little spoiling.” She gave Jo her sad, puppy-dog eyes. “He was skin and bones when I adopted him. Just so malnourished and neglected.”

“Okay, okay, stop.” Jo slapped her hands over her ears. “He's fine. But if you test out all the new drinks with me, you're not driving home.”

“Which is why I'm not. I'm here solely for girl talk.”

Peyton blew out a breath and stared out the window.

She eyed Peyton while Amanda passed out drinks and slid away discreetly. That was the good thing about dining with the owner. Best possible service.

“This girl talk isn't code for gossip, is it?”

“No, Jo. It's not. Unless you count mining for gossip about oneself to be the same thing.” When both women stared at her blankly, she took the cherry out of her drink and pulled the stem off. “That was confusing.”

“Only a little.” Peyton took a drink from her bottle.

“I just need to know if people are talking about me.” When neither woman spoke, she tried again. “About me and Morgan.”

Silence, but for the clink of ice in Jo's glass.

“Me and Morgan dating?” she asked hopefully.

“Oh,” they each said together.

Jo added, “We didn't think you were ready to talk about it yet.”

“I think it's inevitable.”

“Probably.” Peyton took another swig of beer, then tilted her head ever so slightly toward another table. Bea took her cue and slid her gaze over without moving her head.

Two women, both who looked to be in their early forties, likely meeting for a lunch date while the kids were in school, were staring at her. Not even trying to be inconspicuous about it, either. Brazen.

“Great,” she mumbled. That had happened faster than she'd expected. “How the hell did everyone find out?”

“I heard from Steve,” Peyton said.

“Several customers,” Jo helped.

“Thank you, Cynthia,” Bea muttered.

“Cynthia?” Peyton sat back in surprise. “Morgan's mom?”

“She sort of caught us the other morning. In a delicate situation.” Because other women—even her sister—would understand the total and complete embarrassment, she relayed the scene in Morgan's kitchen. With some minor edits.

Jo rubbed her back in a motherly gesture. “It's not the end of the world, you know. People date. Nobody's said anything negative about it. I mean, they usually shut up when I give them a look, because frankly, I don't want to hear it. But some things are unavoidable.”

“Tiny said you two were cute together,” Peyton added, a slow grin spreading. Of course. Now that she'd found a screw to twist, she was enjoying herself. “I'm pretty sure he was bullshitting about it, but with Tiny, sometimes it's hard to tell.”

“Goody. Even the ranch hands are gossiping like hens.”

“They've got the best gossip, as far as I'm concerned.”

Just then, Janine Stevens walked by the table and did a double-take. “Bea?”

She slipped on her public face, which included the
I'm not feeling great but that's not your problem
smile. “Hi, Mrs. Stevens. How's Alice?”

“Oh she's just great, thank you for asking.” Janine beamed. “And you can call me Janine. After my daughter probably scared you half to death with that reptile . . .”

“Alice has a pet python,” Bea explained to Jo and Peyton. Peyton merely raised a brow. Jo, more on Bea's wavelength, shuddered. “Alice is adorable. I'm sorry to say, the pet does not match.”

Janine laughed, started to wave and walk on, but then bent over the table. “I just had to tell you, I think you and Morgan are a perfect match,” she said in hushed tones.

Bea's own brows rose in disbelief. “You do?”

“Absolutely. He's such a sweet man, and he's a fantastic vet. But he cares about the animals more than his own social life. I have a feeling you won't let him get away with that much longer. And besides, if you can put up with Alice's pet, you can put up with anything.” Janine winked, waved, and joined the two other women who had been staring earlier.

Bea blinked a moment. Well. That was . . . unexpected. Somehow she'd imagined things would go differently. That she'd be accused of being the whore of Babylon, and lynched for ruining the favorite son.

“See?” Jo looked satisfied with herself. “Shoulda put money on that one. People like you, Bea. People like Morgan. It's a natural fit. Plus, Morgan's a smart guy, and people know it. Calling into question his relationship with you is like calling into question his intelligence. Like he doesn't know what he's getting into. Nobody's going to do that.”

“She's got a point.” Peyton flipped a thin cardboard coaster in Jo's direction. “I thought people would make a BFD over me and Red, and it ended up to be barely a trickle.”

“True. But you were staying,” Bea said easily, then caught the frozen looks on both her friend and sister's faces. “You know what I mean. In town. You were permanent. Red had nothing stopping him from being permanent. I'm not. I'm . . . an extended visitor.” Or whatever.

“You could be,” Jo reminded her quietly. “You could be permanent.”

Bea looked toward Peyton, but her sister was staring at something out the window.

“Moving on.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I got a recommendation for someone to do my hair.”

“Goody. One of my favorite topics . . . hair.” Peyton slid her hat back over her face and slid down in the booth a little.

Bea couldn't help but laugh. A real laugh, this time. Felt good.

B
asset hounds had the best faces. Morgan rubbed the one sitting in his lap under the chin. The dog's droopy eyes closed all the way in ecstasy. Just like Bea's, he thought with a smile, when he rubbed her head. The exact same way . . . except she looked much prettier doing it. She was a hedonist, no question about it.

Thing Two, Thing One's brother, bumped his hand in demand for attention. They were the calmest of his current shelter residents, but when they wanted something, they let you know it.

Morgan was escaping his office during a lull to play with the dogs. It was one of the main reasons he loved his job so damn much. The animals were so intuitive. The shelter dogs most of all, he thought. They'd seen hardship, many of them. They knew pain. They also knew joy. That was the beauty of a rescue dog. They displayed gratitude because they knew what it was to go without, and they didn't ever want to go back to that. Every day in warmth, with a full belly and a good rub behind the ears, was something not to be taken for granted in their eyes.

Except for that one. He watched Milton trot in ahead of his mistress and sit outside the cage. His haughty expression said,
You chose them over me? There's something wrong with you.

“Hey, bud. Nice tie.” Today's collar was meant to look like the collar of a man's button-down shirt, complete with herringbone-patterned necktie.

“Milton says thank you.” Bea clipped in behind him and squatted down in her heels. The lift from the back made it look easier to keep her balance. Too bad she was wearing black slacks today. In a skirt, he would have gotten quite an eyeful.

“Eyes up, Morgan,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Come back to Earth.”

“Hmm. Do I have to?”

“Well, you have an appointment in”—she checked her thin silver watch—“ten minutes, so I guess technically you have a bit more time to space out and think dirty thoughts. But I had something to tell you.”

“Hit me with it.” He let his right hand continue to rub at Thing One's ears while he scratched Thing Two's belly.

“I have a few interviews lined up.”

He watched her but said nothing.

“For the receptionist position, I mean. I put the job out there the other day, and I already have some replies. There were a ton of applicants, actually. But only a few who had the skills—at least on paper—to pull off the whole gig.”

The whole gig. That's what she was calling working in the office. Running the office, really. She was more than a receptionist, didn't she see that? She thought he didn't know, but he was aware she was redesigning the website in her free time. He'd caught glimpses of it, and knew it was more than he could have ever pulled together with a
Coding for Dummies
book and prayer. She was wonderful with the customers, even those who were cooler to her than they had any reason to be. She didn't balk at muddy paws on her skirt and would let an upset child who'd lost their four-legged best friend cry at her desk. And she continually surprised him with her willingness to take steps out of her comfort zone.

And yet, here they were. Right back at the beginning. She was planning her escape. Because that's what she thought he wanted? No, she knew better. She was a brilliant woman. She was planning to run because it was what she wanted. Or thought she wanted. Needed, maybe.

Brilliant, but complex. Which was probably why he was half in love with her.

“Do you need me to interview them?”

“I was going to do a pre-interview.” Bea shrugged and hugged Milton close to her side. He left fur behind on her black pants but she didn't seem to notice. Or she didn't care enough to brush it off. “Why waste your time if they turn out to be a dud?”

“Fair enough.” He wanted to shake her, make her snap out of it. Make her see she didn't have to keep going down this path just because it was what she'd originally planned for herself. But that wasn't going to win him any favors. So he nodded as if it was a simple, foregone conclusion, and she was doing the right thing. “Thanks for that.”

When she didn't leave, he tried a new approach. “Wanna have dinner with me at my parents'?”

She laughed quickly; then the laugh died down as she watched his face. “Oh, you were serious.”

“Yeah, I'm serious. Isn't that what people who are dating do? I have dinner at your place often enough.”

“But that's just with my brother and sister and Emma and Red and Jo,” she said slowly.

“Right. And they're your family. My parents are my family. I figured it might be nice to start with just them. No need to add in my sister, brother-in-law, and their two hellions yet. They can be a lot to take on.”

“Andrea was sweet,” she defended instantly. “I remember her from the adoption fair. She took home that gray kitten I loved.”

“Yeah, well, quiet maybe. But not around her brother. Put the two of them together and . . .” He mimed his fists ramming into each other. “Boom.”

“That's natural. Peyton and I butt heads like a couple of rams.” She let her butt slide down to the ground and Milton immediately took up residence in her lap. Morgan didn't even want to think of what dirt and fur she might be picking up on her pants. But she was oblivious. Such a difference from even a month ago.

“That's something you could work on while you're home. Repairing whatever's broken between you.”

“What's broken is Peyton's attitude. If it weren't for that, we would get along just fine.” Bea stroked Milton's head, and his eyes drifted shut.

“Takes two to feud, sweetheart.”

“Stop you with your logic.” She didn't look at him.

“If that's what you want,” he murmured. “We'll just head back to the topic of eating dinner with my parents. Look at it this way,” he cut her off when she opened her mouth to protest. “You can get the whole awkward first-meeting-after thing out of the way in privacy, with nobody else watching. That would be easier, wouldn't it? Rather than Mom catching you at the grocery store picking out cucumbers?”

Heat flushed up her neck, but her lips twitched. “You're being pervy. I can't believe I ever thought you were too quiet and restrained to be pervy.”

“That was your mistake,” he said cheerfully, tugging gently on Thing Two's tail to get him playing. “Come to dinner. Get it over with. See that you can both be adults about it. And then we can all move on like it never happened.”

She chewed her bottom lip a little, then nodded. “But not tonight. I have something to do at home tonight.”

“Okay, no problem. Friday?”

“Sure. That works.” She stared at him hard. “If you request cucumber salad or something, I'll have to beat you.”

He blinked. “I would never.”

“Right.” She stood, dislodging Milton from his perch. The dog grumbled, but followed her faithfully back toward the clinic side of the building and let the door shut between them.

“She's crazy about me,” Morgan told Thing One, who blinked sleepily. “She just doesn't know it yet.”

 

“What the hell could be so important you pulled me away from
NCIS
?” Peyton followed Bea down the stairs with heavy, thudding footsteps. God, she acted like she was being dragged to the electric chair.

“You'll see. I just need your opinion on something.” When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Bea turned in a wide circle. God, Mama had disgusting taste in décor. If it glittered or was painted a metallic color, she'd snatched it up.

Elvis syndrome. When zero taste meets disposable income.

Peyton watched her for a second, then did her own slow spin. “Am I missing something?”

“What do you see?” Curious, Bea waited for her sister to take another look around.

Peyton's face scrunched up, like she was thinking. “Is this a trick question?”

“No.”

“Okay then.” She glanced once more around the entryway, living room, and as far into the dining room as she could. “I see our house?”

Okay, so Literal Peyton was not going to make this easy. “What's in the house?”

“A bunch of ugly-ass stuff.”

Getting somewhere. “Exactly. But who picked it all out?”

“Down here?” Peyton snorted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Sylvia, of course. You think Daddy would have given two shits about a miniature fountain with naked babies that spit water out of their mouths?”

“Cherubs,” Bea corrected. “They're cherubs. But that's not the point.”

“What is the point, Bea?” Peyton watched her warily. “I'm not a big fan of guessing games.”

“The point is,” Bea said slowly, breathing a few times for patience before continuing, “that this is your house. And the décor is not what you would have picked. It's not your style. It's not this business's style. It shouldn't be anyone's style,” she added in a mutter. “And in addition to its being a home, it is also a business.” When her sister said nothing, she asked, “Am I on the right track?”

“Yes.” Peyton nodded. “Not sure where this track is heading, but you're on the right one.”

“The point is, it's intimidating to cowboys to come in here and sit around in a room that looks like Liberace vomited in it.” Bea smiled with satisfaction. “You can't do effective business with someone who doesn't even feel they can sit on the pristine white couch or look anywhere because of the ‘artistic nudes.' ” She broke out air quotes for that one.

“Still right. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Follow me.” Bea led her into the office, where she sat at Peyton's desk and opened the browser window she'd prepared just before dragging her sister down the stairs. “See?”

“I see a website with a photo of our naked baby fountain.” Peyton peered over her shoulder. “And . . . is that a real price? Like, a no-kidding price?”

“Yes.” With morbid pleasure, she zoomed in on the going price for the ugly-ass fountain. “That's what it is currently selling for online. Shipping and handling not included.”

“Holy shit. Mama didn't just buy horrible stuff, she broke our bank buying it!” Peyton's fists balled up on the desk next to the mouse pad.

“Before you need your blood pressure medication—”

“I don't have blood pressure meds.”

“You might want to consider those. Anyway,” Bea said with another click, bringing up the next window. “Recognize that painting?”

“From the dining room. Yeah.” Peyton's hands slowly uncurled and flattened on the scarred wood top. “I assume you're showing me all this for a reason?”

“In my off time, when I haven't been working or, well, you know . . .” She waved a hand.

“Playing naughty vet?” Peyton asked with a snicker.

“First off, ew. And second, don't be childish. You're supposed to be more mature than me.” She brought up a few more browser tabs to show the other items she'd priced online. “As you can see, this stuff sells for a decent price secondhand. These are all secondhand prices, except for a few. I don't know what Mama paid for it new, but the fact is, we can earn back a decent amount of cash by selling it now.”

“So?” Peyton leaned against the desk. “Why?”

“We're cash-strapped.” When Peyton stared at her, she added, “Back taxes? I thought, you knew . . .” She shrugged. “You didn't say how much we were in the hole, but I thought at least this might help plug the dam a little while we keep building the business up.”

Her sister stared at her for a while. Long enough that Bea fought the urge to pinch her. Old habits die hard.

“Why?”

Bea rolled her eyes. “I just said—”

“Back taxes, yes. I heard. But why did you look all this up? What prompted the sudden, out-of-the-blue interest in saving the ranch?”

Breathe in, breathe out.
Murder is a felony. “It might seem sudden to you, but I'm still a member of this family, you know.” And when Peyton opened her mouth, Bea cupped her hand over her sister's lips. “Not now. I don't want to get on to that awful not-so-merry-go-round with you. It's boring. The fact is, this is my family home. I've accepted that, I've embraced that, and I'm doing what I can to step up and be helpful.”

“Shopping.” Her sister's voice was muffled, but calm. Bea took her hand away. “Shopping is what you can do to help?”

Bea grinned. “What else? Go with your strengths, and all that.”

Peyton's eyes darted back to the screen. “Can you handle all this? The web stuff, getting it listed, handling the delivery and whatever?”

“Sure can. And I can even decorate the place again, in a more comfortable, appropriate style, of course.”

“Out of your wages from the clinic?” Peyton asked hopefully.

“Uh, no. But if you give me, say, forty percent of what I bring in with the sales of the ugly-ass decorations—I mean, priceless treasures—I can make this house a place where your clients, and potential clients, will love to stay and relax and do the horse-chat thing for hours while you impress them with your equine skills.”

“Wow. That was . . . quite the pitch. But you can have ten percent. Not forty.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty, and not a penny more. I mean it. I'm checking receipts.” Peyton straightened and held out a hand. Bea looked at it in amusement, but shook.

“I could have done it for ten.”

“But it'll look better with twenty.” Peyton shrugged. “I care . . . enough. You're right. We have to think outside the box to get more people in here and returning. So, that's what we'll do.” Peyton's eyes wandered over the bookshelves behind Bea's shoulder. “You did good, Bea.”