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Authors: Kat Murray

Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (11 page)

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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Oh for the love of God, of course she was waiting up. Not that she was going to admit that to her brother. Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of her.
The familiar sounds from their teen years, when Trace was starting to go out and do his own thing and Peyton was still stuck at home, came back to her. The sound of his pickup’s engine cutting off. The truck door closing, squeaking a little because the thing was rusted. Kitchen door opening and closing softly, his boots hitting the ground so he could pad silently across the first floor to the stairs and not wake Emma. The seventh stair creaking, which he always forgot about and never skipped as he snuck in.
Though she couldn’t see him, she knew when he hit the second floor landing. “Hey.”
His face appeared over the top of the couch, arms crossed over the cushions. With a loopy smile, he said, “Hey yourself. What’s going on, slumber party?”
She sat up, knocking at his hat with a swipe of her hand. “No, it’s easier to hear Seth from out here than my room. Yours is close enough to hear him but mine’s not.”
“Uh huh.” Nobody could see through her bull faster than Trace. Dammit. He walked to the coffee table and picked up the white baby monitor receiver, held it to his ear, shook it a little. “Seems like it’s working just fine to me. Does this not fit through your door?”
“Whatever. I fell asleep out here. It’s not a big deal.” She had fallen asleep, sort of. So that much wasn’t a lie. “How was your night?”
He set the receiver down and stuck his hands in his back pockets, waiting.
“Anything interesting go on?”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.
“Any hot girls?”
“Jesus, Peyton.” He made a face. “Okay. A, I wouldn’t tell you if there were, because you’re my sister and you don’t need to hear about my love life. And B . . .” He smiled, that secret smile he’d always worn as a teenager when he came home from dates. “There might be something I’m working on.”
“Something?” she asked with a laugh. “Or someone?”
“Refer back to A.” He sat down on the couch beside her, his weight depressing the cushions and making her rock toward him. She slid back toward her own end of the sofa, stretching her legs out along the length. “How was Seth?” he asked.
“Woke up once, around midnight. Took his bottle like a champ and passed right back out.”
“Good.” Trace stared off into the dark of the room. “Thanks for watching him. I don’t want to rely on you and Emma more than I need to, but I just needed a night away.”
“It was fine. Easy, even. He’s not that difficult . . . at least, at this age. Is it hard?”
“What?”
“Being a dad. Without someone else, I mean.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what doing it with someone would feel like. But it’s terrifying. And not at all what I expected, though I didn’t expect anything so that’s a crapshoot in itself. But I’m not giving it up.”
The ferocity of his voice took her by surprise. “Of course you’re not.” Because she sensed he needed it, she changed the subject. “I don’t think Bea’s ever coming.”
“She’ll come. When she’s ready, she’ll come. Bea runs on her own timeline, you know that. Even when we were kids, she was always on her own schedule. That’s just how she’s built.”
“It’s rude,” she said stubbornly.
“It’s Bea,” Trace replied. “And honestly, I’m not sure why you’re so keen to have her around. You know she doesn’t give a crap about the way the ranch is run. She won’t have any ideas to help out. Hell, she’ll probably just sit around doing nothing and annoy the piss out of you, more than she’s doing from a distance.”
“But at least she’d be here, trying.” Peyton sighed and settled back in the cushions, letting her head droop a little. She really was exhausted. “Maybe you’re right. If she’s not here, she can’t make things difficult as far as decisions. Once she’s here, she’ll probably try to take shit over that she has no business sticking her hands into.”
“Like what?”
“Like painting the barn pink. Or giving all the horses bedazzled halters. Or something else stupid.” Peyton scowled when Trace laughed. “You think it’s funny, but you know it’s true.”
“That does sound like something she’d try when she was younger,” Trace admitted, wiping tears of laughter away. “But she’s older now, probably more mature.”
“One can only hope,” Peyton muttered.
“And you know this isn’t the life she wanted. She ran off at eighteen for a reason. So I don’t think you need to worry about this at all. She’ll come when she’s ready, she’ll stay until she’s bored, then she’ll leave again and not look back. This ranch isn’t in her blood like it’s in yours.”
“And yours.”
He shook his head. “The ranch, no. Riding, yeah. But this place . . . it’s a house for me. I missed you when I was gone, and Emma. And dad, though he was already gone when I left. Even little Bea-Bea. But I didn’t crave the roots this place gives like you did. I didn’t have big dreams, big plans for the land. I can work here. But it’s not mine. It’s yours. Always was.”
She nodded, knowing it was true. “Why’d you leave? Permanently, I mean. I know this place didn’t hold much for you, but you just . . . walked away.” It was one of the great heartbreaks of her childhood, watching the brother she’d idolized since she could remember walk away and not come back.
His face hardened, the moonlight bouncing off the planes of his cheekbones, his furrowed brow. “I had to get away.”
“But if you—”
“I had to. Let’s leave it there for now.” Clapping hands on his knees, he stood, then held out a hand to help her up. “We need some sleep. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow. And I’m sure you do, though that doesn’t really distinguish it from any other day of the week for you.”
“I want to keep the ranch, so I do what’s necessary.” And if she wished she could have a girls’ night out, just once in a while, that was her problem. Making dreams come true didn’t come cheap. Not that she really had that many girlfriends anyway. Or any, come to think of it.
She walked to her own room, smiling to herself when she heard the soft sounds of Trace crooning to his son in the bedroom-turned-nursery. He might act like a hard, tough cowboy. But that man was mush for his son.
And if she wondered, just for a minute, how quickly Red might turn to mush if he had a son of his own, she pushed the thought aside. Because it wasn’t for her to worry about.
She had bigger fish to fry.
 
Red scowled as he watched Peyton and Ninja workout. She was pulling just a little too hard on the reins. Not painfully so, but ineffective. “Legs, Muldoon, use your legs.”
She flipped him the bird as best she could through her leather gloves and adjusted quickly, running Ninja through the course as fast as possible without knocking over any of the obstacles he’d set up. It wasn’t a perfect way to practice cutting, but mixing up the workouts helped keep the horse and rider both sharp. Not to mention that practicing with actual cattle was a pain in the ass.
In a live competition, she’d be working with fresh cattle who hadn’t been trained or around horses. Cutting one out from the herd and keeping the single animal away from the rest for a set amount of time took nimble footwork and quick reaction times. But it wasn’t always practical to practice with the real deal. So footwork drills were used.
When she came to a halt, both she and the gelding were breathing heavily. “How’d we do?”
He liked that. That she asked how they did collectively. So many riders assumed it was their glory alone and ignored that the animal had any part of it. “Not bad, but not great either.”
She rolled her eyes and used one finger to flick her hat back farther on her head. Strands of hair damp with sweat stuck to her forehead, curled down around her ears, frayed out from the double braids she always wore. “That was about as helpful as a tornado siren in the middle of a cyclone.”
He snickered. “You sounded just like Emma.” The housekeeper had a way of creating a phrase that stuck with you for the rest of the day.
She grinned back. “You’ve been here a while now, you know where I get my best material.”
He nodded. “I’ve got some notes, but let’s see you guys run through one more course before we get to it. See if you figure it out on your own first.”
Even from his seat, he could see Peyton roll her eyes. With a click of her tongue and a nudge of one knee, she worked her way back to the beginning, waited while one of the hands changed the obstacles a little.
A car drove up the long dirt path, and he turned to watch while the setup went on. Instead of heading directly to the barn, the nondescript black sedan with heavily tinted windows pulled straight up to the front of the main house and parked. A man in a suit stepped out from the driver side, walking around to open the back door before heading to pop the trunk, revealing a set of luggage.
Someone in for a visit. Peyton hadn’t mentioned needing the time off, so he doubted she even knew. Maybe the visitor was here for Emma. Or Trace.
A blonde with little to her frame stepped out and around, grabbing the smallest of the luggage bags before heading straight for the front door, leaving the driver with the bulk of the load. She was willowy, and from what he could see at a distance, dressed to impress. No working attire on that one. Heels, light colored skirt and a thin button-down, sleeveless shirt. No plans to get dirty.
“Callahan.”
He pivoted, realized Peyton was waiting for him to time her, and that thanks to her angle in the arena, she hadn’t seen the car drive up. Debating a moment whether he should mention it or not, he gave the signal to start and punched the stopwatch.
If Peyton was needed, Emma would page her. No sense in disturbing a perfectly good workout for what might be nothing. Could even be a wrong address.
But when he caught the black car pulling back out—sans passenger—a few minutes later, he knew it wasn’t a wrong address. Whoever had arrived meant to stay, at least for a while.
Chapter Ten
S
he was so ready for a shower. After a full day of working with some smaller kids on riding lessons, then her own training from the drill master himself, Peyton was sore as hell. Not at all unexpected, since she spent most of her time on a horse. But the moves Red had her trying, the different angles, the new way of directing, it was a workout in and of itself. Who needed gym equipment when you had a seven-hundred-pound animal controlled by nothing but the squeeze of your knee?
Scratch the shower, she needed a soak in the tub. Effective immediately.
Hopping down from Ninja, she patted his neck. “You did good, boy. We’ll keep working on it. You’ve got a buckle in you, I can feel it.”
“You’re not bad yourself.” Red walked over and gave Ninja some attention, passing him a quarter of an apple.
The compliment shouldn’t have meant so much, but instantly her insides warmed and her stomach felt like the whirlpool jets turned on in the tub—all churned up with no place to go. It all seemed so normal, so simple. The little domestic scene of greeting one another after a long day’s work. A mild feeling of complacency eased around them, enveloping them in a bubble nobody else could intrude on. “Thanks.”
“That’s a first.”
“What is?” She peered around the horse’s neck.
“You, taking a compliment so effortlessly.”
And then the bubble popped. “Whatever.” She turned on her boot heel to take Ninja back for his rubdown, surprised when Red fell in step with her. “Need something?”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, the already worn, molded denim becoming tighter across his . . . nowhere she should be looking. “Just heading the same direction you are. Thought I’d walk with you.”
“Oh.” Why did she always feel so awkward around him? What was it about Red that had her fumbling and bumbling all over herself like she did around no other man? She was surrounded by the male half of the species, outnumbered in every direction. She knew how to handle them. They weren’t
that
complicated.
Red was something entirely different. He was a man, same as the rest. But how she managed herself around him . . . not at all the same. And she didn’t care for it one bit.
Naturally, she concluded, this was his fault.
As they neared the barn, she caught sight of a slender woman standing at the front of the entrance, surrounded by her hands as if she were the storyteller and they were a preschool class of devoted listeners. Her light blond hair was cut into a shag that Peyton knew would annoy the hell out of her. She wore a tight shirt, a khaki-colored skirt, and heels that made her already-tall frame reach skyscraper height. But her back was turned. The woman bent over to hear something Tiny said, her butt popping to one side in an obviously practiced pose.
Peyton scoffed. Who couldn’t see through that rehearsed deal? But as she surveyed the rest of the men, she noticed more than one hand’s eyes focused in on that particular area. A few were all but drooling, they were so invested in taking the woman’s stock.
One of the barn dogs trotted over, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. But when he sniffed the back of her knee, the woman shooed him away, then rubbed her fingers together like they had something sticky on them.
Peyton walked to Arby, who stood a few yards away from the crowd.
“Trouble brewing.” Arby spat on the dirt just outside the barn and reached up to rub Ninja between the ears.
“Who is it?”
“Told ya. Trouble.”
Which was oh so very helpful. She gave Red a look. “For you? One of those women from the other night come to find you?” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Could she sound any more like a jealous girlfriend? She was neither jealous, nor his girlfriend.
Not that the reminder eased the churning bubbles in her gut.
“Hell no.” Red’s voice was insulted, but his eyes were giving the stranger a thorough once-over. “But you know, from this angle it almost looks . . .”
The woman turned slightly, caught sight of them, and then fully faced them.
Peyton sucked in a breath. Bea.
She hadn’t even recognized her own baby sister.
“Peyton!” Rushing over in her heels, as though she routinely ran marathons in them, Bea leaned down and gave her a hug. The moment her sister’s arms wrapped around her, Peyton could smell the expensive perfume, feel the smooth slide of silk from her shirt, hear the easy way she laughed.
Pulling back, her sister watched Peyton through eyes so much like her own. That was the kicker. Peyton and Trace shared the same coloring and face shape, to the point that the family joked they could have been twins. But Beatrice had never looked quite the same. Where they were dark haired, she was a tow-headed blonde. Where Peyton was on the short side with an athletic build that suited her chosen profession well, Beatrice was a willowy five-foot-ten, and had no problem wearing heels to pass the six-foot mark. Where Peyton always considered herself average looking, Bea had movie-star looks, and knew how to use them.
Peyton tried to reply, but all the things she wanted to say, all the years of hurt, of anger, of absolute rage at the past stuck in her throat, surrounded by a layer of tears she’d be damned if she shed in the stable where anyone could see. So she nearly choked as she swallowed them all down.
Red, for once, stepped up to the plate and made her life easier. “Redford Callahan, trainer. How do you do, ma’am?”
“Oh well, lookie here.” Bea’s smile changed easily from friendly to predatory, placing one manicured hand in his and shaking lightly. “Beatrice Muldoon. But you can call me Bea.”
To his credit, Red didn’t look all that impressed by her sister. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the hands in the vicinity, who were hanging on her every word, every movement. Peyton scolded them with a quiet look, and most took the hint, bumping into each other on their way to go look busy.
“Welcome home, then. You’ll be pleased to see what your sister’s been up to these past few months. She’s been working hard, turning this place around.”
Bea looked around the stables and sniffed a little. “I suppose nothing much can be done about the smell, naturally. But what do I know?” She smiled again easily, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I’m more of what you might call an . . . well, an indoor girl myself.”
Peyton finally found her voice. “Nice accent,” she said dryly. Rather, the lack of. When Beatrice had left the state, her accent had been just as thick as Peyton’s. Now, it was nonexistent.
Bea raised a brow. “Not all of us have to sound like cowgirls. It’s not a requirement.” With a sigh, she stepped around them, giving Ninja an extra-wide berth. “I suppose I should go up to the house and unpack.” She put a hand on one hip and posed, glancing around at the few workers still in the vicinity. “Would any of you men mind helping me carry some bags? I’ve got so much—”
Before she could finish, Steve and another young hand were both off and running toward the house.
“That was sweet of them.” Bea wiggled her fingers and walked back toward the house. “We’ll catch up later, Peyton!”
Peyton took a chance and glanced up at Red. He—like every other male—was watching her sister walk away. But his face seemed more studious than slobbery. Like he was trying to figure out a thousand piece puzzle and wasn’t sure he had all the pieces in front of him yet. That gave her just a little bit of hope for the male species in general. . . and Redford specifically.
Tiny came to take Ninja’s halter. “Want me to take care of him, Peyton?”
“Huh? Oh.” Normally she did her own dirty work, including taking care of her tack and horse. Her theory was if she played, she paid. But she had something to take care of. “I would really appreciate it this time, Tiny. Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” He led Ninja back to his stall, where the sounds of leather and brass and blankets being removed filtered through.
“Well.” Red leaned back against the outside wall of the barn. “She seems nice.”
“She’s an actress. She could seem like a circus clown if she wanted to.”
Not waiting to hear his response to that, she stormed off toward the house, prepared for a battle.
 
Red stared after Peyton, who looked less like the graceful swan of her sister and more like a pissed-off pigeon stomping toward the house.
Oddly, he found the pigeon to be the more interesting of the two. Never was much of a swan fan.
Arby leaned on the barn with him, his posture a mirror image, shaking his head. “That’s going to be one knock-down-drag-out.”
“I thought you knew her sister.”
“I knew ’er. Haven’t seen her since she was a teenager, though.”
Red made a face. “People don’t change that much. Why didn’t you warn Peyton?” That she was blindsided by her own sister’s visit bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“I did. Said it was Trouble come to visit.” He smiled, a wise, crooked smile. “Always did call the youngest one Trouble.”
Red shook his head. It wouldn’t be worth it to ask more questions. “This will not go well.”
Arby spit off to the side and shrugged. “Long time coming. They’ll have their come to Jesus talk. Get it out of the way.” He gave Red a side glance. “Those two have a lot of issues to work out.”
From even their distance, the front door slam was clear as a bell. “Females are a complex species.”
“That’s why I only deal with the four-legged kind.” He spit again, kicked some dust over it, then grinned. “Might get kicked in the junk, but at least the mares do it without talking your ear off first.”
 
Peyton opened the door, nearly jarring her arm out of her shoulder when the heavy old wood kept swinging while she still held on. Slamming it behind her, she watched the circus that had invaded her home.
“Oh, be just a little gentle with that one, please, sweetheart. It’s got all my makeup. Don’t need any of those bottles breaking.”
Steve nodded emphatically as he carted the bag upstairs with a death grip on the handle.
Bea stood at the bottom of the staircase, waving her hands and looking every inch a helpless southern belle who just couldn’t manage her own life without a big strapping man there to pick up the pieces.
All that was missing was the big bell-shaped dress and the accent Bea had left behind when she moved to California.
“Are you shitting me?”
Bea turned on her skinny heel and appraised Peyton, clearly finding her wanting. “Nice language, sis.”
“Careful, you might lose that sweet veneer you’re showing off.” When Bea’s simple smile slid off her face, Peyton had a moment of satisfaction. “You’ve got my hands in here, lugging your bags upstairs when they have real work to do?”
“They’re heavy. I needed the help.” Bea gave a pretty pout, only prompting Peyton to roll her eyes.
“Give it up. I’m not okay with it, and your little lip trick isn’t designed to affect my gender anyway.”
Bea rolled her eyes right back. “They’re ranch hands, Peyton. They’re giving me a hand. Get it? And anyway, they volunteered.”
“They shouldn’t have,” she answered loudly, directing her voice up the stairs. “They have work to do outside in the stables.” To her sister, she added, “They’re not freaking bellhops. This isn’t the Ritz.”
Bea was saved from coming up with a sassy answer when the front door flew open again and Trace stood in the doorway.
“Bea? Is that you?”
“Trace!” She took two steps before Trace whooped, jogged to reach her, and pulled her into a bear hug.
Over their brother’s shoulder, Bea gave her a smug look. “At least someone is happy to see me.”
“I’d be happier if you didn’t make a freaking spectacle of your arrival.” Peyton shook her head and plopped down on the third step, knowing she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Bea’s
volunteers
thundered down the stairs and by her, mumbling their apologies and taking the side door out to the stables.
“Of course she’s happy to see you.” Trace pulled her back, held her at arm’s length. “I swear, you’re as tall as me. Were you this tall when I left?”
Bea bent her knee and popped one foot to the side, displaying her shoe. “Heels help. But no, I was still growing when you left.” She took an ineffective, girly swipe at his arm. “Which you shouldn’t have done. I missed you.”
“Missed you, too, Bea-Bea.” He hugged her again, then stepped away. “Has Emma seen you yet?”
“Not yet. I can’t believe she’s still working here! I thought she’d have retired by now.” Bea turned a slow circle, her eyes taking in the furniture and other decor. “Looks like you picked new paintings. There were more portraits of famous dead people when I was here last.”
“Sylvia picked the paintings. I never had a say in it.” Which was another reminder that when Peyton had time—and the money—she’d need to go through and redo the first floor of the house. Then she almost snorted.
When she had time.
Like, never.
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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