Read Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) Online

Authors: Kat Murray

Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (12 page)

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
7.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“So where is Emma?”
The woman in question appeared on the stairs, Seth tucked in the crook of one arm. “Peyton, there’s a big pile of luggage piled up outside the guest room. The fancy, matching kind. I don’t know who you got staying with you but I’m not providing room service.”
“It’s just me, Emma.”
Emma looked at her right, the older woman’s eyes widening when she recognized Bea. “Oh my Lord. I thought you’d never come.”
Bea laughed and held out her arms. “Of course I came. I couldn’t—wait. What’s that?”
Peyton followed her line of sight until she came back to Seth. “Uh, it’s a baby.”
“Yes, but where’d it come from?”
Peyton snickered. “See, when a man and a woman really love each other—”
“Shush.” Their sister glanced between the two of them. “Whose is he?”
“He’d be mine.” Trace stepped over and gently took his son from Emma so the housekeeper could give Bea a hug. “His name is Seth.”
After Emma was done squeezing the breath from Bea, he held out the cooing baby, his intent to pass the child to Bea obvious. “Seth, meet your Auntie Bea.”
Bea looked struck with horror and took a step back. Probably didn’t want any spit or drool on her designer duds. Peyton shook her head. “Look, if this is turning into a family reunion for real, I have stuff to get done. I’ll be back tonight, later.” With a hard look at Bea, she added, “Try not to get into any trouble or disturb the workers again.”
As she started to close the front door behind her, she heard Bea ask, “What’s up her butt?”
Peyton slammed the door a little harder than necessary, for the second time that day, and bit her tongue. There would be enough time for chitchat when the work was finished.
Now she just had to find the motivation to keep on working.
 
Peyton managed to make it to the arena before her hands started shaking. The whole gang, back together. It was exactly what she’d been calling Bea for, right? All but harassing her to come back and take responsibility for the ranch. Do her part. Be a member of the family instead of pretending her life before the age of eighteen didn’t exist.
Peyton glanced around the arena, glad she was alone for the moment.
Bea was back. Bea, who looked so much like their mother, who shared so many of the characteristics that made Sylvia a complete mystery to Peyton. Suddenly, she was ten years old again, desperate for her mother’s approval. Knowing it wouldn’t happen, but not quite ready to accept the fact that her mother was never going to appreciate her, love her, care about her the way she was. That Sylvia’s own little Bea-Bea was the apple of her eye, the perfect princess she’d always wanted, who never got her dresses dirty and never tore the ribbons out of her hair and always kept her Sunday shoes shiny.
Peyton wasn’t that girl. Couldn’t be that girl if she tried. And the childish resentment toward her mother started bubbling back up, for no reason she could even begin to understand. Sylvia Muldoon had been a selfish woman who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She hadn’t wanted children, she’d wanted live baby dolls that she could parade around and have people coo over. Someone like Bea, who was happy to be fussed over and paraded around.
What had Daddy ever seen in her? Why had he stayed, even after it was obvious she had as much maternal instinct as an animal who eats its own young?
But all kids were born wanting their mother’s love, she supposed. Peyton found a dark corner of the arena, tucked away from the bright afternoon light shining in, and settled down between two stacks of orange traffic cones, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Who knew her own sister would bring back so many awful memories? Not that it should matter so much. Hell no. She was an adult, and her self-worth wasn’t tied to any one single person’s existence. It was just a shock, to see her baby sister all grown up and looking more like her mother than she or Trace ever had. And more than that. The way she moved, the way she tilted her head, how her hands fluttered around as she spoke. It was all Sylvia, whether on purpose or unconsciously done.
Peyton could only pray her sister wasn’t half as useless as their mother had been around the ranch. Or as destructive. With a third of the say in ranch operations, she could do more damage than Peyton wanted to admit.
“This is an interesting place to find your boss.”
Red’s dryly amused voice only made her want to sink farther into the shadows. “I’m doing inventory,” she lied, even though they both knew she wasn’t. If he was any kind of gentleman, he’d accept it and walk away without questioning.
Naturally, he didn’t. “I think we have enough orange cones.” Shifting until he slid around a barrel, he sat on top of it, boot heels clicking against the wood. “Wanna try again?”
“Not really,” she retorted, then sighed. Clearly he was aware there was an issue. If he wouldn’t leave until he got it out of her, then she’d give him something. “It’s just weird. I haven’t seen Bea since she was eighteen. The day after high school graduation, she took off. Shock to see the kid all grown up.”
“That’s all?”
She nodded, feeling her throat tighten.
Not now, for the love of Christ. Please not now. Not in front of him.
Red didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat with her, as if silently offering her a shoulder to lean on, without actually having to do the leaning. It was almost nice for a bit.
And then he spoke. “She’s nothing like you.”
“Yeah. Tall, leggy, blond, beautiful. Who can even believe we’re related?” she snapped. Why was it men could never get past a pair of walking tits to see there was more to a woman?
“She’s tall, yeah. Blond, that’s a fact. Beautiful, I guess. If you like that sort of delicate, fragile look. Like she might crack if you look at her the wrong way.”
Men usually did. Made them feel stronger by comparison. More manly.
“Me, never had much use for it.” He scratched his chin, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair. The strands stuck up every which way and made her smile a little. “It might be nice to look at from a distance. But someone like that, you’d always have to worry about. Me? I prefer something a little more substantial.”
She raised a brow.
He shrugged. “Maybe that didn’t come out right. But I’ve just always thought a woman who can saddle a horse faster than me and doesn’t mind spending a few nights out in a tent without running water was more my type. The kind that doesn’t act like a little hard work will break her in two. And for the love of God, who wears heels to the barn?” He gave her a knowing smile. “Besides, I’ve always been more partial to brunettes.”
Her heart did a slow flip, and she rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest before realizing what she was doing and snatching it away. She stood, coming nose to nose with him. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
He thought about it for a minute. “Probably shouldn’t.”
Shouldn’t. But that didn’t answer the question. “Is that supposed to mean something?” she asked again.
He looked at her then, full on, those gray eyes looking more silver in the dark, and he answered, his voice a husky whisper. “Yeah. It is.”
The stress of the last hour, the last month, the last year, crashed down on her, and for one moment, all she wanted was simple. Something to take her mind away, where she wasn’t the boss, wasn’t in charge, wasn’t holding the world together with a ball of cheap twine and prayer. And so she did the stupid thing she never should have done, and kissed him.
If she thought he would let her get away with a simple brush of lips, he disabused her of that idea in two seconds flat. His arms came around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other on her butt, pulling her close. The heat of his thighs on the outside of hers had her gasping in shock. But that was just the opening he needed to gain entrance with his tongue, tracing along hers, exploring, delving. Tasting.
Oh, God. She was actually being tasted, like a gourmet cupcake by a sugar addict. And any thoughts of breaking it off, of calling it a mistake and turning away, were lost in the simple fact that it wasn’t a mistake. Not for her. Not right this moment. It was what she needed. Wanted. Craved.
As his lips cruised down her jaw, all her nerve endings stood up and started a line dance. She jerked as the tip of his tongue traced over her pulse, knocking his hat to the ground. The hand on her butt started to knead, the one behind her head slipping down and around to cup her breast. And she almost stopped breathing. The gentle, tender way he touched her made her knees weak. He might say he wanted someone sturdy, but he treated her like glass. And it made her want to cry with the realization she’d wanted to be treated the same way. At least for a minute.
Voices on the other side of the way, just outside the barn reminded her they weren’t in a dark bedroom, lying on a feather-filled mattress with all the time in the world to explore. No, they were seconds away from getting caught by a couple of her men, blowing all her hard work.
“Dammit.” Red pulled back before she had a chance to make a decision. Regret creased his brows and he smoothed one thumb down her cheek before his hand fell to his side. “Now is definitely not the time for this.”
“No,” she breathed, then cleared her throat. “It’s not.”
Red’s voice dropped to a low, gravelly tone she hadn’t heard from him before. Something she could recognize as lust. “What I’ve got in mind where you’re concerned requires a soft bed and an entire night. I’m not settling for a wooden barrel and five stolen minutes in some dark corner.”
That snapped her back to reality. “No,” she said again. The word came out in a short burst of breath. She used the moment to push off, out of reach.
“What—”
“No.” Pleased by the force it came out with the second time, she blinked until her own eyes were clear of any lingering lust-haze. “Can’t.”
“I said that already. Right now isn’t the time for—”
“Not now, not ever. We can’t.”
Red’s eyes narrowed. “You’re too honest for that. Call it what it is, Peyton. Won’t.”
“You’re right.” She nodded and bent to pick up his hat, making sure their fingers didn’t touch as she handed it over. “But it comes out to the same thing. We can’t do this again. We won’t,” she corrected before he could jump down her throat.
Calmer now, he brushed his hat off and settled it on his head. Then the corner of his mouth ticked up. “So you say, boss.” With that confusing parting shot, he left her in the darkness.
Literally and figuratively.
Chapter Eleven
“T
race.” Peyton stuck her head in Seth’s room to find her brother finishing up with Seth’s morning dress routine. “I think it’s time.”
He nodded and gave Seth an absent pat on the bottom. “You’re right. It’s just gonna piss her off anyway. Might as well let her cool down while we’re out of the state. Let me run him down to Emma and I’ll be back up.”
Peyton waited impatiently in the family room while he took his son to the housekeeper, who Peyton could guess was already in the kitchen. She should be in there, too, grabbing breakfast on her way to get some work done. But thanks to her sister’s skill at avoiding confrontation—a trick she’d honed as a child and clearly had only perfected during their years apart—Peyton realized drastic action was required.
“Okay.” Trace hit the top step and nodded. “You go in first.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the girl. If she’s sleeping naked or something, I don’t wanna walk in on that.” Trace pushed her at Bea’s bedroom door until she had no choice but to open it and walk through, or be slammed into the wood. She chose the first.
“Bea?” Glancing around the door, she blinked into the pitch black room. The sun had just started its slow creep up the sky, but at least some light should have shown through the big windows by this time.
Then she noticed the blanket her sister must have draped over the curtain rod, blocking out every inch of the window blinds and effectively turning her room into a cave. No wonder the woman could sleep until noon. Rolling her eyes, Peyton strode into the room and yanked the blanket down.
The room didn’t flood with light, which would have been more satisfying. But the noise and small light that did seep in was enough to wake Bea.
“What the . . . hey!” Bea sat up in bed, and Peyton was grateful to see she wore a nightgown. “Put that back! I’m still on Cali time.”
“That excuse would have worked a week ago. Now? You’re on Lazy time. We need to talk.”
Bea huffed and pulled her blankets around her like a queen gathering her skirts before sitting on the royal throne. “Your reasons for doing this at six in the morning are what?”
“To make sure we could actually catch you,” Trace’s voice came from through the door. “Peyton, is she decent?”
Peyton eyed her sister, who only eyed her back just as suspiciously. “I can’t say if she’s decent or not, but she’s covered.”
“Good enough.” Trace entered and closed the door behind him, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Morning, sis.”
Bea rolled her eyes. “That’s cute over a bowl of cereal at the table. Not so much now.”
“Focus, Beatrice.” Peyton shook her head. “We need to know your plans.”
Bea blinked owlishly, the expression only exaggerated by her short, white-blond hair spiked around her head like the downy fuzz of a baby bird. “My plan was to sleep past the ass-crack of dawn, but you shot that one to hell. Thanks, by the way.”
“Plans for here,” she said through gritted teeth. “How long are you staying?”
“Not that we don’t want you here,” Trace shot in, patting what Peyton assumed was Bea’s foot under the covers.
Bea stared at Peyton. “You want me here?”
Not one to lie when it could be avoided, Peyton kept her mouth shut.
“Right. Well, my plans are . . . tenuous,” Bea decided. “I mean, I can’t stay here forever. Clearly, this isn’t where my work is. And my work is important.”
“You play a prostitute on a soap opera.”
“A rehabilitated prostitute,” Bea said with a sniff, ignoring Peyton’s snicker. “And just because you don’t watch the show doesn’t mean it’s not important to other people.”
A little guilt crept in. It wasn’t her idea of real work, but it also wasn’t her place to judge. “Sorry.”
Bea’s shoulders lost a little of their rigidness. “I’m negotiating my contract, and my lack of physical presence is a bargaining chip.” She smiled coolly. “I want them to feel what it would be like to make the show go on without me. But you know, they keep begging me to come back. I’m having to fend off their relentless calls to return.” To emphasize her point, she nudged her cell phone an inch on the nightstand with one finger.
“So you’re here for, what? The foreseeable future?” Peyton held her breath.
“Oh, that sounds so final. I wouldn’t say that. Just that I’m enjoying a little time spent with my siblings. And when the timing is right, I’ll go back and work out the contract.”
Perfect segue. “Speaking of contracts, we need to go over more stuff about the will and the ranch.”
“Absolutely. And as soon as I have a few more minutes, we can do that. But for now . . .” In one quick, fluid movement, Bea slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood, her nightgown settling around mid-thigh. Trace cursed under his breath and turned to face the wall.
“Jesus, Bea. Couldn’t you sleep in pants like normal people?”
Bea fingered the sleeve. “There is nothing wrong with my sleepwear, except that there’s nobody in this place to see it.”
“That’s my cue to leave.” Trace stood and hustled out the door like his Wranglers were on fire, closing it firmly behind him.
Bea laughed softly. “That was easy.”
Peyton sighed. “Soon. I know you don’t give a damn about the ranch, but soon we need to talk about things.”
“Great!” Bea beamed at her. “I have a few fantastic ideas for improvements in this place.”
Oh God. Peyton headed for the door. “Over my dead body.”
As she closed the door behind her, she heard Bea sing, “It could be arranged, sis!”
 
The early morning conversation with Bea had accomplished nothing but a headache. As Peyton grabbed a breakfast muffin from the kitchen, she did her best to find something that might remove the headache.
Instead, her mind turned to her trainer. Fail.
Eight weeks since she’d hired the man. Two major make out sessions. This did not bode well for her ability to keep a professional distance between her and Redford Callahan. Her track record thus far was deplorable.
And the fact that she was smiling, even after she knew it was going to end up a total disaster, was only proof that she should have her head examined. So instead, she focused on finding Arby. She checked in the stables first, then his office, where he was busy making notes in an ancient spiral notebook. Propping a shoulder against the doorjamb, she watched his aged hands patiently scrawl over the paper. When he spoke, his voice calmed something inside her.
“Need something? Or you just gonna stare at me and avoid working?”
She smiled. “You know me, lazy as ever. I came to talk about how things will run while we’re gone.” We being her, Trace, and Red as they headed out to a rodeo the next state over. “The hands know to come to you before following any of Bea’s orders. God knows what she might come up with while we’re gone just to piss me off.”
“Oh, you couldn’t begin to imagine,” Bea drawled behind her.
Whipping around, the tail of Peyton’s hair caught Bea in the face. Her sister took a step back and swatted at her. “Watch that thing, it’s lethal. Not to mention completely unstylish.” A thoughtful look crossed her younger sister’s face. “You should let me cut it for you.”
“Touch my hair and die.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “I thought you were staying in bed all day.”
“Someone was rude and woke me up before I was ready. I couldn’t get back to sleep.” Bea stared down at the floor where her flats—at least that much was sensible—rested on a pile of dust and remnants of hay. “Is it always this dirty in here?”
“Just don’t think to give anyone serious orders while we’re gone. We’ll be back in a week. I can only imagine what kind of trouble you could come up with in that time, but I’m asking you to keep it simple.”
Bea shuddered. “Like I’d be caught dead in the barn anyway.”
Peyton looked up and around, brows raised, silently asking
And where the hell do you think you are?
“Well, not if I can help it,” she added quickly. “Trace asked me to come get you. The trailers are hitched and everyone’s ready to roll. Just waiting for you.” With that, she spun on her heel, which was at least not a killer five-incher destined to get stuck in a floorboard, and headed back toward the house.
“The princess has spoken,” Peyton said to Arby with a wink, then waved and turned to follow Bea to the yard where the rigs sat. Trace and Red stood, twin pillars between the two engines, hip-shot and impatient. Her brother tossed a set of keys at her, which she caught in her palm.
“You get silver.”
“Dammit!” She stared at the much older truck, silver where the dirt didn’t cover, the one that protested going a mile over seventy. They never used it for the horses, only things like luggage. And usually not at all if they could help it. But with the other available truck in the shop, they had no real choice. “Trade me.”
“No way.” Trace patted his own truck’s hood and walked to the driver’s side door. “My rig, my ass in the driver’s seat.”
“Ugh.” She watched Red, wondering what his plan was. Ride with her? She could guess he would choose to ride with her, if only just to annoy her to death. His favorite hobby. He watched her back, thoughtful eyes never leaving her. Then he grinned.
“I’m with Trace.”
He opened the door through the window and hopped in, a smug smile planted firmly on his lips.
So she’d called that one wrong, apparently. With a sigh, she unlocked the door and hopped in, coughing at the dust that stirred the air.
It was going to be a long-ass haul to Wyoming.
 
The sound of the crowd, of the side vendors hocking their trinkets, the horses snorting, cattle braying their displeasure. The smell of leather and dirt, sweat and hay.
God, it was ambrosia. Red settled back in the stands, elbows on the metal seat behind him, and watched another cowboy saddle up. Though neither Peyton nor Trace were in this event, his eyes evaluated every move the cowboy and his horse made. Looking for the weaknesses, the sore spots, the one thing every cowboy had that needed adjustment. It was all pure habit, couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to.
The aluminum bleachers clinked as boot heels approached his area, and the structure shifted ever so slightly when a body landed on the seat close to him. Red reluctantly tore his eyes from the arena to see who his guest was.
And then wished he’d kept his eyes forward.
Sam Nylen leered at him from under a dirty, sweat-stained hat. “How are things at the M-Loser Ranch?”
“Piss off.” Red faced forward again, shifting his body so his shoulder was blocking Nylen. Any idiot could take the hint that he wasn’t in the mood to chat.
Unfortunately, Nylen was a special brand of stupid.
“Couldn’t figure out at first why someone of your . . . quality”—he spat the word out like it was a bad joke—“would bother with those losers. Nothing ever good came out of that ranch but a few good bounces on a mattress. And even that’s missing now, with Sylvia gone.”
Red gritted his teeth, willing himself to not react. Not give the jackass what he wanted.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Nylen scratch his chin with a dusty hand. “I figure there must be some other incentive. I know the pay’s not great. The head hand is older than dirt and a jackass to deal with. And the quarters aren’t the nicest by a mile. So the way I see it, you must like the management.”
“The Muldoons are good people,” Red allowed, mostly because he was becoming aware that others were leaning in closer, listening, hanging on every word. He didn’t recognize anyone, but that didn’t mean the strangers didn’t recognize him. Red wouldn’t give them the chance to walk away and say he didn’t defend his employer.
Nylen grinned, as if that was exactly what he’d hoped for. “I don’t know much ’bout that boy, the cowboy. He weren’t around when I was there. And there’s a younger one that I’ve never met. But she looked pretty in pictures.”
Red watched the arena shift as the first cowboy took his leave, preparing for another rider.
“But that Peyton, she sure was a spitfire.”
Do. Not. Engage.
“More horse sense than the rest of the family combined, far as I could tell.”
Red nodded agreeably. “She’s a good boss.”
Nylen chuckled. “I’m guessing that’s cause she’s got a fine pair of tits.”
Red’s hands balled—the only thing keeping him from swinging was the scene it would cause.
Nylen seemed to realize he had Red by the short hairs. He couldn’t react without causing a scene, which wouldn’t do anyone at M-Star any good. “I’d let her boss me around anytime. In bed, anyway.”
Red stood slowly, brushing a little dust from the knee of his jeans before straightening slowly. Others were watching. Others would take this conversation away and chew on the gossip for a week. And it would only hurt Peyton if he didn’t play it right.
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
7.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Perfect Stranger by Kerri M. Patterson
Imperfect Bastard by Pamela Ann
The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
Her First by Mckenzie, Diamond
Ghost Horses by Gloria Skurzynski
Alien Velocity by Robert Appleton
By the Book by Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch