“I know.” Red stroked a hand down Lad’s neck, calming his excitement a little. “It’s just too important to Peyton for me to not care. Everyone expects me to up and leave soon. But Peyton can’t just take off. This isn’t just a business you three own together. It’s her home. Always will be. You’re transient, Bea’s here for who knows how long before she goes back to California.”
Trace snorted. “She said she would only be here a week. It’s been months.”
Red smiled. “Yeah, well, as I’m coming to learn … that’s Bea. But the fact is, this matters too much to Peyton. She’s so used to going it alone. After you left—”
“I’m not talking about that.” Trace had enough guilt about having left home as soon after high school graduation as physically possible, leaving Peyton and Bea to handle their mother alone. But it hadn’t been possible for him to stay. He just wasn’t able to.
“Fine. Less talking, more working. I like it that way.” Red gave a final pat to Lad’s flank and motioned. “Let’s run him around the ring a few times, then we’ll get back into it for the obstacle course.”
This time, as the horse circled the ring, Trace blocked all thoughts from his mind but becoming one with his animal and walking away from a great workout.
Trace was walking down the stairs, still rubbing at his damp hair with a towel, when he bumped into Bea.
“Hey, you. Coming out to admire my new place?” She grabbed his bicep and tugged, fluttering her lashes. “I’ve got a few more boxes if you want to help me carry them out while we walk.”
He knew her brand of “help.” He’d carry all of them while she walked beside him as an accessory. No thanks. “Nope. I’m going out.”
“Out?” She pouted a little, then scrunched up her nose. “Again? You just went out a few days ago.”
He had, and the reminder was eating at him a little. But still … “Yes, again. How often do you go out back in California?”
She waved that off. “Beside the point. In Hollywood, there are actually things to do when you go out. What are you up to tonight, cow tipping?”
“Exactly. Care to join?”
The look on his sister’s face was comical, at best. “No. Absolutely not. That is beyond disgusting, Trace Muldoon.”
“Good thing I’m not actually going cow tipping. You’re too easy, city girl.” He kissed her cheek and left her standing on the bottom step.
“So where are you going?”
“Probably just hit a bar a little later,” he hedged, heading to the kitchen for a bottle of water.
“Dressed like that?” Bea shrieked behind him. Her heels clicked a staccato across the tile as she raced to catch up with him, making him wince at the sound. It reminded him too much of their mother. “Absolutely not, I forbid it.”
He glanced down at his outfit: a clean button-down flannel shirt, a clean—if a little worn—pair of jeans, and his nicer pair of boots. The ones that weren’t constantly covered in grime and shit. “What’s wrong with this? I’m clean. I showered ten minutes ago, and none of this stuff was sitting on my bedroom floor or in the dirty hamper.”
“Well, isn’t that encouraging.” Bea gave him a pitying look. “I don’t have enough time to tell you what’s wrong with the look. I mean, it’s cute and all for the barn, but—”
“Listen up, Fashion Fanny. This isn’t Hollywood, in case you didn’t notice. I’m heading out for a drink. I’m not trying to land a modeling gig.”
Bea crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “Listen up, big brother. In case you didn’t notice, your social life sucks. And I’m just trying to help.”
God preserve him from sisters who wanted to improve his social life. “Yours is any better?” he shot back. He walked to the utility room beside the kitchen, opened the door and tossed the towel into the hamper situated there. Emma would thank him later for remembering and not leaving it on the floor like an animal. She’d raised him better. “You’re always here. Or, well, not here, but now you’re always in your little apartment looking at paint chips. You almost never go out. You leave once a month to do God knows what in whatever big city you head to.”
“Shop for things that don’t have snaps and denim,” she said dryly.
“Fine. That. But it’s not a social life, any more than me hanging out in the barn is a social life. So don’t kid yourself. I’m not sure what crawled up your butt and decided it was Bug Trace Day, but it’s not. Check your calendar. It’s officially MYOB month.”