Bucking the Rules(2)

Not to mention, though Trace appreciated the help with his young son, he’d like to gain a little more independence. Stand on his own two feet, without worrying he was overstaying his welcome.

“Switch him up.” Red pointed and circled his hand in a signal for Steve.

“Say,” Trace started, warming up to the idea now circling his head like the colt in the warm-up ring. “You’re spending most nights at the big house now, aren’t you?”

Red’s eyes never left the horse’s legs. “Yeah.”

“And I saw a few of your boxes migrate up to Peyton’s room.” What used to be their parents’ master bedroom, though they’d almost never used it together. “I guess that’s pretty settled now, isn’t it?”

“Hmm. I think he’s done for the day, Steve. Let’s switch him out for his neighbor, see what she’s got to show us this morning.” He turned to Trace. “Back up a few steps. What’s settled?”

“You living with Peyton.”

Red’s mouth thinned a little. “Look, I understand you’re protective, but you know I’m not playing her. So if you’re going to get all butt-hurt over me moving in, then you can just—”

“I want your place.”

Red stopped and his eyes widened. “My place?”

Trace nodded to the large garage, over which the trainer’s apartment sat. “Yeah. You’re not using it, so it’s just sitting there. Someone might as well, right?”

The corner of Red’s mouth twitched. “But where will I sleep when Peyton’s mad at me?”

“The couch, like all good husbands.” He chuckled as his friend’s face whitened a little. “Calm down. It’s just an expression. If you need some alone time, you can take Seth’s room. Without a crib in there, I think a futon would fit nicely.”

“It’s only a one-bedroom place,” Red reminded him.

“We can make do. Two guys don’t need much room. Plus, one of us can’t even walk yet, so it’s not like he’s gonna take up that much space. I’ll find a nook for his crib and put one of those ugly silk screens Ma used to spread all over the house in front so he’s got a little mini-bedroom. Done deal.” The idea grew in his mind, and he could already taste freedom.

As much freedom as a single father with a not-quite-one-year-old son could have.

Red shrugged and smiled a little. “Well, it was a nice dream, but you’re too late.”

“Too late? What, did you rent it out to someone?” The thought had him laughing. They were in the middle of nowhere, with Marshall—the small town they used as a home base—over ten miles away. And nobody was going to rent an apartment out here.

“Rent, not quite. But your sister got to it before you did.”

Bea? His sweet little sister Bea—Bea had swiped his apartment from him? Well, not quite his … yet.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Guess you’ll have to suck it up and hang around the big house a little longer.”

“I’ll live.”

They watched in silence as Steve brought out another horse and started the slow warmup.

“There’s good news about this though,” Red said after a stretch.

“What’s that?”

“With Bea and all her clothes gone—that’s like clearing up room for three.”





Josephine unlocked the door to her bar and walked in with a satisfied sigh. Sure, the place smelled the way you might expect a bar to smell like the morning after a weekend. But it was her bar. And she knew tomorrow she’d be doing the exact same thing. And she loved it.

Two feet in, her feet hit a sticky spot. She made a mental note to have her afternoon staff go over the floors again with a mop, and get on the night crew to do a better job cleaning up. Though even with one sticky spot, the place was a vast improvement over what she’d walked into when she’d bought the place.

She surveyed the room, looking for anything out of place. Missing chairs, broken tabletops, knocked over wall decor … you never knew. The place had been transformed from a rough honky-tonk that appealed to cowboys alone to a more civilized—though still fun—bar where both men and women felt at home. Her goal had been to make a haven for both genders, and to appeal to both the cowboys and the non-ranchers. A delicate balance, but one she thought she’d managed to find. Rather than the dark, oppressive, barely-lit cavern it had been, she’d brought in funky light fixtures and painted the paneling a cream tone. She’d updated from a crappy-ass juke box to a real sound system, though she kept the juke in the corner for the sake of nostalgia. And even though she still played country, she kept it to country from this decade, with some good oldies tossed in for variety. And she’d updated the drink menu to include more choices than bottle or draft, and the kitchen menu to more than pretzels or peanuts.