“Hello, little people.” Bea breezed in on a swirl of fabric. The skirt she wore was an impractical number—as usual—with strands that looked like silk scarves hanging all over it. Her top was gauzy and almost see-through, though she wore a tank top under it, thank God.
Why couldn’t she just dress like a normal person?
“You’re late,” he said flatly.
“I am? Oh.” Zero remorse. She sat down and gave Peyton a hurry up look, as if she were the one who’d been kept waiting, rather than the other way around.
Peyton merely kept typing, holding up one finger for a moment to indicate she’d be done in a second.
“Do you know what this meeting is about?” Bea asked in a loud whisper, leaning over toward him.
“I’m assuming it’s where Peyton kicks you off the ranch.”
Trace expected her to smile and say that was fine with her, she was done with the place anyway. But Bea’s eyes widened for a moment, and he could almost see the wheels turning in her mind as she calculated the possibility of that being a real threat.
Interesting. For a woman who claimed almost daily to miss Hollywood and her soap star friends and the fast life and who couldn’t stop ranting about how much Marshall and the state of South Dakota sucked … she looked rather frightened to be kicked out.
Something to think of later.
Peyton slammed the laptop closed and shoved it back by the desktop. “Sorry, finishing up an e-mail I started waiting for Tardy Pants here.”
“I resent that.”
“Then stop being late,” Peyton said simply. “The meeting is to discuss the business of the ranch. I know neither of you particularly enjoy that topic, but it’s got to be dealt with.”
Bea rolled her eyes and inspected her nails. “As I’ve said before, you may simply cut me a check for the price of my portion.”
“And as I’ve told you, currently that’s going to be squat. You want a check made out to squat?” Peyton smiled. “Plus, I’d like to remind you we have this nifty thing these days called the mail service. It carries letters all over the world. I could easily slip a check into the mail when it’s ready. Nothing is keeping you here.”
Bea simply sighed, her chest heaving with the effort. “I’d hate to think what my leaving would do to this family. The damage it might inflict. Emotional trauma, and all that.”
“Yeah. Heartbroken.” Peyton turned to him, sensing he was the only one bothering to listen. “We’ve made some serious ground since last year, thanks to both you and Red. But that doesn’t even put us back at even. Mama screwed us badly when she ignored the business side of the M-Star.” Her face ticked. “No, actually I wish she had ignored it. That would have been better than her thinking she knew a damn thing about horses and just randomly throwing money all over the place and losing it hand over foot.”
“But we’re heading in the right direction.”
“Nowhere to go but up,” Peyton said cheerfully. But he could see the strain in her eyes.
“Peyton,” Trace said, and her smile slipped. “Just give it to us straight.”
Chapter Six
Bea was silent, but from the corner of his eye, he could see she’d dropped her hand in her lap and was watching rather than inspecting her manicure for chips.
“We’ve still got outstanding bills to pay. People have been generous, and I appreciate it. But that generosity can only go on for so long. People want their money, and I can’t blame them. Plus …” She looked at the large computer monitor.
“Plus?” Bea asked anxiously.
“Back taxes.”
Ouch. Trace winced. Uncle Sam wasn’t known for his generosity on excusing taxes. “Sylvia really was a peach.”
Bea bit her bottom lip, finally looking enough disturbed by the conversation to pay attention. “So now what?”
“We’re on a payment schedule. But between the taxes, which I didn’t see coming, and the catch-up we’re still playing in other areas … it’s tight.” Peyton laid her hands on the desk. “I’ll be honest … we need something more. Something new.”
“Something new? Like what, new horses? A new trainer?” Trace’s mind spun, trying to follow his sister.
She shook her head. “Those are band-aids. We need to branch out a little more. Find a new clientele.”
“Wasn’t that my job, with my old rodeo buddies?” Was he really tanking that badly? Was this his fault?
“You’re doing great. Your friends and their word of mouth … it’s what’s keeping us going right now. Without it, we would have handed our keys over to Uncle Sam months ago. But we need to reach even higher.” Peyton tapped one finger on the desk and stared meaningfully at Bea.