She looked blank for a moment, then Bea’s head snapped back. “Me? What the hell do you think I’m going to add to this mess?”
More mess, was Trace’s guess.
“You have a ton of skills you haven’t tapped into yet,” Peyton said, all warmth now. “We just need to think outside the box and use your own personal brand of… individuality to our mutual benefit.”
Wow, clearly Peyton’s skills in diplomacy had improved in the last year.
“I’m not a rancher.” Bea crossed her arms over her chest. Trace recognized that stance.
“I didn’t ask you to be.” Peyton flattened her hands on the desk and leaned forward.
Yup, he recognized that stance, too. It was from every fight his sisters had as teenagers, all over again. Trace settled back in his chair and prepared to watch the fur fly.
“Then there’s nothing I can do.”
“You could start by getting your ass out of bed before ten in the morning,” Peyton snapped.
Trace watched diplomacy take a flying leap right out the window.
“My ass and its time schedule are none of your concern.”
“They are when you’re sleeping in my house.”
“I have my own apartment now.”
“Which is actually the trainer’s apartment. Which is a part of the ranch.”
Bea smiled smugly. “Which, I’ll remind you, I own a third of!”
Oh, Jesus. The death blow. Peyton’s face flushed and she slammed one fist down on the desk, standing. “You arrogant little—”
“Who are you calling little, you hobbit!”
“Hobbit this!”
“Ladies?” Trace tried once, quickly, to intervene before Peyton jumped over the desk and mauled their baby sister where she sat. She might have been shorter than Bea, but she had more muscle and endurance.
Though Bea did have those nails …
Not his problem.
“This is doing nobody any good,” Trace said. “Can we get back to that whole ‘mutual benefit’ thing? I was interested in that.”
Peyton took a few calming breaths, though they didn’t do much to improve the flush still covering her face. Some of her hair had escaped her braid and curled crazily around her temple, and her jaw looked clenched hard enough to break ice. Bea, for her part, still looked completely unruffled, as if she went through screaming matches like this daily.
“Fine.” Peyton spoke through the clenched jaw. “Beatrice—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Bea,” she corrected with emphasis. “I know you have friends in higher places. People who own land out there in California. Friends who might be interested in horses trained by the best in the business. People who are willing to shell out six figures for a horse.”
Bea stared at her as if she were speaking Greek. “You’re sure I have friends like that?”
Peyton blinked. “I’m hoping.”
“Time to let that hope die, sis. None of my friends ride.”
“But maybe they’ve thought about it. Or they have friends who might. Don’t all movie producers have little ranches just outside the city limits? It’s a cliché for a reason, right?”
Bea scoffed. “In case you didn’t realize this, we lowly soap stars aren’t exactly all that high up the food chain. I was second string, if that. I don’t have a list of movie producers I can just call up to chat with.”
Trace cocked his head to the side. Interesting. This was the first time Bea had mentioned her career in anything but glowing terms. She’d led them all to believe she was only in South Dakota to give herself some distance from the life, and reevaluate her direction for the next acting gig.
“Can you make friends? Use connections? Something?” Peyton’s eyes started to develop a hint of desperation. “Anything?”
Bea shook her head, and for once Trace believed her remorse in telling Peyton no. “I just don’t have the connections you think I do.”
Peyton stared for a moment over their shoulders. He would have turned around to see what she was looking at, but he knew that glazed-over expression. It was the same one he’d had when the woman he’d been sleeping with told him she was pregnant. A look of recalculation, of reconsideration, of rejiggering your entire life to fit around whatever new card you were just dealt.
She nodded once, firmly. “Okay then. Sorry I wasted your time, both of you. I’ll just … figure something else out. I haven’t looked hard enough, I guess. There’s another way.”
Trace didn’t believe her. But there was no point in talking more. She was beaten, and she wanted them to leave the office so she could privately grieve for the failed plan she’d so obviously hung her hopes on.