Bucking the Rules(63)
Red tipped his head in agreement. “Sure thing. You head on up there—Emma’ll let you in. Tell her to grab a plate of cookies. They’re an experience not to be missed.”
“I’ll take him!” Bea called and once more hooked her arm through his. “I always love a handsome cowboy escort. I can never bring myself to say no.”
The two men watched in silence as Bea Muldoon, self-proclaimed shallow actress and airhead, led Flint, a hardened horseman with a keen business sense. It was much like watching a skipping child with a balloon and a lollipop lead a docile bull by the ring in his nose.
Once they were out of earshot, Red turned to him, grinning madly. “Brilliant. She was brilliant.”
“Yeah, she pulled that one off, that’s for sure. You know, I don’t think I gave her enough credit for her talent.” Trace dragged one heel through the dirt. “So who’s gonna be the one to tell Peyton how this all went down?”
The men stared at each other for a moment, then in unison muttered, “Bea.”
Chapter Fifteen
“You what?” Peyton’s yell thundered inside the small office. Trace wondered that he didn’t see some of the picture frames rattle. “You let our sister do the talking? On one of the most important business deals we’ve seen yet? Her?”
“Jesus, Peyton,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s right here.”
Bea sat in the club chair opposite the desk, ignoring them both and filing her nails. One leg was crossed over the other, bare foot lazily dangling. She’d changed the moment Flint drove off into a regular tank and khaki shorts that were—to his eternal gratitude—about three inches longer than her ripped cut-offs, but remained barefoot.
“She knows nothing about horses. She can’t even name all the freaking tack. She won’t step foot in the barn. And she thinks dogs are accessories. But you let her have the reins with Flint. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking—”
“He was thinking,” Bea interrupted, not looking up from her fingers, “that you were about to lose the deal. No amount of fancy horsemanship by Trace was going to save the day. No superior knowledge or reputation from Red was going to push him over the edge of signing on the dotted line. I’d been listening in before I ran out there.” She glanced up momentarily to look at him. “Am I wrong?”
“She’s not wrong,” he told Peyton, and Bea resumed filing. “The guy heard some heavy shit from Three Trees. He was ready to walk. Bea added a nice little imaginary incentive for him.”
Peyton dug her thumbs into her eyes and pushed hard. “Do I even want to know what it was?”
“I merely mentioned that a gentleman with a name that reminded me of birds stopped by last week to look and chat, and he might be back soon.”
Peyton stared at Bea for a moment, then looked to Trace for help.
“Partridge.”
Peyton’s mouth dropped. “But he wasn’t here. Last week we had Bullock and Robins stop by, but—”
“Robins!” Bea said, holding a hand in the air. “That’s it. That’s the bird-sounding name.” She grinned maliciously. “Whoops. My bad.”
Ignoring their sister, Peyton asked him, “Did she ever come right out and say Partridge was here?”
Trace ran back through the conversation, then shook his head. “No. She mentioned the bird thing, and Flint came up with it on his own. She even told him she wasn’t sure and not to hold her to it.”
“Just said the man I was thinking of said he’d come back next week.”
“Robins is scheduled in on Thursday,” Peyton murmured, watching Bea closely. “How did you know that?”
Bea sighed, then stretched her long legs and stood. “I hear more around this place than anyone else thinks. And I pay attention more than anyone else thinks. You don’t give me enough credit.”
The words were said simply, but their implication bit hard. Both Trace and Peyton glanced away, chastened.
“Anyway, I need to take off. Any other questions?” When neither spoke, she shrugged and headed for the door. “I’m taking Milton over to see the vet.”
“Morgan?” Peyton asked, arching a brow. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I think he has allergies, poor thing.” Bea glanced out the window. “Is it supposed to get windy? Do you think he needs a sweater?”
Peyton, who’d just started to look at Bea in a new light, deflated. “No. Your dog doesn’t need a sweater. Go.”
“Toodles!” Bea waved and sauntered out the door, closing it behind her.