Bucking the Rules(74)

The natural wood and warm tones of the floor clashed with the industrial sculptures and sleek artwork his mother had picked out for the space before her death. Sylvia had insisted that spending money so the place looked as if they were already loaded made them more attractive to prospective clients. Since their father had been little more than a doormat where Sylvia was concerned, she’d let loose a decorator and—in Trace’s mind—ruined the natural appeal of the house.

But it hadn’t been his house to say otherwise. Still wasn’t, no matter what anyone said. Peyton didn’t have an eye for stuff like that, or else she likely would have changed it months ago. Not that they really had the money, anyway.

Maybe if they sold some of that artwork …

“The house is awesome. And, just for frame of reference, my first apartment in San Francisco could have fit on your front porch.” She held out a bottle he hadn’t noticed. “This is for you guys. A little nicer vintage than what we normally stock at the bar. Not many wine drinkers in the area, but I thought …”

“I love a good white.” Bea sailed—not walked, sailed—down the stairs and enveloped a confused Jo in a hug. Her runt of a dog followed in her wake and sat a short distance off, looking forlorn. Though Trace thought that might just be depression due to the fact that he was wearing a collar designed to resemble a man’s shirt collar and tie. The dog had no dignity left. And why was he even over here? Bea had her own place now. Why didn’t she use it?

“Thank God you’re here. Save me from the testosterone and horse talk. Remind me of my days in civilization. Bring me some city charm.”

“City charm. An oxymoron if ever I heard one.” Peyton lounged in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. She nodded to their guest. “Hey, Jo.”

“Hey, Peyton.” She smiled and waved, not seeming at all put out by the casual welcome. “Hey, Red.”

“Jo,” Red said, walking up behind Peyton and sliding one arm around her waist. Trace watched as his sister’s face softened just a little, and she leaned back into him. Despite all his initial concerns, he knew they were all but perfect together.

Bea took the wine from her hand. “I’ll just go put this on the table so we can have it with dinner.”

Jo nodded, then looked around a little more. Her eyes caught on something, and he turned to see what had snagged her attention.

Seth’s play gym. He’d done his best to remove reminders of the child from the first floor, to give her some time to breathe and relax. But he’d missed that one. Damn it. He took her arm and steered her toward the dining room.

“Emma’s so glad to have company, she’s probably outdone herself. But she always says that and manages to top herself the next time. She made chicken—you like chicken, right?” He was babbling. Damn it, why did he have to let this build in his mind so much until he all but ruined it with nerves?

Either she sensed his unease or she just naturally knew what he needed. Jo placed a hand on his cheek and leaned in for a slow, sensual kiss. There was heat, but it was a slow burn, not a flash of fire. And it ended too soon as she pulled back and smiled up at him.

“Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

“Yeah. No problem.” Yeah? No problem? Jesus, he was a regular Casanova. “I’m glad you were able to come out. I worried about you the other night, leaving you to deal with that mess.”

“What mess?” Peyton walked in, passing them on the way to the kitchen.

“Just a customer giving us a little trouble.” Jo waved it off and sat in the chair he held out for her.

Red waited for Peyton to return and held out her chair as well. Peyton paused, an amused smile on her lips. “We should have company over more often. I could get used to this kinda treatment.”

He bent down and bussed her lips, using the opportunity to slap her playfully on the ass. “Get in the chair, woman.”

Peyton slid easily into her seat and leaned over to stage-whisper at Jo, “He knows I love it when he plays caveman. If you stick around long enough after dinner, you might get to watch the clubbing before he drags me—”

“Dinner!” Emma called out cheerfully, backing into the dining room carrying a platter.

“Thank you, God,” Trace muttered, and shot his sister a look. One that his sister knew meant Don’t ruin this for me.

She smiled brightly and winked. “Sure you don’t wanna stay, Emma?”

“I’ve got a date tonight with Matlock reruns and that handsome fella upstairs.” She patted the table next to the platter. “Enjoy!”