Taking the Reins
Kat Murray
Chapter One
Peyton Muldoon hefted the bag of dog food over her shoulder. God, there were times her pride was a big-ass burden. A fifty-pound burden, by the feel of the feed in her arms. Would it really have killed her to ask Tiny to make the run to the store for the forgotten food and supplements?
But she’d been the one to forget, so it was her responsibility to make the second trip. Just like everything else. Responsibility. Her middle freaking name. Too bad it wasn’t a family name everyone shared.
She let the bag plop into the oversized shopping cart and navigated it with some effort to the next aisle, then looked up to the highest shelves for the supplements she needed to mix in for her pregnant mares. As she debated her purchase, she heard voices on the other side of the aisle discussing the latest cutting dog. She ignored the voices at first; then her ears rang with the clear twang of one man in particular, as he said her own ranch’s name. How could she help but freeze to listen?
It wasn’t eavesdropping when people were talking loudly in public, right?
“Red, I need you to be straight with me now. I’ve been shufflin’ back and forth about it, and I’m out of time. Is Muldoon the right place to go for stud and training or not?”
There was a silence, so long she wondered if Redford Callahan had walked away. But then he spoke.
“Pete, I don’t know what to tell you. I think it could be a first-rate operation. But right now . . .” His voice drifted off, and Peyton could imagine that stupid cowboy lifting his hands with a What can I say? shrug.
“I’ll just read between the lines then,” Pete said easily. “Thanks for that. How’s the Three Trees colt turning out?”
As the men moved into easier conversation about horse training and then something about pie, Peyton fumed. That rat bastard. She’d known of Red for several years. Everyone knew of him. His training skills had become a valuable commodity in the tristate area. They’d met more than once at events, shows, auctions. And she’d always thought his smugness, his arrogance, was highly inflated. But it took balls to shoot down someone’s business like that.
How dare he insinuate that she didn’t have what it takes? Okay, he hadn’t said it outright. But he’d all but implied it with his silence.
And everyone listened to Red. Anyone who wanted to be right, that is.
Peyton hooked her boot heels on the lowest shelf and stretched high for a small bucket of supplements just out of reach. Damn it, she just wanted to pay for her purchase and leave. Midday, nobody from the feed store was going to be around to help her reach, and she’d rather be stampeded than walk around the aisle and ask for either man’s help. She hated being short. In boot heels, five-foot-three didn’t mean much. But she’d get the darn supplements by herself. She scooted the cart over and used the bottom rung for her second boot, giving her the extra few inches she needed. Her fingers grasped the edge of the container and she stepped back down as silently as possible, placing it in her cart.
“I’ll pass along what you said about the Muldoons, Red. Thanks again for the warning.”
No! She bit back the urge to scream, to run between the aisles and stall him, convince him she wasn’t just some idiot on a lark, that she knew what she was doing with her ranch, her business. But verbally attacking the man in the middle of the store wasn’t going to win her any points in the sanity column.
Peyton swiveled her head to look between the aisles of food, desperately wanting to see if Red and Pete were alone. Please, God, at least let them be the only two over there having this conversation. M-Star couldn’t afford any more bumps in the road right now.
From what she could tell, they were blessedly alone. Thank you, God.
But now she was stuck. Peyton stared at a supplement label at eye level, unseeing, wondering how she should handle this. Walk toward the register and hope they didn’t notice her? Or go greet the two men and act as if she hadn’t heard a word?
Or confront the rat bastards and call them out . . .
Though the last idea had merits—most of them personal—causing a scene of any size wouldn’t do a damn thing to help the ranch.
She traced the lid of one bottle, giving herself another few breaths before going with her gut.
“Earth to Peyton Muldoon,” a wry voice said from behind.
Her body froze, air caught in her throat. Nothing could be worse than being caught off guard by that one man. While she’d been debating how to make her getaway, he’d wandered over into her aisle. Her body jerked and she turned her head to look at the momentary bane of her existence.
Red Callahan. Horse-trainer extraordinaire. And right now, first-class pain in the ass. She opened her mouth to give him the chewing out of a lifetime, but the moment was ruined when she knocked another bottle off the shelf and fumbled to catch them on the way down.