Peyton Muldoon raised a brow, then rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it is.”
He stared at her, drinking her in. Dark gold-with-chestnut locks flowed out from under a dusty, worn hat; a flannel shirt fit her curves like a dream. And he couldn’t help but envy the denim that hugged every inch of her hips, down her legs. Christ, she was pretty. She’d hate hearing that though. She’d likely kick him in the nuts for it. He figured that pretty was too feminine for her mind, considering how tough she had to be to make it in the man’s world she’d set herself up in.
“What can I do for you, Ms. Muldoon?” His drawl was pronounced, sarcastic, but better she be annoyed than think he was giving her a real once-over.
Her eyes flicked down his body once. Any other woman, he would have been sure he’d gotten a once-over in return. But with Peyton, he doubted it.
“Wanna put some pants on, cowboy?”
Shit. He glanced down, realizing he was in boxers alone. He let the door go and grabbed the first pair of jeans he could find draped over a chair. He hopped on one leg, then the other, doing his best to hustle in. Which only meant that he had to slow down when his foot got caught and caused him to stumble.
A snort sounded behind him, and he took a deep breath. Acting like an idiot wasn’t going to make things better. After buckling his belt, he felt more in control. He grabbed a shirt and tossed it on, doing up buttons as he turned to the door, only to find it closed.
“Over here.”
He spun and found Peyton sitting at the small table in the corner, boots propped up like she was at home. “Come on in.”
“No problem.” She waved him over, as if he were the guest. Balls. She had brass ones. “We need to talk.”
He finished the last button as he plopped into the opposite chair. “Before five in the morning?”
“Work starts early on the ranch.” She narrowed her eyes at him. Red felt suspiciously like she was taking a mental picture. “You look like shit.”
That . . . was not what he expected. “Uh, thank you.”
She grinned. “I like it.”
He was definitely not awake enough for this conversation. Ignoring her, he got back up and walked to the bathroom counter to turn on the complimentary coffeemaker and start brewing a pot.
“You owe me.”
No more ignoring. “I owe you? What the hell for?” Had she lost her mind?
With her arms crossed over her stomach, her breasts were pushed up for display. Not that he was looking. He wasn’t looking.
“I heard you talking to Pete Daugherty. I’ve heard there were others. Unfair, since you’ve never worked for my operation or with any of our animals. You have no clue what we’ve got to offer.”
“I know what you don’t have to offer. And I know what your current plan is to grow the ranch, and that it’s not right. The intentions are there, but the plan isn’t effective.”
“You don’t know the first thing about what’s right for my place.” She stood up, eyes blazing, fists pounding on the fake wood table. “You don’t have the right to warn Daugherty off. Or anyone.”
“Daugherty doesn’t pay his bills,” he said quietly. Like horses, humans responded faster to quiet authority than shouting and theatrics. And as he guessed, some of the anger seeped out of her stance. “The others, and there weren’t as many as you make it sound, were not reputable. Working with them would have shown you were desperate. I wouldn’t have suggested them to anyone. Especially not someone whose reputation can’t afford another kick in the teeth.”
“I didn’t know that.” She sat back down, a little deflated.
Red poured two cups of coffee, bringing over a few packets of sweetener. He set them down, and Peyton took the mug gratefully and started drinking it black. Just like he figured. He dumped in sugar and gave it time to dissolve. “So remind me why I owe you again?”
She rolled out of the chair and walked over to the bed. Watching her move was something to see. Graceful as a colt, she moved with confidence and strength. But still, somehow, despite her tough exterior, she managed to have a little flirty kick to her hips when she stepped.
She’d hate hearing that as much as she’d hate being called pretty.
Picking up one file, she examined the ranch name on the outside. He debated telling her it was private, but no use in bothering. She’d snarl and tell him to bug off, then just go on doing whatever she wanted anyway. They’d known each other for years—the horse world was a small one, people-wise, not geographically—though they’d spent more time in each others’ presence in the past week than they had in a long time.