Taking the Reins(16)

Red nodded once. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

“You do that.” He leaned away a bit. “What’s your big plan for the ranch?”

Red scratched his chin, then decided there wasn’t any harm in sharing. “She’s going after the wrong clientele.”

“Wrong?” Trace smiled. “Isn’t any client whose check clears the right one?”

Red shook his head. “Selling kid ponies and work horses is fine and all. But if she wants to remake this place’s reputation, she needs fewer customers, but quality ones. She needs to be selling the big guys. She isn’t doing enough of that. Make the most of the breeding program.”

“Well, can’t say I”—Trace’s cell phone beeped in his pocked and he slipped it out. When he opened it, his eyes darted over the screen before narrowing. “Damn it.” He shut the phone with a snap and stuffed it back in his pocket with obvious frustration. Taking off his hat, he ran his fingers through his hair once before slamming it back on his head. “I’m needed at the house. Keep what I said in mind.” With that, he was gone.

Red stood for a moment, absorbing what had just happened. Trace was a good cowboy, no doubt about it. He’d watched the man on TV, seen him in person once. But a good horseman didn’t always make a trainer. And Trace was wise enough to know his limits.

And he knew his sister well. Red believed the advice about Peyton. But he wasn’t really one to give space when he was ready to push. She’d had a good twenty minutes to sulk. Hopefully that was enough time.

Because he was ready for a good long talk with Peyton Muldoon, and this time he was taking the upper hand.





Chapter Four


Peyton slammed her body into the office chair so hard it rocked back. Grabbing the edge of the desk before she tipped over completely, she forced her racing heart to slow down.

Give him another chance, my ass. Damn you, Trace.

Her brother didn’t seem to mind she’d have to choke down her pride to do it. Yes, she was aware Trace was only a temporary solution. He’d go back to the rodeo eventually, no matter what he said. It was in his blood, in his heart. So he wasn’t a permanent fix.

And it wasn’t just pride, she admitted. But fear. Her hand stroked over the desktop, worn and nicked in places. Her father’s desk. God, she missed seeing him behind it, even when he would frown and pull at his hair absently going over the books. Not that he’d done that often. The man knew horses. He didn’t have a head for business at all.

She’d always wanted to run the ranch with him. And now she had to do it for him. And for herself. But did she truly have what it took to get their feet back on the ground? So many people counting on her. Expecting things from her.

In the bedroom above the office, Peyton could hear Emma through the heating grates, singing in a low, gravelly voice, some lullaby to Trace’s son, while she walked the floor. Though it was the child that was supposed to be soothed, Peyton felt her own muscles slacken a little at the comforting sound.

Maybe Trace did intend to set up permanent residence. But that didn’t mean he was the best choice for training.

That, unfortunately for all involved, was Redford Callahan. Just her luck.

To keep the madness going—because it was exactly what she needed—she picked up the office phone, reached into the top drawer where she kept the address book, flipped through and found Bea’s phone number, and dialed. Again. For the seventeenth time.

But who was counting?

After five rings, the damn thing went to voicemail. Again. Peyton was very quickly coming to loathe the sound of that beep that signaled, once again, she’d failed to reach her irresponsible sister. She’d already left several simple, concise messages explaining the reason Bea needed to call back. This time? She wasn’t in the mood for simple or concise.

“Beatrice Muldoon. For the love of all that’s holy, get your TV starlet ass out of bed and call me back. I’m not kidding around. This is important business. Business. You know, that thing I’m busy running while you’re getting your makeup done every day? Call. Me.”

She hung up the phone hard enough to rattle the whole intercom system. With a few deep breaths, she placed the address book back with delicate care. Nothing would be solved by her losing her shit and flying off the handle.

Good as it felt in the moment.

“That’ll bring her in.”

She jumped in her seat, then scowled at Trace, who was standing in the doorway to her office. “Bite me.”

Instead of taking her suggestion, he slid in and took a seat opposite her on the other side of the desk. “I can’t imagine why she would be ignoring you, what with all your friendly conversational skills at work. In fact, I’m not sure how I held off as long as I did.”