Taking the Reins(18)

“Then it wasn’t worth much,” she finished for him. She knew. Though competing wasn’t where she’d set her sights, she was more than aware of the rodeo. Its pull on a young man. The competition. The fame. The glory. The girls.

“So maybe I call up a few friends, tell them I’m settling down to work on the stud ranch. Mention a few horses that have potential. Drop some lines here, pull a few interested strings there. Work the phone lines. Maybe even take one of our horses to shows somewhere nearby for a weekend and show what we’ve got.”

“And with Trace Muldoon on an M-Star horse, that gives us the advertising.” Yes. She was seeing it now.

A low whimper sounded nearby, quickly hushed by Emma. She glanced at the office door that led to the main floor living area. “And while you’re gone, what are we going to do with Seth?”

Trace’s face morphed into a mask even she couldn’t read. “I’ll figure it out. I’m not here for free babysitting, Peyton.”

“I know that. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant either.” She instantly regretted bringing it up. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Curiosity burned in her. “Are you going to tell us about his mom?”

“No.” Just one word, sharply bitten off.

She ignored the not-so-subtle warning. “Is she around somewhere? Should we expect her to pop by for—”

“She’s not coming. Let it go.” With that, he stood up and left her alone in the office.

That went well. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the handset, dialing the phone in the stables. When one of her day guys picked up, she asked him to find Red, who was likely still out in the training ring.

As she hung up the phone, she let her forehead thump down on the desk. Might as well ask Emma to bake her a nice heaping plate of crow for lunch.





Red strolled into the main house, not sure which way to turn. The place was bigger than he was used to; most ranches that he worked on only had a business office on the property. But from what he could gather from the men, this was also where the family lived. He stood on the entry mat and took in the first floor.

A set of double staircases were situated directly in front of him, one curving off in each direction. Upstairs, he’d no doubt find the actual family living areas and bedrooms. A quick step to the left showed him the rest of the main floor. The place was a showroom, clean as a whistle, and almost startling in its sterile, museum-style. Not the sort of place where a guy could prop his feet up at the end of the day. Nothing about it appeared to say “A family lives and loves here.”

He took another step forward and nearly jumped out of his boots when something squeaked. Looking down, he saw some sort of blue plush stuffed animal under the arch of his boot. He bent down and scooped it up. Definitely not a dog toy. No teeth marks, no ripped stitches or slobber. A little worn in places, but more likely from the constant loving of little hands than some animal gnawing on it.

Peyton had a kid? How did he not know that? Was she involved with someone? Had the father left her and the child behind? Unexplained anger had his hands balling into fists until the toy squeaked in protest. He took another two steps before a tiny woman, barely five feet if he had to guess, bustled out of what appeared to be the kitchen.

“Don’t you dare take another step without removing your boots, young man.”

On the other side of sixty, at least, she barreled at him, using one hand to untie the apron wrapped around her waist, and holding what looked like a cucumber in the other. She waved the vegetable in his direction. “I just mopped this floor and I will not have mud on it. You hear me?”

Frail his ass. She was about to whoop him good. He smiled at the thought. “Yes, ma’am.” Contritely, he toed off his boots and pushed them to the side where a mat extended along the baseboard; a whole host of other boots were lined up there already.

“You just remember that rule from now on. I won’t have . . . oh.” Her face softened and she reached one hand out. “You found Danny.”

“I found who?” When she gently took the stuffed dragon from his hand, he realized she meant the toy and chuckled. “Scared the dickens out of me when I stepped on him. Not too bad, for a guard dragon.”

She tucked the toy in the crook of her arm. “Thank the Lord. I’ve been looking everywhere for this thing. He’s been so fussy, and I know he wants his Danny.”

“Who’s he belong to?” he asked, though it was obvious she was talking about a child. He wanted more info. A name. A hint of who the child belonged to.

She stroked the dragon’s tail for a moment, then snapped back to her former militant posture. “I expect she’ll be waiting. I won’t keep you.”