Hell had to be just like this.
Pete Daugherty rounded the corner and caught sight of her and Red standing together next to her shopping cart. “Peyton. How are ya?”
She studied his face a moment, looking for any sign of guilt or shame at having just talked about her. But nothing showed. Typical. “I’m fine, Mr. Daugherty.”
Red reached for the bottle she’d knocked off the shelf. “I’ll put that back for you.”
Peyton batted his hand away. “I don’t need your brand of help, Red. Nobody does.”
He just chuckled and stuck his hands in the pockets of his well-worn jeans. No flashy denim outfits or studded cowboy boots for him. At least the man didn’t dress as pretentious as he acted. “Suit yourself.”
She settled the bottle back on the shelf and gripped her cart handle, resisting the urge to rub the ache forming just under her breastbone. She’d survive.
Her pride, however . . .
Pete nodded, then glanced between her and Red. With a shrug of his shoulders, he wandered off. Probably to gossip about what a fool Peyton was, and how thankful he’d been to receive the warning from Red before he’d gotten stuck with her.
Red’s hand wrapped around her bicep, and she jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”
The corners of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile. The bastard. But then his eyes narrowed, and the corners crinkled from years of being in the sun. It was kind of nice, really. Showed the difference between a real cowboy and a man trying to fake it with fancy boots.
“Sure you didn’t bust your head with that bottle when you knocked it down?”
What a gentleman. Be still her heart. “No. I mean yes, I’m sure I didn’t bust anything.”
“Except your pride, right?” he asked, tongue in cheek.
She didn’t answer, mostly because he was right. Didn’t need her to confirm it.
He stuck his hands in his pockets again and rocked back on his heels. Another shopper started down the aisle. After a long assessing gaze that traveled down her body and back up again—and left her feeling strangely naked—he inclined his head. “Should probably move on and stop blocking the way so other people can shop.”
“Right. Yeah.” Much as it pained her to take direction from him, she pushed the cart down the aisle, wincing slightly at the rusty shriek of the left front wheel. When she wanted to turn toward the register, the wheel locked up and she almost tumbled over the handle.
Why was it God was intent on her making a fool of herself in front of Callahan today?
But he didn’t say a word, just used the heel of his boot to kick the side of the wheel and get it rolling again.
She could have done that. “I could have done that.”
“I know,” he said mildly. She had the distinct feeling he was trying not to laugh. And she felt like an idiot, again. If the earth could have opened up a hole right there, she would have gladly jumped in it just to escape the amused grin on Red’s face right now.
The one thing she couldn’t afford was to look stupid. Not when she needed people to trust her with their horses, and sometimes their livelihood.
“You can go now.” She edged closer to the register and maneuvered around a display of planters as best she could with the oversized cart. “I’ve got it all under control.” The cart, anyway.
He put a hand on the side of her cart, stopping her progress. “This is where you say thank you.”
“I’m not going to thank someone who might as well have just put me out of business,” she snapped. And immediately wanted to bite her tongue.
“So you were listening in on a private conversation.” There was no censure in his voice, only that damn amusement. Like everything she said was funny to him, whether it was a joke or not. It made her feel small, and she hated him all the more for it.
“It’s not private if you’re talking in the middle of the damn feed store.” Peyton clipped a planter with the cart and sent it spinning, then caught it and settled it back on the stack, pressing on.
Of course, thanks to his long legs, Red caught up with her easily. “I don’t know what all you heard, but that’s not exactly what happened.”
“I heard enough, Callahan. So back off.” She reached the register and started piling things on the counter. Billy Curry, a high school kid who was known to work several jobs to help his folks out, started ringing up the items. He glanced between her and Red several times from lowered lashes.
“Everything okay, Ms. Muldoon?”
Peyton took a deep breath and let it out. “Yes, thank you, Billy.” He didn’t deserve her temper, so she did her best to give him a smile. He flashed one back. “You still looking to pick up extra work over the summer?”