Taking the Reins(26)
“Still not going to mention his mother?”
“Nope.”
It’d become a daily question and answer session, and neither was angry when the other spoke their part. She figured eventually, he’d give up the goods. When he was good and ready.
He shifted a little, his voice dropping to a lower pitch. “I think I’m going to take Ninja with me to a smaller rodeo next weekend, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few guys who are coming through. Not many, it’s small stakes. But I figure it’d be a good trial for me to figure out how to sell the biz without scaring people away. Plus,” he added, rubbing a thumb over his son’s downy, nearly bald head, “it’s close by, so I’ll only be gone overnight, I hope.”
“Why not Lonestar? He’s got better coloring, might catch more eyes. Plus, for roping, he stands at attention quicker.”
“I’ve had more time with Ninja,” he countered.
“Good point.”
“Can you keep Seth? It’s not fair for me to ask Emma to give up her weekend, and—”
“Say no more, brother.” She watched as the child’s eyes closed, and his mouth went slack. As if the mere sound of his father’s voice and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling was enough to lull him to sleep. “I’ve got plenty of time for my favorite nephew.”
“Thanks.” They both watched as Seth’s arm, normally ungainly and uncoordinated, slowly drifted up with precision and his thumb landed in his mouth. “I didn’t think I’d enjoy being a dad this much,” he whispered. “This wasn’t the plan at all.”
“Yeah.” She leaned forward and traced one finger down the baby’s back, rubbing circles over the onesie he wore. “Just wait until he’s two.”
Trace snorted softly. “Thanks.”
“I’m your sister. It’s my job.”
Chapter Six
Peyton stumbled down the stairs at an ungodly early hour. No matter how many years she’d been doing it, or how many years she had to go, early mornings were not her thing. She dragged her heels through the kitchen, popping an English muffin in the toaster and regretting she didn’t have time for one of Emma’s full-course breakfasts.
The woman in question wandered in a moment later as she was slathering butter and jam over the bottom muffin, slapping the top over that and grabbing a paper towel to wrap it up in.
“That’s not breakfast.”
“It is when you’re on the run.” Peyton saluted her with the sandwich. “Where’s the munchkin?”
“Still asleep.” Emma motioned to the baby monitor clipped to her belt.
“If you’ve got that, where’s Trace?”
“Your brother was up an hour ago. Said he wanted to get Red’s opinion on the horse he’s taking with him next weekend.”
“Ah.” She nodded and headed for the door to slip her boots on, the housekeeper hot on her heels.
“You gonna do anything about that man?”
She glanced back at Emma, one boot half on. “Which one? There’s about a dozen of them roaming around here at any given time.”
Emma’s face said she wasn’t a stupid woman. “Don’t give me that. Redford Callahan. That boy’s a looker, sure as I’m standing here. Why, if I were thirty years younger, I’d—”
Peyton shoved the sandwich in her mouth and plugged her ears with her fingers, shaking her head violently and moaning around the muffin.
She watched as Emma laughed and turned back to the kitchen. With a final shudder, Peyton walked out the door and shut it quietly. Normally she’d let it slam behind her, but Seth had gotten her in the habit of taking care with doors. Pointing her boots in the direction of the training arena, she took a moment to take in a calming breath. Yes, mornings weren’t her favorite. And yes, she’d still rather be snuggled in bed under her quilt, dreaming whatever she’d had on her mind before she woke with a smile on her lips and no clue what had put it there. But there was something to be said for the peace that came when the rest of the world wasn’t quite awake yet.
She just wished she didn’t have to be awake herself to experience it.
Nearing the barn, she heard the unmistakable sounds of Red calling out commands. She entered, waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkened interior after stepping out of the sun, and narrowed her eyes on Trace working to control a three-year-old paint named Lad—the horse she’d been working with recently, in hopes of using him in some cutting competitions.
Trace pulled the horse up to a full stop, both rider and animal’s breath turning into steam in the cool morning air.