“Favorite vet, huh? You know, it’s not great to mix business with pleasure.” Oh hell, this was absolutely not the route he wanted to take this conversation down.
If looks could murder, he’d be a cold son of a bitch on a slab. But while her eyes attempted to kill him from five feet away, her mouth curved in a sardonic smile. “Why thank you, good sir, for your kindly business recommendation. Why, we little ladies just don’t know what we’re doing out here in the big wild west.”
“Can it, Muldoon.” He reached out before he could talk himself out of it and snagged her elbow, pulling until she followed along behind.
“Slow down, cowboy, my legs aren’t exactly as long as yours,” she said on a pant. “Where the hell are you taking me? A cave? You’re supposed to club me before you drag me there, you know.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” he muttered, not expecting an answer.
Which was his mistake, because naturally she couldn’t resist. “Talking is my favorite thing to do, just behind annoying conceited cowboys. Now where the hell are you . . . no. I’m not going up to your apartment. Tell me what’s wrong with it, and I can send one of the guys to fix it.”
He walked around under the stairs, where they were completely cut off from the rest of the ranch. He waited until she stepped back and tugged on her shirt to straighten it, taking more time than necessary to fuss with the thing. “I need to know why you were in my rooms.”
“Huh?” An owlish look passed over her face. “When?”
“Today. Sometime this afternoon, I guess. Why? What were you looking for?”
She blinked once, twice. “Nothing.”
“You found nothing?”
“No, I mean I wasn’t looking for anything. Because I wasn’t in your apartment. I didn’t go up there. I never go in there. I don’t have time to snoop. In case you missed it, I’m always around here doing work. Not to mention, it’s rude.”
“Damn right it is,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Sure, she could be lying, but he really didn’t think she had it in her to lie convincingly. Which was a good thing for him. But if she hadn’t been in his place, then who the hell had?
Sensing his confusion, she pounced. “You want to falsely accuse me of something else while you’re at it?”
“Who else has access to the keys?”
“Nobody. They’re on my key ring, and it’s always with me. I guess if Arby came to me saying something needed fixing, I’d trust him with them. But he hasn’t.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry you think someone was in there, but it’s just not the case.”
“What about the old trainer? Nylen?”
“He turned in his keys when he left. Threw them at me, actually,” she ended with a mutter, rubbing at her arm as if that’s where the metal had struck her.
Red fought back his temper, both at his privacy being violated, and the new, burning anger from thinking about Nylen hurting Peyton. He wanted to kick something for sounding like an idiot. Could it really be so simple as him looking for something to attack over, and finding it? “I’ll apologize then, for accusing you.”
She nodded. “Next time, maybe you could just wait a little bit first, think it through and make sure the hill you’re standing on is worth dying for.” She smiled a bit, looked over his shoulder into the distance. “Wow, my dad always used to say that, and it just slipped out completely by accident.”
The transformation from tough-minded boss to soft, thoughtful woman punched him in the gut. It was clear the memory of her father superseded any anger she might have felt toward him. She looked almost worthy of a painting, with the fading light hitting her messy braids and framing her face like a halo. He stepped forward, not even aware of what he was doing until he crowded her space. She glanced up and looked startled, backing up until she bumped into the side of the garage.
“Guess I need a lesson of my own in trust, huh?” he asked. Was that his own voice? Lower than normal, a little husky around the edges like he’d had too much whisky and was feeling fine.
“Guess so,” she answered, looking a little less like a cornered deer and more like a woman making an important decision. The sort of decision he hoped ended with Yes, take me home.
Would she yield if he pressed against her? Open up, make room for his body in the shelter of her own? Or would she push, fight back, act like there was nothing going on and she wanted no part of it?
He’d be crazy to find out.
Just call him Crazy Callahan.
He was advancing too fast for her to think clearly. Her brain knew a quick sidestep and a shuffle to the right would have her away as fast as she wanted.