“My boss?” She lifted a brow.
Trace narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Jo. The boss? Manager? Owner. Whatever you want to call him.”
The woman’s face split into a wide grin. “I call him nonexistent. I’m Jo.” With that, she turned and walked back to her post behind the bar.
“Well, that explains why she acts like she owns the place,” Trace mused. “Huh.”
“I’m guessing that’s a strike out for you,” Red added.
“You think my sister’s damn near perfect?” Trace shot back.
“Tell her I said that, and I’ll kill you.”
Peyton opened her eyes at the sound of a car pulling up the drive and rolled to her back. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but that was where she’d ended up. And it wasn’t because she was waiting to hear how Trace’s evening with Red had gone. Nope. Not at all. Not in any way, shape, or—
Oh for the love of God, of course she was waiting up. Not that she was going to admit that to her brother. Wild horses couldn’t drag it out of her.
The familiar sounds from their teen years, when Trace was starting to go out and do his own thing and Peyton was still stuck at home, came back to her. The sound of his pickup’s engine cutting off. The truck door closing, squeaking a little because the thing was rusted. Kitchen door opening and closing softly, his boots hitting the ground so he could pad silently across the first floor to the stairs and not wake Emma. The seventh stair creaking, which he always forgot about and never skipped as he snuck in.
Though she couldn’t see him, she knew when he hit the second floor landing. “Hey.”
His face appeared over the top of the couch, arms crossed over the cushions. With a loopy smile, he said, “Hey yourself. What’s going on, slumber party?”
She sat up, knocking at his hat with a swipe of her hand. “No, it’s easier to hear Seth from out here than my room. Yours is close enough to hear him but mine’s not.”
“Uh huh.” Nobody could see through her bull faster than Trace. Dammit. He walked to the coffee table and picked up the white baby monitor receiver, held it to his ear, shook it a little. “Seems like it’s working just fine to me. Does this not fit through your door?”
“Whatever. I fell asleep out here. It’s not a big deal.” She had fallen asleep, sort of. So that much wasn’t a lie. “How was your night?”
He set the receiver down and stuck his hands in his back pockets, waiting.
“Anything interesting go on?”
His jaw ticked, but he said nothing.
“Any hot girls?”
“Jesus, Peyton.” He made a face. “Okay. A, I wouldn’t tell you if there were, because you’re my sister and you don’t need to hear about my love life. And B . . .” He smiled, that secret smile he’d always worn as a teenager when he came home from dates. “There might be something I’m working on.”
“Something?” she asked with a laugh. “Or someone?”
“Refer back to A.” He sat down on the couch beside her, his weight depressing the cushions and making her rock toward him. She slid back toward her own end of the sofa, stretching her legs out along the length. “How was Seth?” he asked.
“Woke up once, around midnight. Took his bottle like a champ and passed right back out.”
“Good.” Trace stared off into the dark of the room. “Thanks for watching him. I don’t want to rely on you and Emma more than I need to, but I just needed a night away.”
“It was fine. Easy, even. He’s not that difficult . . . at least, at this age. Is it hard?”
“What?”
“Being a dad. Without someone else, I mean.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what doing it with someone would feel like. But it’s terrifying. And not at all what I expected, though I didn’t expect anything so that’s a crapshoot in itself. But I’m not giving it up.”
The ferocity of his voice took her by surprise. “Of course you’re not.” Because she sensed he needed it, she changed the subject. “I don’t think Bea’s ever coming.”
“She’ll come. When she’s ready, she’ll come. Bea runs on her own timeline, you know that. Even when we were kids, she was always on her own schedule. That’s just how she’s built.”
“It’s rude,” she said stubbornly.
“It’s Bea,” Trace replied. “And honestly, I’m not sure why you’re so keen to have her around. You know she doesn’t give a crap about the way the ranch is run. She won’t have any ideas to help out. Hell, she’ll probably just sit around doing nothing and annoy the piss out of you, more than she’s doing from a distance.”