Taking the Reins(46)

She grinned back. “You’ve been here a while now, you know where I get my best material.”

He nodded. “I’ve got some notes, but let’s see you guys run through one more course before we get to it. See if you figure it out on your own first.”

Even from his seat, he could see Peyton roll her eyes. With a click of her tongue and a nudge of one knee, she worked her way back to the beginning, waited while one of the hands changed the obstacles a little.

A car drove up the long dirt path, and he turned to watch while the setup went on. Instead of heading directly to the barn, the nondescript black sedan with heavily tinted windows pulled straight up to the front of the main house and parked. A man in a suit stepped out from the driver side, walking around to open the back door before heading to pop the trunk, revealing a set of luggage.

Someone in for a visit. Peyton hadn’t mentioned needing the time off, so he doubted she even knew. Maybe the visitor was here for Emma. Or Trace.

A blonde with little to her frame stepped out and around, grabbing the smallest of the luggage bags before heading straight for the front door, leaving the driver with the bulk of the load. She was willowy, and from what he could see at a distance, dressed to impress. No working attire on that one. Heels, light colored skirt and a thin button-down, sleeveless shirt. No plans to get dirty.

“Callahan.”

He pivoted, realized Peyton was waiting for him to time her, and that thanks to her angle in the arena, she hadn’t seen the car drive up. Debating a moment whether he should mention it or not, he gave the signal to start and punched the stopwatch.

If Peyton was needed, Emma would page her. No sense in disturbing a perfectly good workout for what might be nothing. Could even be a wrong address.

But when he caught the black car pulling back out—sans passenger—a few minutes later, he knew it wasn’t a wrong address. Whoever had arrived meant to stay, at least for a while.





Chapter Ten


She was so ready for a shower. After a full day of working with some smaller kids on riding lessons, then her own training from the drill master himself, Peyton was sore as hell. Not at all unexpected, since she spent most of her time on a horse. But the moves Red had her trying, the different angles, the new way of directing, it was a workout in and of itself. Who needed gym equipment when you had a seven-hundred-pound animal controlled by nothing but the squeeze of your knee?

Scratch the shower, she needed a soak in the tub. Effective immediately.

Hopping down from Ninja, she patted his neck. “You did good, boy. We’ll keep working on it. You’ve got a buckle in you, I can feel it.”

“You’re not bad yourself.” Red walked over and gave Ninja some attention, passing him a quarter of an apple.

The compliment shouldn’t have meant so much, but instantly her insides warmed and her stomach felt like the whirlpool jets turned on in the tub—all churned up with no place to go. It all seemed so normal, so simple. The little domestic scene of greeting one another after a long day’s work. A mild feeling of complacency eased around them, enveloping them in a bubble nobody else could intrude on. “Thanks.”

“That’s a first.”

“What is?” She peered around the horse’s neck.

“You, taking a compliment so effortlessly.”

And then the bubble popped. “Whatever.” She turned on her boot heel to take Ninja back for his rubdown, surprised when Red fell in step with her. “Need something?”

He tucked his hands in his pockets, the already worn, molded denim becoming tighter across his . . . nowhere she should be looking. “Just heading the same direction you are. Thought I’d walk with you.”

“Oh.” Why did she always feel so awkward around him? What was it about Red that had her fumbling and bumbling all over herself like she did around no other man? She was surrounded by the male half of the species, outnumbered in every direction. She knew how to handle them. They weren’t that complicated.

Red was something entirely different. He was a man, same as the rest. But how she managed herself around him . . . not at all the same. And she didn’t care for it one bit.

Naturally, she concluded, this was his fault.

As they neared the barn, she caught sight of a slender woman standing at the front of the entrance, surrounded by her hands as if she were the storyteller and they were a preschool class of devoted listeners. Her light blond hair was cut into a shag that Peyton knew would annoy the hell out of her. She wore a tight shirt, a khaki-colored skirt, and heels that made her already-tall frame reach skyscraper height. But her back was turned. The woman bent over to hear something Tiny said, her butt popping to one side in an obviously practiced pose.