Taking the Reins(47)

Peyton scoffed. Who couldn’t see through that rehearsed deal? But as she surveyed the rest of the men, she noticed more than one hand’s eyes focused in on that particular area. A few were all but drooling, they were so invested in taking the woman’s stock.

One of the barn dogs trotted over, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. But when he sniffed the back of her knee, the woman shooed him away, then rubbed her fingers together like they had something sticky on them.

Peyton walked to Arby, who stood a few yards away from the crowd.

“Trouble brewing.” Arby spat on the dirt just outside the barn and reached up to rub Ninja between the ears.

“Who is it?”

“Told ya. Trouble.”

Which was oh so very helpful. She gave Red a look. “For you? One of those women from the other night come to find you?” The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Could she sound any more like a jealous girlfriend? She was neither jealous, nor his girlfriend.

Not that the reminder eased the churning bubbles in her gut.

“Hell no.” Red’s voice was insulted, but his eyes were giving the stranger a thorough once-over. “But you know, from this angle it almost looks . . .”

The woman turned slightly, caught sight of them, and then fully faced them.

Peyton sucked in a breath. Bea.

She hadn’t even recognized her own baby sister.

“Peyton!” Rushing over in her heels, as though she routinely ran marathons in them, Bea leaned down and gave her a hug. The moment her sister’s arms wrapped around her, Peyton could smell the expensive perfume, feel the smooth slide of silk from her shirt, hear the easy way she laughed.

Pulling back, her sister watched Peyton through eyes so much like her own. That was the kicker. Peyton and Trace shared the same coloring and face shape, to the point that the family joked they could have been twins. But Beatrice had never looked quite the same. Where they were dark haired, she was a tow-headed blonde. Where Peyton was on the short side with an athletic build that suited her chosen profession well, Beatrice was a willowy five-foot-ten, and had no problem wearing heels to pass the six-foot mark. Where Peyton always considered herself average looking, Bea had movie-star looks, and knew how to use them.

Peyton tried to reply, but all the things she wanted to say, all the years of hurt, of anger, of absolute rage at the past stuck in her throat, surrounded by a layer of tears she’d be damned if she shed in the stable where anyone could see. So she nearly choked as she swallowed them all down.

Red, for once, stepped up to the plate and made her life easier. “Redford Callahan, trainer. How do you do, ma’am?”

“Oh well, lookie here.” Bea’s smile changed easily from friendly to predatory, placing one manicured hand in his and shaking lightly. “Beatrice Muldoon. But you can call me Bea.”

To his credit, Red didn’t look all that impressed by her sister. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the hands in the vicinity, who were hanging on her every word, every movement. Peyton scolded them with a quiet look, and most took the hint, bumping into each other on their way to go look busy.

“Welcome home, then. You’ll be pleased to see what your sister’s been up to these past few months. She’s been working hard, turning this place around.”

Bea looked around the stables and sniffed a little. “I suppose nothing much can be done about the smell, naturally. But what do I know?” She smiled again easily, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. “I’m more of what you might call an . . . well, an indoor girl myself.”

Peyton finally found her voice. “Nice accent,” she said dryly. Rather, the lack of. When Beatrice had left the state, her accent had been just as thick as Peyton’s. Now, it was nonexistent.

Bea raised a brow. “Not all of us have to sound like cowgirls. It’s not a requirement.” With a sigh, she stepped around them, giving Ninja an extra-wide berth. “I suppose I should go up to the house and unpack.” She put a hand on one hip and posed, glancing around at the few workers still in the vicinity. “Would any of you men mind helping me carry some bags? I’ve got so much—”

Before she could finish, Steve and another young hand were both off and running toward the house.

“That was sweet of them.” Bea wiggled her fingers and walked back toward the house. “We’ll catch up later, Peyton!”

Peyton took a chance and glanced up at Red. He—like every other male—was watching her sister walk away. But his face seemed more studious than slobbery. Like he was trying to figure out a thousand piece puzzle and wasn’t sure he had all the pieces in front of him yet. That gave her just a little bit of hope for the male species in general. . . and Redford specifically.