Tiny came to take Ninja’s halter. “Want me to take care of him, Peyton?”
“Huh? Oh.” Normally she did her own dirty work, including taking care of her tack and horse. Her theory was if she played, she paid. But she had something to take care of. “I would really appreciate it this time, Tiny. Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” He led Ninja back to his stall, where the sounds of leather and brass and blankets being removed filtered through.
“Well.” Red leaned back against the outside wall of the barn. “She seems nice.”
“She’s an actress. She could seem like a circus clown if she wanted to.”
Not waiting to hear his response to that, she stormed off toward the house, prepared for a battle.
Red stared after Peyton, who looked less like the graceful swan of her sister and more like a pissed-off pigeon stomping toward the house.
Oddly, he found the pigeon to be the more interesting of the two. Never was much of a swan fan.
Arby leaned on the barn with him, his posture a mirror image, shaking his head. “That’s going to be one knock-down-drag-out.”
“I thought you knew her sister.”
“I knew ’er. Haven’t seen her since she was a teenager, though.”
Red made a face. “People don’t change that much. Why didn’t you warn Peyton?” That she was blindsided by her own sister’s visit bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“I did. Said it was Trouble come to visit.” He smiled, a wise, crooked smile. “Always did call the youngest one Trouble.”
Red shook his head. It wouldn’t be worth it to ask more questions. “This will not go well.”
Arby spit off to the side and shrugged. “Long time coming. They’ll have their come to Jesus talk. Get it out of the way.” He gave Red a side glance. “Those two have a lot of issues to work out.”
From even their distance, the front door slam was clear as a bell. “Females are a complex species.”
“That’s why I only deal with the four-legged kind.” He spit again, kicked some dust over it, then grinned. “Might get kicked in the junk, but at least the mares do it without talking your ear off first.”
Peyton opened the door, nearly jarring her arm out of her shoulder when the heavy old wood kept swinging while she still held on. Slamming it behind her, she watched the circus that had invaded her home.
“Oh, be just a little gentle with that one, please, sweetheart. It’s got all my makeup. Don’t need any of those bottles breaking.”
Steve nodded emphatically as he carted the bag upstairs with a death grip on the handle.
Bea stood at the bottom of the staircase, waving her hands and looking every inch a helpless southern belle who just couldn’t manage her own life without a big strapping man there to pick up the pieces.
All that was missing was the big bell-shaped dress and the accent Bea had left behind when she moved to California.
“Are you shitting me?”
Bea turned on her skinny heel and appraised Peyton, clearly finding her wanting. “Nice language, sis.”
“Careful, you might lose that sweet veneer you’re showing off.” When Bea’s simple smile slid off her face, Peyton had a moment of satisfaction. “You’ve got my hands in here, lugging your bags upstairs when they have real work to do?”
“They’re heavy. I needed the help.” Bea gave a pretty pout, only prompting Peyton to roll her eyes.
“Give it up. I’m not okay with it, and your little lip trick isn’t designed to affect my gender anyway.”
Bea rolled her eyes right back. “They’re ranch hands, Peyton. They’re giving me a hand. Get it? And anyway, they volunteered.”
“They shouldn’t have,” she answered loudly, directing her voice up the stairs. “They have work to do outside in the stables.” To her sister, she added, “They’re not freaking bellhops. This isn’t the Ritz.”
Bea was saved from coming up with a sassy answer when the front door flew open again and Trace stood in the doorway.
“Bea? Is that you?”
“Trace!” She took two steps before Trace whooped, jogged to reach her, and pulled her into a bear hug.
Over their brother’s shoulder, Bea gave her a smug look. “At least someone is happy to see me.”
“I’d be happier if you didn’t make a freaking spectacle of your arrival.” Peyton shook her head and plopped down on the third step, knowing she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Bea’s volunteers thundered down the stairs and by her, mumbling their apologies and taking the side door out to the stables.