“Of course she’s happy to see you.” Trace pulled her back, held her at arm’s length. “I swear, you’re as tall as me. Were you this tall when I left?”
Bea bent her knee and popped one foot to the side, displaying her shoe. “Heels help. But no, I was still growing when you left.” She took an ineffective, girly swipe at his arm. “Which you shouldn’t have done. I missed you.”
“Missed you, too, Bea-Bea.” He hugged her again, then stepped away. “Has Emma seen you yet?”
“Not yet. I can’t believe she’s still working here! I thought she’d have retired by now.” Bea turned a slow circle, her eyes taking in the furniture and other decor. “Looks like you picked new paintings. There were more portraits of famous dead people when I was here last.”
“Sylvia picked the paintings. I never had a say in it.” Which was another reminder that when Peyton had time—and the money—she’d need to go through and redo the first floor of the house. Then she almost snorted. When she had time. Like, never.
“So where is Emma?”
The woman in question appeared on the stairs, Seth tucked in the crook of one arm. “Peyton, there’s a big pile of luggage piled up outside the guest room. The fancy, matching kind. I don’t know who you got staying with you but I’m not providing room service.”
“It’s just me, Emma.”
Emma looked at her right, the older woman’s eyes widening when she recognized Bea. “Oh my Lord. I thought you’d never come.”
Bea laughed and held out her arms. “Of course I came. I couldn’t—wait. What’s that?”
Peyton followed her line of sight until she came back to Seth. “Uh, it’s a baby.”
“Yes, but where’d it come from?”
Peyton snickered. “See, when a man and a woman really love each other—”
“Shush.” Their sister glanced between the two of them. “Whose is he?”
“He’d be mine.” Trace stepped over and gently took his son from Emma so the housekeeper could give Bea a hug. “His name is Seth.”
After Emma was done squeezing the breath from Bea, he held out the cooing baby, his intent to pass the child to Bea obvious. “Seth, meet your Auntie Bea.”
Bea looked struck with horror and took a step back. Probably didn’t want any spit or drool on her designer duds. Peyton shook her head. “Look, if this is turning into a family reunion for real, I have stuff to get done. I’ll be back tonight, later.” With a hard look at Bea, she added, “Try not to get into any trouble or disturb the workers again.”
As she started to close the front door behind her, she heard Bea ask, “What’s up her butt?”
Peyton slammed the door a little harder than necessary, for the second time that day, and bit her tongue. There would be enough time for chitchat when the work was finished.
Now she just had to find the motivation to keep on working.
Peyton managed to make it to the arena before her hands started shaking. The whole gang, back together. It was exactly what she’d been calling Bea for, right? All but harassing her to come back and take responsibility for the ranch. Do her part. Be a member of the family instead of pretending her life before the age of eighteen didn’t exist.
Peyton glanced around the arena, glad she was alone for the moment.
Bea was back. Bea, who looked so much like their mother, who shared so many of the characteristics that made Sylvia a complete mystery to Peyton. Suddenly, she was ten years old again, desperate for her mother’s approval. Knowing it wouldn’t happen, but not quite ready to accept the fact that her mother was never going to appreciate her, love her, care about her the way she was. That Sylvia’s own little Bea-Bea was the apple of her eye, the perfect princess she’d always wanted, who never got her dresses dirty and never tore the ribbons out of her hair and always kept her Sunday shoes shiny.
Peyton wasn’t that girl. Couldn’t be that girl if she tried. And the childish resentment toward her mother started bubbling back up, for no reason she could even begin to understand. Sylvia Muldoon had been a selfish woman who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She hadn’t wanted children, she’d wanted live baby dolls that she could parade around and have people coo over. Someone like Bea, who was happy to be fussed over and paraded around.
What had Daddy ever seen in her? Why had he stayed, even after it was obvious she had as much maternal instinct as an animal who eats its own young?
But all kids were born wanting their mother’s love, she supposed. Peyton found a dark corner of the arena, tucked away from the bright afternoon light shining in, and settled down between two stacks of orange traffic cones, wrapping her arms around her knees.