Who knew her own sister would bring back so many awful memories? Not that it should matter so much. Hell no. She was an adult, and her self-worth wasn’t tied to any one single person’s existence. It was just a shock, to see her baby sister all grown up and looking more like her mother than she or Trace ever had. And more than that. The way she moved, the way she tilted her head, how her hands fluttered around as she spoke. It was all Sylvia, whether on purpose or unconsciously done.
Peyton could only pray her sister wasn’t half as useless as their mother had been around the ranch. Or as destructive. With a third of the say in ranch operations, she could do more damage than Peyton wanted to admit.
“This is an interesting place to find your boss.”
Red’s dryly amused voice only made her want to sink farther into the shadows. “I’m doing inventory,” she lied, even though they both knew she wasn’t. If he was any kind of gentleman, he’d accept it and walk away without questioning.
Naturally, he didn’t. “I think we have enough orange cones.” Shifting until he slid around a barrel, he sat on top of it, boot heels clicking against the wood. “Wanna try again?”
“Not really,” she retorted, then sighed. Clearly he was aware there was an issue. If he wouldn’t leave until he got it out of her, then she’d give him something. “It’s just weird. I haven’t seen Bea since she was eighteen. The day after high school graduation, she took off. Shock to see the kid all grown up.”
“That’s all?”
She nodded, feeling her throat tighten. Not now, for the love of Christ. Please not now. Not in front of him.
Red didn’t say anything for a while. Just sat with her, as if silently offering her a shoulder to lean on, without actually having to do the leaning. It was almost nice for a bit.
And then he spoke. “She’s nothing like you.”
“Yeah. Tall, leggy, blond, beautiful. Who can even believe we’re related?” she snapped. Why was it men could never get past a pair of walking tits to see there was more to a woman?
“She’s tall, yeah. Blond, that’s a fact. Beautiful, I guess. If you like that sort of delicate, fragile look. Like she might crack if you look at her the wrong way.”
Men usually did. Made them feel stronger by comparison. More manly.
“Me, never had much use for it.” He scratched his chin, took his hat off, and ran a hand through his hair. The strands stuck up every which way and made her smile a little. “It might be nice to look at from a distance. But someone like that, you’d always have to worry about. Me? I prefer something a little more substantial.”
She raised a brow.
He shrugged. “Maybe that didn’t come out right. But I’ve just always thought a woman who can saddle a horse faster than me and doesn’t mind spending a few nights out in a tent without running water was more my type. The kind that doesn’t act like a little hard work will break her in two. And for the love of God, who wears heels to the barn?” He gave her a knowing smile. “Besides, I’ve always been more partial to brunettes.”
Her heart did a slow flip, and she rubbed the heel of her hand over her chest before realizing what she was doing and snatching it away. She stood, coming nose to nose with him. “Is that supposed to mean something?”
He thought about it for a minute. “Probably shouldn’t.”
Shouldn’t. But that didn’t answer the question. “Is that supposed to mean something?” she asked again.
He looked at her then, full on, those gray eyes looking more silver in the dark, and he answered, his voice a husky whisper. “Yeah. It is.”
The stress of the last hour, the last month, the last year, crashed down on her, and for one moment, all she wanted was simple. Something to take her mind away, where she wasn’t the boss, wasn’t in charge, wasn’t holding the world together with a ball of cheap twine and prayer. And so she did the stupid thing she never should have done, and kissed him.
If she thought he would let her get away with a simple brush of lips, he disabused her of that idea in two seconds flat. His arms came around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other on her butt, pulling her close. The heat of his thighs on the outside of hers had her gasping in shock. But that was just the opening he needed to gain entrance with his tongue, tracing along hers, exploring, delving. Tasting.
Oh, God. She was actually being tasted, like a gourmet cupcake by a sugar addict. And any thoughts of breaking it off, of calling it a mistake and turning away, were lost in the simple fact that it wasn’t a mistake. Not for her. Not right this moment. It was what she needed. Wanted. Craved.