Taking the Reins(52)

“To make sure we could actually catch you,” Trace’s voice came from through the door. “Peyton, is she decent?”

Peyton eyed her sister, who only eyed her back just as suspiciously. “I can’t say if she’s decent or not, but she’s covered.”

“Good enough.” Trace entered and closed the door behind him, sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed. “Morning, sis.”

Bea rolled her eyes. “That’s cute over a bowl of cereal at the table. Not so much now.”

“Focus, Beatrice.” Peyton shook her head. “We need to know your plans.”

Bea blinked owlishly, the expression only exaggerated by her short, white-blond hair spiked around her head like the downy fuzz of a baby bird. “My plan was to sleep past the ass-crack of dawn, but you shot that one to hell. Thanks, by the way.”

“Plans for here,” she said through gritted teeth. “How long are you staying?”

“Not that we don’t want you here,” Trace shot in, patting what Peyton assumed was Bea’s foot under the covers.

Bea stared at Peyton. “You want me here?”

Not one to lie when it could be avoided, Peyton kept her mouth shut.

“Right. Well, my plans are . . . tenuous,” Bea decided. “I mean, I can’t stay here forever. Clearly, this isn’t where my work is. And my work is important.”

“You play a prostitute on a soap opera.”

“A rehabilitated prostitute,” Bea said with a sniff, ignoring Peyton’s snicker. “And just because you don’t watch the show doesn’t mean it’s not important to other people.”

A little guilt crept in. It wasn’t her idea of real work, but it also wasn’t her place to judge. “Sorry.”

Bea’s shoulders lost a little of their rigidness. “I’m negotiating my contract, and my lack of physical presence is a bargaining chip.” She smiled coolly. “I want them to feel what it would be like to make the show go on without me. But you know, they keep begging me to come back. I’m having to fend off their relentless calls to return.” To emphasize her point, she nudged her cell phone an inch on the nightstand with one finger.

“So you’re here for, what? The foreseeable future?” Peyton held her breath.

“Oh, that sounds so final. I wouldn’t say that. Just that I’m enjoying a little time spent with my siblings. And when the timing is right, I’ll go back and work out the contract.”

Perfect segue. “Speaking of contracts, we need to go over more stuff about the will and the ranch.”

“Absolutely. And as soon as I have a few more minutes, we can do that. But for now . . .” In one quick, fluid movement, Bea slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood, her nightgown settling around mid-thigh. Trace cursed under his breath and turned to face the wall.

“Jesus, Bea. Couldn’t you sleep in pants like normal people?”

Bea fingered the sleeve. “There is nothing wrong with my sleepwear, except that there’s nobody in this place to see it.”

“That’s my cue to leave.” Trace stood and hustled out the door like his Wranglers were on fire, closing it firmly behind him.

Bea laughed softly. “That was easy.”

Peyton sighed. “Soon. I know you don’t give a damn about the ranch, but soon we need to talk about things.”

“Great!” Bea beamed at her. “I have a few fantastic ideas for improvements in this place.”

Oh God. Peyton headed for the door. “Over my dead body.”

As she closed the door behind her, she heard Bea sing, “It could be arranged, sis!”





The early morning conversation with Bea had accomplished nothing but a headache. As Peyton grabbed a breakfast muffin from the kitchen, she did her best to find something that might remove the headache.

Instead, her mind turned to her trainer. Fail.

Eight weeks since she’d hired the man. Two major make out sessions. This did not bode well for her ability to keep a professional distance between her and Redford Callahan. Her track record thus far was deplorable.

And the fact that she was smiling, even after she knew it was going to end up a total disaster, was only proof that she should have her head examined. So instead, she focused on finding Arby. She checked in the stables first, then his office, where he was busy making notes in an ancient spiral notebook. Propping a shoulder against the doorjamb, she watched his aged hands patiently scrawl over the paper. When he spoke, his voice calmed something inside her.

“Need something? Or you just gonna stare at me and avoid working?”

She smiled. “You know me, lazy as ever. I came to talk about how things will run while we’re gone.” We being her, Trace, and Red as they headed out to a rodeo the next state over. “The hands know to come to you before following any of Bea’s orders. God knows what she might come up with while we’re gone just to piss me off.”