“No,” he said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know. Spell it out for me.”
When her eyes widened, he realized that was the world’s worst idea ever. “Forget that. I’m just thinking of safety in numbers, or however that saying goes.”
Peyton rolled her eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not the little woman, helpless and alone. Your concern is . . . interesting,” she finally decided on. “But unnecessary.” With that, she spun on her boot heel and went back to the front desk, where the attendant wasn’t even trying to make a show of giving them privacy.
“We’ll take the singles.”
“Very well.” The clerk grinned at her and gave her a wink. “I like a woman who can stand up for herself.”
“Uh huh.” Peyton bent over to dig in her bag for her wallet with identification, and the clerk practically dislocated his shoulders trying to get a better look at her ass.
Red clenched his fists. Not mine to protect. Not mine to defend. Not mine to . . .
Oh hell, it didn’t matter whose she was or wasn’t. The whole thing creeped him the hell out. Taking a chance, he slid up next to Peyton and gave the clerk the universal stare that all men understand without hesitation.
Mine. Don’t touch unless you want to be missing a finger.
The clerk was less than amused. When Peyton straightened and handed him the ID, he made a nice show of looking it over. “Out-of-towners, huh? Traveling from the rodeo, then.”
“Yup.” Peyton’s short tone made it clear she wasn’t in the mood to chat.
The man’s pen slowed down even further. “We get a lot of rodeo traffic through here. Now you, you are sweet as can be. Did you compete for the rodeo queen?” He ran the tip of his tongue over the edge of his teeth in a disgusting display. “I’d have voted for you.”
Peyton hesitated as he held out her ID. “No. I didn’t.” When she pulled back, the man kept his grip on the driver’s license. She pulled harder, but he didn’t let go. “Excuse me?”
“Oh. Sorry.” Not at all sorry, he barely glanced at Red’s ID before tossing it back across the desk. The shiny plastic went sliding over the top and then off the side, clattering on the floor.
“You know,” Peyton said suddenly. “I think one room was a better idea.”
The desk clerk was noticeably put off. “But I’ve already started registering you for two rooms.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. But we have, you know . . . business things to discuss.”
“We do?” Red asked, not wanting to give up the chance to tease, though he couldn’t argue with her final choice.
“Yes,” she said through clenched teeth. “We do. About that thing you mentioned. You were right.”
Red almost choked. “Was I now?”
She gave him a smile that suggested pain was in his immediate future. “You sure were.” Turning back to the clerk, she softened the smile a little. “Just one room. But two beds.”
Peyton dropped her bag on the far bed, watched it bounce, and waited for a plume of dust or something to poof in the air or for the bed to collapse. But nothing happened. So at least the place wasn’t disgusting or deadly . . . with regard to the furniture.
She caught sight of the yellowed lamp shade—the one that wasn’t missing—and grimaced. It was a close thing though.
Red set his own bag on one of the two chairs by the tiny table, and scanned the room, hands on his hips. “It’ll do.”
“Well no kidding. It’s the only option.” She watched as he shrugged, toed off his boots, set his hat on the table, stretched out on the bed, fully clothed, and shut his eyes. “What, that’s it?”
He cracked one eye open. “What’s it?”
“You can just go to sleep like that? In this . . . place?” She’d be wired for hours. It really didn’t seem fair the man would be able to just pass out like nothing had happened.
He shrugged a little and settled his hands behind his head, eyes shutting again. “I’m used to hotels. Spend enough time in them between work. I’ll be just fine for the night.”
“The lights are still on.”
He smiled without opening his eyes again. “Funny thing about lights. When you close your eyes, it doesn’t matter.”
Peyton huffed, then realized there was no point in bothering. She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her own boots, sighing a little as her sock-clad feet hit the threadbare carpet. Not that her boots weren’t comfortable, she’d broken those babies in about two years ago. But even comfortable boots weren’t better than bare feet. But she wasn’t about to walk on her bare feet on the carpet, so socks it was.