Taking the Reins(63)

He stepped out of the Jeep, grateful to see a few hands walking up to help unhook the small trailer.

“Where’d this one come from?” Tiny asked, patting the hood of the rental.

“Silver went to that big scrap heap in the sky a few hours into our commute.” Red watched Peyton from the corner of his eye as she slid down from the passenger seat.

“Congratulations on the good week, Peyton.” Steve hurried to start unhooking the trailer. “Trace gave us a rundown of the rodeo. Sounds like M-Star had a great showing.”

“We did.” Peyton grabbed her suitcase from the backseat and let it flop to the ground, ignoring the dust it stirred up. When the hands waited, she shrugged. “What?”

Tiny spoke first. “That’s all we get? No stories? No color commentary?”

She smiled a little, though Red could see the strain behind it. “I’ll have a full report later, maybe after work’s done. I’m a day late though and I need to get back to it.”

The younger hands didn’t notice any difference, but Red watched Arby give Peyton an assessing glance from a distance. Then his gaze slid to Red and he would have sworn the older man’s scowl deepened. But he didn’t say a word, just turned for the barn and ambled back.

Well, crap. Not only was Peyton ticked—for what reason, he didn’t know—but now Arby was going to be on his case.

“Steve.” He tossed the keys at the hand. “When you’re done unhitching the trailer, take someone with you and return that in town to the rental place.”

“Got it.” Steve tucked the keys in his pocket and went back to work.

Red watched as Peyton headed toward the barn, alone and in an obvious mood that told others to give her a wide berth. She could see him from the corner of her eye, he knew it. But she didn’t turn to look at him. Didn’t wave, didn’t call him over for a few words or to ask a question like she always would have before . . .

Before.

Was she right? Had that one night completely ruined their working relationship?

It’s only been a day. Calm down. It’s not a big deal. Things will settle back into the way they were and you can both move on. You got it out of your blood, satisfied the curiosity, so you can move on.

Only he wasn’t a stupid man. Satisfied wasn’t what he was at all. Their one night together had only heightened his desire for her. And not just for some physical pleasure, though that could hardly be discounted. The woman attacked sex like she attacked work. Single-minded intensity and focus. God bless her for it.

But in the morning, when they waited at the rental place for the paperwork to be processed and to be given their vehicle, he’d had the strongest urge to grab for her hand and hold it for a while. Nothing about that was sexual at all. More like a comfortable, easy romance. More like exactly what Peyton would have hated.

Hated? Hell. He snorted to himself as he hefted his own bag and started toward his apartment to unpack. She would have snarled at him like a wild animal being caged.

He’d taken three steps when a truck, a complete rust bucket worse than the rig he and Peyton had left for parts somewhere in eastern Wyoming, crept up the packed dirt drive and parked by the barn. And out popped Bill, the teen from the feed store, surveying the setup cautiously, staying back and out of the way. Smart kid. Seeing that Trace was just finishing up with Lad, he walked over.

“Here for Peyton?”

Bill jerked like he’d been shot, checking around guiltily before finding Red. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he wandered over to meet him. “Yeah. Summer break’s coming up, and I’m hoping she will have something for me.”

Red sat on that a moment, watched as the boy’s eyes lit up while a hand led one of the horses to the hotwalk area. He scratched his chin. “Just wanting some summer cash? Or you interested in the livestock?”

“I’m interested in the—hey. Is that Trace Muldoon?” The boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Jay-zus. I used to watch him all the time on TV.”

“Language. And yeah, that’s Trace. Hey!” he called, waving a hand. Trace headed over, Lad’s lead in his hand.

“What’s up?”

Red hitched a thumb to his side. “You’ve got a fan.”

“Always got time for one of those.” Wiping a hand on his jeans, Trace held it out to shake with the tongue-tied Bill. “Here to watch?”

“Ho—hoping for a job, actually. Sir.”

Trace laughed. “Just Trace. And aren’t you a little young for a full-time gig?”

“Oh, it’s just for the summer. The last time Peyton was at the feed store she mentioned that I should come by for the summer and see if she had work. You know, mucking out stalls and stuff. Taking care of the tack. Whatever.”