A familiar rig parked by the house had her smiling. She jogged the last few yards and headed in through the front door, barely remembering to toe off her boots before scooting toward the kitchen.
“Morgan?”
“I’m feeding him,” Emma called out, then poked her head around the wall. “You come in here right now and get something to eat, or . . .”
“No need to finish that undoubtedly creative threat. I’m coming.” Stepping into the kitchen, her feet skidding a little on the newly-waxed floor, she reached for her nephew, who was riding shotgun on Emma’s hip. “Hey fella. How’s the cutest little boy in the whole world?”
“I’m doing great, thanks,” Morgan replied, a wide grin over his face.
“Har, har. So what brings you here?”
“Was driving past, thought I’d check up on the colt with the sprain.”
Peyton frowned. “Thought Arby said it wasn’t serious and he would treat it.”
“Yup. But I had some free time. Wanted to stop by and take a peek. Not to mention score some of Emma’s delicious cooking.” He leaned down—way down—and kissed the older woman’s cheek. “Best cooking in the county.”
“Ha. Tell your own mama that. See how long your backside is sore.”
“I’m smarter than that.”
“Emma? Have you started lunch yet?” The light, airy scent of her sister’s perfume preceded her into the kitchen. Bea leaned against the refrigerator in a practiced pose—though it almost seemed natural—and reached into the cabinet for a water glass. “I’m starving.”
“Wouldn’t be, if you would eat some breakfast,” Emma sniffed, but got down a few plates and started fixing sandwiches.
“Emma,” Bea said, tsking. “Eggs, sausage, bacon, grits? Cholesterol city. And there’s no treadmill in this house.”
Peyton snorted and pulled the end of her braid from Seth’s mouth where he gummed on it happily.
“Wanting to keep a decent figure isn’t a crime, you know. You could . . . oh.” Bea froze, water pitcher hovering over her glass, her eyes taking in Morgan. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Peyton barely held back another snort. The man was six-foot-four. She hadn’t missed a damn thing.
Settling the water back in the fridge, Bea held out a hand. “Bea Muldoon.”
Morgan stared at the hand like he had no clue what to do with it. What in God’s name was wrong with him? Peyton kicked at his ankle and he jerked his hand forward, shaking Bea’s with a little more force than necessary. “Morgan Browning.”
“Morgan’s our vet,” Peyton added, jiggling Seth a little to hear him coo with laughter. “He went to school with Trace, but you two were never at school at the same time. His parents live just down the road.”
“Right, the Brownings. Of course. I just didn’t put two and two together. So.” Hands on hips, Bea surveyed him from head to heel. “That’s where you’ve been keeping the good-looking men.”
“I, uh . . . I . . .” Morgan blushed until Peyton thought his ears might burn off.
“Don’t play with him,” she warned Bea.
“Not playing. Just paying our fine vet a compliment. Anyway, do you mind if I borrow the Jeep, Peyton? I need to run some errands and my car’s almost out of gas.”
Peyton rolled her eyes. It was like they were teenagers again. Peyton, getting yelled at for letting the car go below half a tank. Bea, stranded halfway to school with no gas and not getting so much as a lecture. “Whatever. But bring it back in one piece.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How many cars have you had?”
“That second one was not my fault. Emma, never mind. I’ll get lunch in town.” Without a good-bye, Bea turned on her impractically high heel and flounced out of the kitchen, her short floral skirt snapping behind her.
“So that’s your sister,” Morgan said, his voice sounding like his collar was too tight.
“That’s my sister,” Peyton agreed. “For good and ill.”
“She seemed . . . nice.”
Emma barked with laughter and reached for Seth, pushing one of the sandwich plates Peyton’s way. “Nice. Here, eat this and scoot on out of my kitchen. I’ve got work to get done.”
Chapter Fourteen
Red was ready to call it a day well before he actually could. Though Arby was perfectly capable of treating a simple sprain, he’d seen to the colt’s injury himself again after work was done for the day, checking up. He knew it didn’t sit well with the older man, having his work double-checked. But Red wasn’t about to leave anything to chance. Not to mention, another mare was ready to foal. He’d have to catch some sleep when he could.