“You were exhausted. Sometimes the mind just locks down when you’re in a situation like that.”
When she didn’t say anything, he leaned over and did some fancy maneuvering until she slid onto his lap. Almost as if she were asleep, she curled into him and rested her head on his shoulder. He wondered if she even realized what she was doing. But then again, with the house deadly quiet around them, maybe she didn’t figure it mattered. Only Seth was there with them, and he was an unreliable witness.
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Red pressed a kiss to her messy hair. “You’re welcome.” In moments like these, when she wasn’t in her badass ranch owner mood, she was as sweet as a newborn kitten. He liked this Peyton. Warm Snuggly Peyton. Not that he disliked Badass Peyton. It was a good balance.
“What made you so against calling your brother?”
“Felt like I should be able to handle it. The kid’s twelve pounds and still poops in his pants. If I can’t handle that . . .” No need for her to finish the sentence. He knew where her mind was heading.
“Remember what I said before? You are not the answer to everything that goes on in this place. You are not your family’s sole strength. Give your brother and sister more credit.”
“With Trace, you might just be right. The business side doesn’t even remotely interest him. But he’s holding his own, both with the PR side, and with being a father. It’s miraculous how easily he’s taken to it. Not that it’s always fun. But easy in that he enjoys it, he likes it, he looks forward to time with his son. Not all fathers can say that. I see little pieces of our dad in him sometimes.”
Red wouldn’t argue there. He was a prime example of a father-son dynamic that failed.
“But Bea?” She snorted, air softly brushing against his neck. “She wants nothing to do with this place. Every time I try to pin her down to talk about the realities of the will, she runs off somewhere important.” Peyton used air quotes for the last word. “Important for Bea usually implies a manicure or haircut.”
Red didn’t know her, so he wouldn’t jump into that family issue. But rubbing Peyton’s back, relaxing on the couch after she’d put the baby back down to—he hoped—sleep for a good long while, any tension he’d been carrying from the long-ass day, the shitty conversation he’d had with his father and the stress of wondering if his dad was a threat to his job . . . it all melted away. And for a moment he could seriously imagine his life like this. Having the quiet, contented moments with Peyton Muldoon every evening after a good, long day’s work. Recharging his system, and hers, both in bed and out.
Too bad he knew for sure she would rather slap him and push him out the door head first than even contemplate it.
Peyton shifted, taking care to not squash the family jewels in her movement—a consideration he appreciated—and stood up. That, he assumed, was his cue to make his excuses and head home. But instead, she held out a hand and pulled him off the couch, led him to another bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
Well. Red might just be a slow country son of a bitch from time to time. But even he wasn’t dumb enough to turn down this kind of opportunity.
Chapter Fifteen
Big mistake. Big mistake. Big mistake.
And she didn’t give a flying Frisbee.
Red had been there, majorly, when she’d been ready to collapse. It burned to call him for help, not because of who he was, but because she needed help, period. But better to call him than her brother. The teasing he would have given her over not being able to handle a baby, she never would have lived down. And he’d been a quick thinker with the frozen peach trick when her own mind had been too exhausted to function at full speed. She wasn’t going to forget that.
But it wasn’t gratitude that had her pulling him into her room and closing the door. She knew how to say thank you and mean it. She wouldn’t use her body when words would work just fine. No, this was pure desire for the man he was. The kind of man who would drop everything and come help a woman take care of a screaming infant. An infant that wasn’t his, who he had no prior knowledge to or relation with. And wouldn’t use that moment as an opening to tease, to mock, or to hold over her head.
Redford Callahan was a good, honest man. And she needed him like she needed air.
But just for tonight, she reminded herself as she reached for his shirt. Purely to unwind from the baby stress. Just for now.
Even as the shirt came loose from his waistband, she was calling herself a liar. But if she needed the lie to take what she wanted, so what? It didn’t hurt anyone.