Taking the Reins(73)

Red slid his cart over toward the checkout. “Bill, go have them start ringing the order up, put this on my account, okay? I want to check one more thing before we’re done.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Callahan!” Bill, whom Red had brought along for his trip to the feed and supply store, raced off with the cart like a NASCAR hopeful.

“It’s Red!” he shouted after him, but chuckled. The kid was more eager than anyone else he’d seen. And twice as grateful for the opportunity as kids who were handed their first pony simply for existing. When Billy had realized he’d be shadowing Red, learning and all-around playing personal assistant rather than spending his mornings knee-deep in manure, the kid had all but spun himself dizzy with gratitude.

Red scanned the vitamins, realized they still didn’t have the ones he wanted in stock, and resigned himself to ordering online. Though he preferred giving local stores his business whenever possible, he wasn’t about to lower his standards on what he gave his horses.

“Son.”

Speaking of lowered standards . . . Red turned slowly and stared into the face of Mac Callahan. The year since the last time they’d come face to face had aged the man considerably. He was still handsome, but now showing his age more than he used to. His dad’s behavior and constant penchant for finding the next pile of trouble was finally catching up to him.

“So. Found me.” Red leaned against the shelf. “I thought I told you now wasn’t a good time for a visit.”

“Visit? Shit.” Mac scratched his belly—a belly just a little rounder than the last time—and shook his head. “I’ve been working here for over a month now.”

It was worse than he’d thought. “Here? The feed store?” Red swiveled his head around as if that’d give him answers.

“Nah, I meant here, in town. I’m down at the tack shop. Good gig, though I always prefer working straight with horses if I can. But work’s work.”

Red let his hat fall to his side in his hand. “You’ve been here a month and I never knew. Didn’t think to tell me.”

“Not like you would’ve given two shits. Your old man doesn’t mean jack squat to you anymore.” The heat behind the words petered out before he could finish the second sentence. He shifted weight from one foot to another.

Red waited.

His father ran a hand over his hair, now shot through with silver threads, his posture almost defeated, reluctant. His eyes didn’t quite meet Red’s when he said, “I missed you.”

Translation: I missed the open ATM from the Bank of My Son.

Red silently chastised himself. Maybe his father was trying to turn it around. Maybe with age really did come wisdom. Maybe now, this time, in this place, they could finally start working on mending the fences of the past and—

“I’m hoping you can help your old man out. See, I met up with a few new friends here in town, and there was this game going. And the stakes got away from me. I was conned, I’d swear it, tricked into going higher than I realized. I just need a little something to get me by. Pay the debt. I’ll have it back to you before you even—”

Red gave himself a quick told you so. “No.”

“Ungrateful piece of shit. That’s what you are.” From vaguely apologetic to offensive in the blink of an eye. Yeah, Red didn’t doubt there was a con going on. But his father being the mark? Not likely. “You don’t even need money. You got everything you need out there on that ranch with that woman. You probably even have her, don’t you? A woman, a job, a place to park your boots at night. Respect. You lucked out and I didn’t. That’s all that was. You got the good hand and I got the fold. It’s pure luck you ended up on top.”

Red’s hands fisted, crushing the bill of his hat in his right hand. But he didn’t care. The insult to Peyton was too blatant to ignore. “You leave her the fuck out of it. Anything you wanna say about me, say it. But the Muldoons? They’re untouched by your brand of bad luck, and I’ll be damned if that doesn’t continue.”

“I’m right here. I can touch them if I want.” The smug smile was more than a slick move of mouth. It was a promise, a silent threat. Someone else might not see it, but Red knew his father too well to underestimate what that expression meant.

Ice slid through his gut at the thought of his father coming near Peyton, having anything to do with her. And the fear had nothing to do with his job and everything to do with what Red knew Mac was capable of. From small cons to complete ruin, he could chip away at the family business in a million little ways before anyone knew what was happening. And the Muldoons were too raw to handle it.