Emma’s form hovered for another moment; then she sniffed and headed back to the kitchen. “Drink your milk,” was all she hollered back over her shoulder.
Peyton blew out a breath and dug in, moaning in ecstasy around the fluffy warm mouthful.
“Sinful, aren’t they, sis?”
Peyton almost choked on her bite, grabbing the glass of milk and taking a swallow before blinking rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes. Her sister sat in the chair across from her, chin in her hand, smiling catlike at her.
When she could breathe without coughing, she pushed the platter toward her. “Want a taste?”
Bea glanced longingly at the offering, then shook her head. “That was hateful. I’ll make my smoothie in a minute.”
“All that alfalfa and grass in drinkable form. Yum. Maybe I should try that when the horses go lame.”
Peyton waited for her sister to shoot another barb back at her, like normal. But instead, her smile just grew. “Speaking of sin . . .”
“Hmm?” Peyton snapped a piece of bacon in two, popped one half in her mouth.
“I’m just curious where you were coming from last night.”
The bacon turned to dust in her throat, and she once again scrambled to take a gulp of milk before she stopped breathing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, come off it. I’m not an idiot, despite that bimbo I played on TV.” Bea snuck a peek toward the kitchen, then, satisfied Emma was busy, leaned over the table. Her voice dropped a few levels. “I know you’re seeing someone. So spill.”
Peyton shook her head, then realized that might look like she was admitting something. “I’m not seeing anyone.” At least, not on a permanent basis.
Bea looked annoyed. “Peyton, you are the closest thing I have to a girlfriend in this godforsaken town. So stop being selfish and share.”
“Well, with an invitation like that . . .” Peyton rolled her eyes. Once again, it was all about Bea. “Why are you here?”
Her sister sat up, spine straight. “I don’t know what you mean. Mama died.”
“Months ago. Mama died months ago. So why are you here now?”
“If I’m such an inconvenience, I can always pack up and go.” Bea flattened her palms on the table as if ready to push back in outrage. Peyton managed to keep from rolling her eyes again. But years with her sister had taught her to watch for the melodramatics. It made her sister a shoe-in for the soap operas. But having a serious conversation was a bit of a trial.
Playing her part in the whole farce, Peyton covered one of Bea’s hands with her own. “That’s not what I meant. You’re not an inconvenience. It’s just . . . this is the first time you’ve come back on your own since you left. Don’t the viewers wonder where you are?”
Bea scoffed and settled down. “Since Trixie West was electrocuted before falling down an elevator shaft to her death, I doubt they’re curious where I’m at.”
Peyton’s mind spun for a minute, but she came up blank. “I’m sorry. Who the hell is Trixie West? And how did she fall down an elevator shaft?”
Bea stared for a moment, her perfectly shaded mouth hanging open. “Trixie West was my character’s name on The Tantalizing and the Tempting.”
Well, crap. “Oh, right. Of course.” Who the hell would name someone Trixie West?
“Right now negotiations are working to see if Trixie’s long lost twin sister will make an appearance. Also played by me, naturally.” When Peyton stared, baffled, Bea’s eyes watered on command and her lower lip quivered. “You never watched while I was on, did you?”
“I’m always outside, working.” It was a weak defense, and they both knew it. She could have at least DVRed one or two episodes. But she hadn’t. Why? Even now, she wasn’t entirely sure. The show probably would have put her to sleep. But to catch a glimpse of her sister’s job . . . She always caught up with Trace, tried to watch for him when she knew he’d be riding in a televised event.
Maybe her childhood resentment of the Barbie doll went deeper than she thought.
“I’m sorry, Bea. I should have. I was wrong.”
Hearing that soothed whatever insult—real or imagined—Bea had stacked against her. “Yes, you should have. Some of my best work was on that show.”
“And now you’re dead. Hmm.” Peyton went back to her pancakes, expecting her sister to leave. But she didn’t. So Peyton took a chance. “Did it hurt?”
“What, being let go?”
“Being electrocuted.”
Bea’s lips twitched. “Stung less than being let go in the first place. But a death scene is always appreciated. And who knows. Maybe my evil twin will pop up next season to stir the pot.”