They sat, Peyton behind her desk and Peterson in the comfortable chair across from it. He asked good, solid questions, and she had an answer ready for each one. What’s more, he asked the right questions. Ones that showed he was aware nobody could give an absolute guarantee of a winner or a champion simply because of breeding. He was fair-minded, intelligent, and on the mark. Peyton all but salivated at the thought of claiming him as a customer.
As his questions dried up, Peterson sat back and laced his hands over his stomach. “So you’re the brains behind the operation after all, huh?”
Peyton smiled a little, confused. “I’m sorry?”
He shook his head. “When they told me a young woman ran the operation, I thought they joked, exaggerated. Figured either the father ran the operation, or Trace did and just needed someone to babysit the place while he was gone.”
Peyton felt the smile slide off her face.
He held up his hands in a hold-on-a-minute gesture. “I know, I know. Sexist of me. But I don’t mind admitting I was wrong. You’ve got the knowledge and the goods to back it up. And I don’t mind mentioning hearing Red Callahan worked here was another big item in the plus column.”
A month ago, it would have burned her raw to hear it, even if it was the truth. Now? She just felt grateful she could call Red an ally. “Are you satisfied so far, Mr. Peterson?”
“More than. I worried when Trace went to get you that you’d be a sort of ornamental figurehead. Little to do with the actual business, but someone they trotted out for show every now and again. I can see I was incorrect with that. I’m glad you’re not one of those flighty females.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t make a very good impression for their gender. And the opposite is the truth here. So. Let’s talk details.”
As Peyton led Peterson out to the barn to see the setup, she reassured herself that cutting the physical relationship with Red was truly the best thing. Her reputation meant everything in this business, and she wasn’t about to screw her entire family over for a little late-night fun.
Which was all easy to say in the light of day. At night when she instinctively reached out for him beside her in bed, it was so much harder.
Red snuck past the barn, noticed the sliding door standing slightly ajar. Though he wanted to get to Peyton as fast as he could, he took a moment to peer in. His entire body was on high alert after his father’s attempt to get in the barn. But his father’s stocky frame didn’t appear. To his relief, the same slim, long outline he was coming to know as Bea Muldoon 2.0 stood by Lover Boy’s stall, talking softly to the gelding. Satisfied it was only she, he crept on toward the house.
How long would Bea manage to pull off these midnight rides without anyone knowing? Surely the ranch hands playing night guard had to know. Did she bribe them to stay quiet? Peyton would find out eventually. And wouldn’t that be interesting. To be a fly on the wall for that revelation . . .
As she had the past few nights, Peyton slipped through the kitchen door silently. Over a week now they’d been meeting in the night. She never attempted to make plans with him, but he wasn’t about to let her creep around alone. So every night he snuck over and waited outside like a lovesick teenager waiting for his high school girlfriend to climb out her window to sneak away while her parents slept.
The things a man did to get a little quality time with his woman.
“Red?” Peyton’s voice cut through his mental wanderings. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.” He let a bush rustle just a little to give her some bearings. As she approached, he stepped out of the shadow of the tree and grabbed her upper arms. Swinging her around, he planted her back against the trunk and took her mouth with a kiss that left no doubt how badly he wanted her. Needed her.
Instinctively, she struggled a moment against his firm hold, but she melted into him after the token resistance. Wound her arms around his neck and showed him without words, she needed him, too.
But then she broke off with a gasp, stumbling out of his arms and out of reach.
“No. Can’t.”
Ah, she was going to do that bullshit thinking-too-hard thing again. “Yes, we can.” He kept his voice gentle, soft. “We’re pretty good at it, actually.”
She laughed and rubbed a hand over her face. But the laughter held no humor. More like self-mockery. “Yeah. Pretty good, all right. For what that’s worth.”
For what what’s worth? Red stood still, wondering if he was missing parts of the conversation. “What’s up, darlin’?”
“Peyton,” she corrected automatically, and he smiled. Some things never changed. “And what’s up is we can’t do this anymore.”