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Taking the Reins(86)

By:Kat Murray


Peyton wasn’t about to see this as anything more than an excuse to end what they had together. The truth was out there, though not everyone knew whether it was really fact or fiction. And even if he and Peyton both denied it, the hands would always wonder.

Goddamnit.

He took a few steps, then realized everyone was still staring at him, frozen in time. “You see that man on the property again, you boot his ass out.” When nobody moved, Red barked, “Get back to work!”

The scurry of boots grated over his nerves as people beat a hasty retreat to, well, anywhere that wasn’t in his line of vision. Red ignored them, waiting until the sounds calmed before walking out into the sunlight. He needed quiet, peace, a moment to himself to figure out how he would break the news to Peyton. Because he had to tell her. Hearing from someone else—and she would, he had no doubt—would be worse. But how to do it without pissing her off . . . that was something he needed to think about.

As he headed through the barn doors and into the sunlight, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Peyton, standing with Arby, locked deep in conversation. She kept shaking her head, hat angled so he couldn’t see her face. But when Arby saw him, he shook his head, mouth pulled down in a frown.

Shit.

Peyton nodded and placed one hand on the older man’s arm. Then she nodded and headed his way. “Arby says you need to talk to me.”

He tried to ask for a few minutes, but his tongue swelled and trapped him.

She raised a brow. “He said it’s important?”

Red nodded.

Peyton glanced around the yard, noting the not-so-subtle presence of several hands who just happened to be working quietly within earshot. “Do we need to head to the office, then?”

“My place,” he managed to choke out. The office seemed so . . . final. So official. He needed to talk to her somewhere personal.

She shrugged and walked ahead, still unaware of exactly what was in store. Red only prayed she would be as calm ten minutes from now.

As they walked around the garage, Peyton bounded up the first few steps and sat down. “It’s nice, let’s stay out here.”

“Okay then.” He checked around, but the garage door was down and he knew nobody had any reason to be out their way at that point in the day.

Peyton smiled. “Stop pacing, Red. You’re making me dizzy.”

He glanced down, saw the boot marks in the dirt and realized he’d started walking in a circle without any thought. He propped one boot on the bottom step, took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “Peyton . . .” How the hell did he start this conversation?

“Okay, you’re starting to scare me.” Peyton’s face morphed from amused to confused. “What’s up? Is it one of the mares? The Jacobson mare?”

“No, no. Nothing with the animals.” He was screwing this up, big time. “Peyton, my dad came by today.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “I didn’t know your dad was in the area.”

“He shouldn’t have been,” Red muttered. “He is, but not for long.” I hope. “The problem is, my dad’s not . . . I mean, he’s not what you’d think . . .” He sighed. Talking about his father wasn’t something he did, ever. Breaking the habit was harder than he’d thought. “He’s just not a good guy. He won’t win any Father of the Year awards.”

Peyton smiled sadly. “I get what you mean. Sylvia was the same way. No Mama awards for her. Sucks sometimes, when parents are less responsible than the kids.”

“Sucks. That’s one word for it.” He slammed his hat back on his head and started pacing. Too bad if it made her dizzy. He needed to think. “My dad was in the barn when I got there. I didn’t invite him. I didn’t want him here. But he was in there. And he said . . . things. He said things he shouldn’t have.”

Peyton leaned back, elbows propped on the step behind her. “Such as?”

“He said things about you. And me.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Together.”

Understanding lit her face. Her body froze, and he would have sworn she stopped breathing. “He knows?” she whispered.

The horrified look on her face said more than any words. “He doesn’t know,” Red said firmly. “He played the odds, I’d bet anything. Guessed. Took a chance that he’d embarrass me and get me to back off.” And it worked. At least for the moment. For once, Mac Callahan had come up with the right cards at the right time.

“Back off from what?”

But Red wasn’t done yet. “He took a gamble and said something about us”—he wasn’t about to repeat the actual words used—“and the hands overheard every word. Every goddamn word,” he muttered.