Apparently not.
With a heavy sigh, he headed upstairs, needing to soak his head, grab some lunch, take a breather. His nerves were too jittery to do any horse any good, and the men would see his mind wasn’t in it in a quick minute.
As he reached for his keys, he realized he didn’t need them. His door was propped a few inches open. “What the . . .” He listened quietly for a moment, heard nothing, then slowly stepped inside and surveyed the damage.
Whoever had been in his apartment had done a thorough job of making their presence known. Whoever? He rolled his eyes at himself. His father, of course. Mac must have made a quick stop here before heading to the barn to start raising hell.
Chairs were tipped over—one with its legs completely busted off. The small table was tipped on its side. Curtains lay in heaps under the windows where they’d hung, the kitchen cabinets had been emptied onto the small tile floor in front of the stove. The bed, which he’d made out of habit that morning, was stripped bare, the mattress leaning against one wall, box springs angled drunkenly off the frame. And his closet was bare, his things scattered over the length of the apartment.
He shut the door behind him and propped his shoulders up against it. Today was a mother of all days. And now, on top of deciding whether he should convince Peyton to let him stay or sneak out with his pride intact, he had to figure out how to handle his father, and what the hell the man’s end game was.
Chapter Nineteen
Peyton was not a crier. Muldoons didn’t cry—except for Bea, and usually only when she wanted something. They gritted their teeth, bore down, and got the job done. So the tears that constantly pricked her eyes until the end of the day did more than confuse her. They pissed her off. She wasn’t about to cry because some jackass had guessed about her love life and spread it where it didn’t need spreading. He didn’t deserve her tears, her emotion, her pain.
But even as she gave herself the pep talk, she knew it wasn’t Red’s father that had her so close to losing her hold on her emotions. It was Red. God. For once, she’d felt safe, and actually wanted, by a man. Not on her toes, not having to play the you’re so much smarter than me, I’m just a silly woman card. She’d finally found a man who wasn’t threatened by her ownership, by her essentially being his boss.
And it was ruined. Their chance at . . .
Their chance at what? She pushed back from her desk and stared out the window into the open field. At nothing. From the start, it’d been a bad idea to get involved. And look what happened.
Though she trusted her ranch employees, something like this just couldn’t be stopped. They’d mention it to one person—like a wife or girlfriend—in confidence, and suddenly it was everywhere.
A soft knock sounded behind her.
“Peyton?” Trace stepped into her office hesitantly. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She uncrossed her arms and sat down in her chair. “What’s up?”
“I was coming in to ask you the same. You’ve been in here all day.” Trace looked around the office, anywhere but in her eyes. “I thought maybe you wanted to, you know, talk or something.”
Peyton stifled a smile. God love her brother for trying, but he was definitely not the person she wanted to see right now. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“You sure?” Trace wandered over to the bookshelf, grabbed the biggest textbook from the shelf and started flipping through it. One of her old animal husbandry textbooks from college. Riveting stuff.
“Yeah. It’s sort of a girl thing.” When Trace’s eyes widened, she snickered. “Your face right now . . .”
He shut the book with a snap. “I don’t do the girl talk thing. That’s Bea’s area.”
“Oh, hell no.” Peyton stood up fast enough to send the rolling chair back several feet. “Don’t you dare corner me in here with her. I will hunt you down.”
Trace smiled wolfishly at her. “Tempting. But I won’t take it that far. I like my skin right where it is.” He placed the book back and gave her a once-over. “If you’re sure . . .”
“I’m sure,” she said quickly, pulling the chair back toward her to sit down. She stared at her computer, making a show of reading the completely blank screen until Trace shut the door behind him. Then she let her forehead drop to the desk with a thump.
She was in deep water.
“Knock, knock!”
It only needed this. “I’m busy,” Peyton said to her shoes, not raising her head.
“Busy napping? You complain so much about how hard it is to run this damn place, and here you are sleeping on the job. I could do that.”