Taking the Reins(90)

“I feel so loved.” Peyton stared at the blank screen of the computer once more. It might have been a scripted speech, but Bea’s words sank in, swirling around in her already-busy mind. There was one surefire way to make the whole thing stop.

“Okay, fine.”

Bea squealed and clapped her hands.

“But I refuse to drink anything with an umbrella in it or something with sex in the name,” Peyton qualified.

Bea rolled her eyes. “As if you could get a good Sex On The Beach in this town. Please. Now go change.”

She looked down. “I haven’t even been in the barn. My clothes are clean.”

“Oh my God. My work is never done with you.” Standing up, and with a startling strength for someone who looked like she ate Life Savers for breakfast, Bea hauled Peyton out of the chair and through the office doors. “We’re going to find something—anything—in your closet that doesn’t scream cowgirl not-so-chic. This might be my biggest undertaking yet.”

“Feel free to give up now.”

Bea glanced over one slim shoulder. “Oh, hell no. You agreed, and I’m not letting you out of the deal now!”





Red stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d actually be able to die from exhaustion. After Peyton’s talk, he knew it was no use going to her that day and asking her to reconsider. So instead, he’d worked his ass off. The hands had given him a wide berth, though whether that was due to the scene earlier that morning or because he worked like someone had cattle prodded him, he had no clue. Didn’t matter. He picked the dirtiest, toughest jobs and tackled them, working until his muscles screamed and his mind begged him to stop. Once those were complete, he’d brought out one of their meanest horses and given them both a good workout.

And still, after a shower and changing into a pair of sweatpants, he flopped on the bed and his mind turned to her. There was something sick and twisted about that. But this obsession was the price of going against his mind and using his gut. He’d known from the get-go working with Peyton Muldoon would lead to something bad. He’d been half in lust for her and they’d barely exchanged more than three minutes of conversation before. Putting himself in close proximity with the female had been asking for trouble.

And he’d gotten it. A double serving.

A knock at the door brought him a welcome reprieve from running through all the mental images of Peyton his brain had stored up. Unless it was Peyton . . . nah. She wouldn’t have cooled off that fast. Trudging to the door, he opened and stared, slack-jawed, at Trace Muldoon and his kid, stuffed into that same baby carrier.

“What the . . .”

“Boys’ night.” Trace shoved in past Red, careful to shield the kid from any contact. “All the girls are gone and I’m dying of boredom.”

“Isn’t that why you have a kid? To keep you busy?”

“No, I have a kid because the rubber broke.” Trace’s harsh words were tempered by a gentle hand stroking over his son’s head. “As you can see, he’s not in a mood to settle down, so I thought we’d go for a walk. We just ended up here.”

“I see.” Though he really didn’t. Resigned to company, he grabbed a shirt from his closet and stuck his arms through, not bothering with the buttons. “Drink?” he asked, shuffling to the kitchen area.

“Sure, I’m not driving.”

“Beer for Daddy and . . .” Red popped his head up over the top of the fridge door. “What’s little man having, whiskey sour?”

“He’s had his nightcap,” Trace said dryly.

Twisting the top off the two beers, he met Trace at the table and sat. They both drank silently for a minute. Seth, taking the silence as his invitation to show off, gurgled and blew spit bubbles. Red winced when a little drool ran from his chin down to land in a puddle on Trace’s forearm. But the man—a one-time major rodeo contender, total ball buster and overall cowboy badass—simply wiped his arm on his jeans and shrugged.

“It’s not the end of the world.”

“What’s not?” Red couldn’t stop watching as Seth’s hands flailed around and pounded on the table.

“Having a kid. Wasn’t my first choice. Or at least, not the timing of it. I had more shit to do. More to get done, more to see.”

Red could understand that.

“But he’s here, and I wouldn’t give him up for the world.” Trace’s hand molded over his son’s head, thumb rubbing a path between the crown and the tip of his ear. Seth leaned into his father’s touch, eyes drooping a little, lulled.