“And the mom? She still off doing that shit she had to do?”
Trace’s face closed up tight. “She’s irrelevant.”
Red shrugged. Not his business. “Just trying to make conversation.”
“How about we try this topic on for size then? Peyton.”
Red choked on the swallow of beer, leaning over his knees, thumping his chest to dislodge the bubble that formed in his airway. After a few false starts, he glared at Seth, who was chortling with glee at the show. “Think that’s funny, huh?”
Trace started unhooking his son from the harness contraption. “Judging by your reaction, you’re not real keen on talking about my sister.”
“Not with her brother,” he admitted. “Not with anyone, right now. That’s a . . . sensitive subject.”
“Figured it would be. I assume Bea’s out with Peyton trying to get the same info I’m trying to get.”
“Peyton’s out with Bea?” Stunned, he sat back in his chair. “That, I did not see coming.”
“Nobody did. Emma all but danced out the door after them, since it’s her night off. Said she was going to celebrate the progress with a night out on the town. Which likely means she’s going to go pop in on a friend and fall asleep on said friend’s couch watching a black and white movie.” He leaned over and settled his son down on the floor on his back. “I think Emma’s premature in the celebration, since I’m sure those two will come back fighting harder and louder than two she-cats going after the same Tom.”
“I’m not the Tom in this scenario, right?” Bea was gorgeous—any man with eyes could tell. But the thought of her chasing after him put chills down his spine.
“All hypothetical and irrelevant to you,” Red agreed. “But the fact is, there’s something to discuss.” He held up a hand when Red started to stand. “I’m not playing big brother on you, believe me. Peyton would kill me for it. I might use that routine for Bea, but with Peyton, it’s a lost cause. The girl can take care of herself. And what’s more, I’ve got a pretty good idea you didn’t treat her poorly.”
“I didn’t.” God, I hope not.
“Then we’re squared. I figured you might just want another male to bounce your thoughts off of. Wouldn’t be right using one of the hands, and Arby’s not really your biggest fan currently.”
“Wouldn’t be right using one of my bosses, either,” Red pointed out, trying another sip of beer and feeling grateful it went down more easily this time.
“Peyton’s the boss. I’m as much an employee as anyone else. My name might be Muldoon but I haven’t put in the time yet to be in charge of much.”
The man’s simple acceptance of his role took Red by surprise. “No plans to head back to the rodeo circuit anytime soon?”
Trace looked down at the floor where his son had started the laborious process of rolling over onto his stomach. “Soon? Doubt it. Ever? Can’t say. A lot of the future’s up in the air right now.”
Red lifted his bottle. “On that, we have something in common.”
Chapter Twenty
“Oh my God, this place is completely different!” Bea swiveled around once as the sisters walked in through the doorway of Jo’s Place.
Peyton had only been a few times herself, but she knew exactly what Bea was envisioning. The bar, as it had been before the current owner took over, had been the stereotypical honkytonk. Smoke-filled air, sticky floors, dark lighting, thirty-year-old country blaring from broken stereos, and the only option for anything edible stale peanuts or stale pretzels. And if you wanted something other than beer, your choices were Jim, Jack, Johnnie, or José.
Though the bar maintained a general western décor and country music in the background, the overall feel was more . . . classy, Peyton decided. Comfortable and classy. Clean, but not sterile. No problem sweeping empty peanut shells on the floor, but no fear in using the restroom either. Enough western hints to keep the locals happy, but not so much that the place was a caricature. The music was current, contemporary country, with some classics thrown into the mix. A small but decent menu was served during normal eating hours, and the drink menu now offered a few choices that women were drawn to in addition to the typical male-driven drink selection.
The perfect blend of old and new.
“This is fantastic.” Bea led them over to a round high-top table and settled down. Grabbing a drink menu, she smiled. “And I can have something here other than a water. Excellent.” Putting the menu down, she gazed around the room, over toward the back where pool tables still dominated. “Guess some things do change.”