Taking the Reins(92)

Peyton’s eye was drawn to a figure moving toward them, and she groaned. “And others stay the same.” She stayed seated, knowing the high chair gave her an advantage over standing.

Sam Nylen stopped in front of her, leaning over in a blatant show of intimidation. “Out enjoying the town, Ms. Muldoon?” His voice ended in a sneer, showing her just how much respect he truly had to give.

“Why else would we be seated in a bar, menu in hand?” She turned to Bea, using her shoulder to block the man. “What are you ordering?”

Bea’s eyes flicked between her sister and the old trainer. “Uh, I think I’m going to try the—”

“Giving the boyfriend the night off? Maybe you’re out trolling for a new stud. Any businessmen here you’re hoping to persuade?” The man raised his voice so it carried easily over the soft music.

Bea’s eyes rounded in shock.

Peyton rolled her own, though her blood boiled. In spite of her temper, she worked hard to keep her voice calm. “I’m not my mother, so you’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t need my body to do business.” Her voice dropped even lower, knowing those at the tables close by were listening. “And besides, you’re not really one to throw stones, are you? Not when your glass house was built with siphoned funds.”

Nylen snorted and puffed out his chest, invading her personal space just a little more. “You little bitch, you’ve got no idea—”

“Nylen.” A large hand landed on the ex-trainer’s shoulder. “Can I call you a cab?”

Peyton peered around Nylen’s body to find a man she recognized by face, but not by name. He was older, in his late fifties she would guess. They’d likely bumped into each other at one of the more recent rodeo events she’d been in. But right now, all she could think was that he was saving her from kneeing Nylen right in the gonads, which would have been a serious showstopper.

Nylen shrugged the hand off and—blessedly—stepped back. The cool air that rushed to meet Peyton was ambrosia. “Taking up for this slut, too, Jacobson? She’ll be flat on her back for you in no time. Just take out a few stud fees and you’re in.”

“Now, Sam, that’s just rude. The ladies here are enjoying their night out.” Though said pleasantly, the undercurrent of don’t mess around with me couldn’t be missed. The older man squeezed Nylen’s shoulder, and he shrugged under the pressure.

Nylen might have been a jackass, but he wasn’t slow. Shooting Peyton one more disgusted look, he stalked out the front door. Another man followed closely behind, but she couldn’t get a good look at him. Who the hell would be stupid enough to befriend that jerk, anyway?

Mr. Jacobson shook his head sadly, then wiped his palms on the sides of his jeans. Holding one hand out, he said, “Nice to see you again, Ms. Muldoon. We met a few weeks back, at that rodeo in—”

“Of course. How are you, Mr. Jacobson?” Peyton mentally searched her mind and came up with a short, almost inconsequential conversation while waiting for Trace to compete.

“Dan, please.” He smiled easily and introduced himself to Bea. “Sorry about the trouble. Sam’s never been good for a damn thing, pardon the language.”

Bea fluttered her eyelashes at him. “You were wonderful. Thank you for helping, we really appreciate it. Could we offer you a seat and a drink? It’s the least we can do.”

Though the man was probably a grandfather by now, and married, judging by the ring on his finger, he blushed at her invitation. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to head back, I’ve got friends waiting.” Turning a more serious look to Peyton, he added, “Nylen talks a lot, but not many people listen anymore. Maybe once upon a time . . .” Dan shook his head. “What people do in their private lives is their own business. I don’t give two hoots. What I care about is the product and the quality of the business. And Ms. Muldoon? You’ve got quality. I watched your brother ride, and he and that horse were a thing of beauty. Plus, you have Redford Callahan in your corner, and that man is the definition of quality. I’ve been telling everyone I know you’re the next stop for me when I’m ready for some more stock.”

Peyton’s tongue felt twice its normal size. She managed to swallow and smile. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

He nodded. “I don’t spread around the manure, and I don’t like watching others fling it around either. We’ll just keep this little convo to ourselves, like the respectable people we are.”

She could have hugged him. But instead she held out a hand again, thanked him, and watched him melt into the crowd.