Peyton let her head fall to the table, rhythmically beating her forehead against the wood. “I knew it.”
“But the other half seem to think there’s nothing wrong. That half is split between people who just don’t care, regardless, and those who might have cared, but know you’re solid at what you’re doing and so they’re willing to turn a blind eye to it. A little hypocritical, if you ask me. But a hypocrite’s dollar splits into a hundred pennies, just like a righteous man’s.”
Peyton mulled over that bizarre phrase for a moment before lifting her head. “They don’t care?”
“Half, anyway. And I’d say probably more than that; it’s just other people are staying mum. And frankly, I think you shouldn’t give a damn. You’re a strong woman and you run a good business. Do you have any idea how many jackasses tried to tell me I had no business running a bar, especially out here?”
“How many?” Bea asked, leaning in with fascination.
“Too many to count. The point is, I knew I was going to be successful, so I gave them all the middle finger and went right on doing what I wanted. It worked for me. Why can’t it work for you?”
“Because Peyton plays by the rules,” Bea answered for her.
“I do not.”
“Of course you do.” Her sister sat back, so smug in her unwrinkled shirt and perfect hair and flawless makeup. “If you didn’t play by the rules, you’d do just what Jo said. But instead, I bet you heard the shit was going to hit the fan and you immediately dumped that hot man, didn’t you?”
Peyton grumbled and took a sip of beer.
“Which sucks on more levels than one, since I guarantee you wanted him for more than just his riding skills.”
She stared at her sister, not sure which part to address first. The idea that she felt more for Red than just lust, or that her sister was making sex puns over cocktails? When the hell had she grown up?
Someone called for Jo, and she held up a finger to signal she’d be a minute. “Look, I don’t know you well, but I’ll give you advice anyway.”
Peyton raised a brow.
“Comes free with the drinks. If you want this guy for more than just a few quick pokes in the hay, then grab the bull by the horn and do the thing.”
“Could you insert just a few more cowboy puns in there?” Peyton asked, setting aside her empty bottle.
“Still learning. I’ll work on it. I don’t have any experience in keeping a man around for more than sex. Never wanted to. Not my thing. But if that’s what blows your skirt up, then by all means, go for it. I’m coming!” she yelled over her shoulder when someone from the bar called her name again. Hopping down from the chair, she grabbed her tray from the table and nodded. “Think about it.”
Bea waited until Jo was gone before asking quietly, “You really are hung up on him, aren’t you? You wouldn’t be so upset if it was just about business. Pissed, yeah. But not upset.”
In one last ditch effort to play it cool, Peyton pointed out, “I do love the ranch, you know.”
“Of course you do. God knows why, but you do. Bless you,” Bea said to a server who dropped off another round of drinks and took their empties. Peyton stared at the fresh bottle, wondering when she’d polished off the first. “The bigger question is, do you love him?”
Luckily, Peyton hadn’t taken a sip yet of her new drink. “I . . .”
Bea smiled softly and reached over to pat her arm. “There, there. It’ll be okay.”
“Smart ass.”
“We share the same genes.”
Peyton stared down at her own self, dressed in what Bea had termed barely acceptable jeans and a simple blue shirt, the hair she kept in one braid for practical reasons, the fact that she didn’t own makeup at all. Oh yeah, they were two peas in a pod, the Muldoon sisters.
As if reading her mind, Bea sniffed. “Well, sometimes the gene pool is a little shallow. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you up.”
Like hell, Peyton thought. But she smiled in spite of herself and traced a finger through the drops of condensation on the bottle.
Before she could find a lighter topic to move on to, Peyton’s phone buzzed. Glancing at it, she saw the envelope icon indicating she had a text message from an unexpected number.
“Billy?” she murmured, then flipped the phone open.
“Billy,” Bea repeated, taking a sip of her girly drink from the tiny straw, brow scrunched in concentration. “That cutie high schooler? Honey, I think it’s great you’re opening yourself up to new experiences. But if you think being with Red would cause negative gossip, then you and—”