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Authors: Kat Murray

Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (19 page)

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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“Bea’s not—” He stopped himself short.
“Bea’s not what?” She didn’t look up at him, concentrating instead on the ground and not tripping over anything in the dark.
“Bea’s not . . . like you,” he finished lamely. If Bea didn’t want her family knowing she went for joyrides in the middle of the night, it wasn’t his business to bring it up. He’d check on Lover Boy in the morning, but as long as she groomed him well and settled the tack back in the proper spots, then he wouldn’t say anything.
Peyton snorted. “She never was. Barbie doll and tomboy, we couldn’t be more different if we tried.”
“Who gave you those labels?” Red followed her up the stairs to his apartment and opened the door around her. As she shuffled inside, he watched her make herself at home in his small place. Boots came off and settled by the door, just as if Emma would come bursting in to scold her otherwise. She hung her jacket on the back of a kitchen chair, walked to the fridge and grabbed his pitcher of water, then started looking through cabinets for a cup.
“Above the stove,” he said helpfully.
“They should go by the fridge. That’s where they make the most sense.” But when she reached for the cabinet, she couldn’t quite make it. “Why don’t you have a stool in this place?”
He walked up behind her, raised his arm, and pulled down a cup without a word. As he handed it to her, she scowled. “Not all of us can be freak-of-nature tall, you know.”
“Of course not.” He waited until she had a drink and asked again, “Who named you the tomboy and your sister the Barbie doll?”
“You just assume I was the tomboy? Why couldn’t I be the Barbie?”
Red just stared at her.
“Oh, fine. My mother. Sylvia.”
He waited patiently.
“Trace is the oldest. And he was all boy from the start. Which was a good thing. But when I came along, I think my mother just saw me as a plaything. Trace was already Dad’s little helper, following him around the ranch like they were joined at the knee. So a girl? As far as she was concerned, I was practically begging to be decked out in lace and ribbons and bows simply because I was born female.”
Red tried—he really did try—to hold back a laugh at the thought of a little mini-Peyton all dressed up in her Sunday finest on a daily basis. And he could perfectly picture the little brunette cutie sulking in a corner with her frills, a pretty pout on her face because she would rather tear the whole thing off and go roll in the dirt.
Peyton’s mouth curved, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Uh huh. Obviously you see this didn’t work out. Much to my mother’s dismay, I was just as determined to be outside with Daddy as Trace was. We were three peas in a pod. Then came Bea.”
Peyton shifted to stare out the small window behind his kitchen table. “She was the little princess my mother had been waiting for. All baby-fine blond hair and those big blue eyes. The doll she could dress up and show off to her friends. Perfection, really.” Peyton shrugged, like it didn’t matter. Red wasn’t buying it. “Trace was Daddy’s protégé. Bea fell right in line with Mama’s girly plans. I sort of just . . . hung in limbo. Wasn’t a fun place to be sometimes.”
“Why weren’t you your father’s protégé?”
She sighed. “I was still a girl. I loved my father so much. And he taught me what he knew about horses, which was plenty.” As if reading his mind, she shrugged her shoulders. “It was his business sense he struggled with. But anyway, he didn’t mind teaching me how to ride, handle life in the barn. But I was still a girl, and he never quite let go of the idea that Trace would step into his boots. Between being the oldest and being male, well . . .”
“And you never mentioned you wanted to learn how to run the ranch?”
“I didn’t want to upset the balance.” Peyton cleared her throat and shot him a sultry look. “But that’s enough of that. How about you and I see what your bed feels like?”
He let her lead him to his bed, small though it was. He had more than a few creative ways to get around the lack of square footage. But in the back of his mind, he mentally made a note to think about how upset she was with her mother and the lot she’d been handed in life. Nobody thought Peyton gave two shits about her mother. And God knew, it seemed her mother hadn’t care a damn for Peyton. Or the ranch, come right down to it. Probably didn’t care about anyone but herself. But Peyton cared. Or at least, the little girl Peyton had once been cared.
He ached for that little girl, the one in the frilly dress who wasn’t enough for her mother just by being herself, nor her father who loved her, but didn’t know what to do with her. He hated that she felt the weight of restrictions placed on her shoulders, a conditional sort of love. And he sympathized with her for that, since his own father’s affections could be bought and sold for a few grand and a good bottle of Jameson.
But Peyton wasn’t ready to bond over childhood memories. Not yet. He was prepared to wear her down though. Prepared to wait her out. He was a patient man. It made him damn good at his job. So he could afford the same sort of patience with the woman he was becoming more and more sure he wanted to spend forever with.
Taking her hand, Red led Peyton to the bed, a whole seven steps in the other direction. When her knees hit the mattress, he used one hand to guide her down gently until her feet dangled over the edge of the bed. He sat beside her, but ignored her outstretched arms. First things first. He gripped one boot and pulled until it slid off her foot, then massaged her instep a moment. Peyton groaned in response, her back arching.
“Oh my God, that is unbelievable.”
“I hear that a lot. Ouch.” He rotated his shoulder where she whacked him. “This is the treatment I get?”
“You mention other women, it’s what you get.” She only melted farther into the mattress when he switched feet. “Okay, you can say whatever you want, just don’t stop doing that.”
He laughed. “You’re making it too easy on me.”
She cracked one eyelid. “I think that’s the first time a guy has ever complained about having it easy.”
Red almost tossed her words back at her, but then his gut clenched at the thought of Peyton with another man. Call him a caveman, but he didn’t want to think about it. To take both their minds off the conversation, he worked the button to her jeans until it popped free, then the zipper. The rasp of the metal teeth giving was almost drowned out by Peyton’s accelerated breathing.
She was definitely not as immune to their chemistry as she wanted to make him believe, wanted to believe herself. She was a woman who would go to her grave attempting to convince herself one thing while feeling another. But there was no mistaking her sharp breath when he hooked his thumbs in the top of her jeans and pulled. The denim caught at her knees, then slithered to the floor with just a small push from him.
Creamy skin covered with practical cotton underwear had him smiling. He liked her simple underwear. Showed she wasn’t interested in fooling around with the frilly stuff. A woman after his own heart.
But after those panties were on the floor with her jeans and boots, he was smiling for a whole different reason.
“I hate when you look like that,” she grumbled.
“Like what?” Red let his fingers trail down her center, pausing with every shiver of her body.
“Like right now. You look like a wolf stalking a helpless sheep.”
He did a quick roll that put Peyton on top. “Helpless, my ass.”
And with a wolfish grin of her own, Peyton took to her newfound advantage like a duck to water. She ripped at his shirt, shoving aside the material so fast he was sure he heard seams pop. But he’d have gladly torn the thing to shreds himself to help her once she put her mouth on his skin.
Her tongue traced around his belly button, then down the happy trail to his waistband. Then the pink tip darted under the elastic of his boxers and he nearly lost it.
“Jesus, Peyton. Take them off or just kill me already.”
She laughed, enjoying her power a little too much. “Anxious, cowboy?”
“Honey, I can’t think straight, I want you so much.”
Her eyes shifted to a dark, almost blue-black, color, and she tugged hard at his belt and the button of his jeans. While she finished undressing him, he reached into the bedside drawer for the box of condoms, tossing one onto his stomach. Before he could sit up to roll it on, she grabbed it and did the deed herself.
God, her hands around his cock, even with something so practical as protection, hammered him with sensations he needed to lock down if he was going to make this last longer than five seconds. He rolled once more so she was under him, then had the satisfaction of watching her eyes go glassy when he pushed into her, pulsed fully inside her.
When he didn’t move, didn’t set the pace, Peyton’s hands streaked up and down his back. “Red, I can’t wait. Don’t make me wait.”
Her small plea broke his need to take it slow, and he gave up all hope of lasting. He pulled back, pushed in again, and shuddered when she tightened around him. Jesus God, the woman could drive him crazy on every level.
He breathed her name as he thrust again and again. The satisfied sound of her climax barely had time to register in his mind before he fell over the cliff of completion himself.
The last thing he thought before they both drifted to sleep, with Peyton tucked firmly beside him, was that there was no way he would willingly give this up.
 
Hours later, Red kissed the top of Peyton’s head and opened the side door to the main house. “Good night.”
She smiled back up at him and bumped his arm with her shoulder. “You didn’t have to walk me back. This isn’t a date or anything.”
“No, not a date.” At least, none of his dates before had ever been so much fun. “But it’s still my job to make sure you get home safely.”
She rolled her eyes in the weak light, but the corners of her mouth twitched. Answering the temptation, he swooped down and kissed her once more, hard and fast. “Go to bed. Boss needs to be in top condition tomorrow.”
She rolled her eyes again, but scooted out of reach when he made a lunge for her. “You go to bed. My prize trainer needs to perform.” With a wink that left him a little dumbfounded—did Peyton really just wink?—she closed the door behind her, and he heard the dead bolt slide home.
Grinning like the fool he was, Red shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back across the dirt path toward his apartment. Somehow he managed to resist the urge to whistle. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever felt like things were going so right in his life. It wasn’t ideal, he admitted. Sneaking around like horny teenagers trying not to get caught by mom and dad wasn’t really how a man in his thirties wanted to handle his love life. But for the moment, it was what Peyton was comfortable with.
Eventually he could ease her into a more open relationship. But he knew it’d take some time. Pushing her would be a surefire way to have his ass kicked off the property pronto.
A movement, a shift of shadow, caught his eye and he turned toward the barn. Someone stood in the dark shade of the overhang of the side door that led to Arby’s office. Immediately the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Definitely not Beatrice, and not one of his guys either.
But it was definitely a man. A man Red shared DNA with. Before he could decide whether to try to sneak around the side and catch his father unaware or sprint full out at him, the shadow turned and ran in the opposite direction. Red ran after him, doing his best to make up for the head start, ready to tackle his father to the ground, but as the man rounded the corner of the workout arena, it was as if he disappeared into thin air.
Dammit, Mac.
Red halted, knowing the chase would do no good. Instead, he turned on his heel and raced back to the barn to see how far his father had gotten in the process of breaking into the barn. The lock still looked intact. Going around to the front, where the large sliding door wouldn’t be locked, he stepped onto the concrete floor. One lazy head poked out from her stall to give him a soulful look, begging for a late-night snack.
“Sorry sweetheart.” He scratched the mare between her ears. He headed a little farther in to find Steve sitting in a folding chair, boots propped up on a bucket, reading a worn paperback. “All well in here?”
Steve folded down the corner of the page and closed the book. He didn’t appear at all disturbed. “Yup. No activity, they’re all quiet.”
Red glanced around, but nothing was out of place. “Nothing weird, no strange sounds?”
“Nope.” Steve eyed him and checked his watch, pressing a button on the side to illuminate the face. “Kinda late to be making a round. Everything okay?”
Red paused, listening again to the comforting sounds of a barn at peace. Deep breathing of sleeping equines, the soft rustle of hay beneath feet, the low hum of the one overhead light kept on for Steve. “No, everything’s fine.” He gave Steve a nod and headed back out.
So his father intended to slip in to the office and slip out again. Must have figured on the ranch having twenty-four watch. It was the only reason he’d go in through a locked door rather than the easy way.
BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
5.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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