Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (23 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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“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
“O
h 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.”
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.
“He was nice.” Bea fiddled with the menu. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Like an angel of good timing, a short woman with black hair scraped back in a tight ponytail came over and set napkins in front of them. Hopping up on the empty chair, she leaned against the high back, as if getting comfortable for the evening. “Girls night out?”
Peyton stared for a moment. Quite forward for a waitress.
Bea smiled. “Trying to work out some man problems.”
The woman nodded, as if she heard this all the time. Heck, maybe she did. “Trying to keep one, or get rid of one? Gotta warn you, I’ve got no experience in the first, but plenty with the second.”
“Neither,” Peyton answered before Bea could spill out her life story. “Just spending a nice night out.”
The waitress shrugged, her shoulder brushing against one of the large hoops hanging from her ears. Just one of several pairs of earrings, actually. She must have at least four piercings in each ear. “Easy enough. What can I get ya?”
They each ordered, though the woman never wrote anything down. After hopping down from the tall chair—the woman really was quite short—she said, “I’ll be back in a minute with those drinks. Just holler for Jo if you need anything.”
“Jo, as in . . .” Bea pointed to a sign over the top of the bar declaring the building Jo’s Place.
“That’d be me. My name, my place.” She disappeared without another word.
“Hmm. She’s interesting. Definitely not local, or even from the surrounding area.” Bea tapped one finger against her lips. “Wonder what her story is.”
“Hey, Nosy, don’t worry about it. What’s with you and all the curiosity these days? I thought you couldn’t wait to get out of this place.”
“I couldn’t. I can’t,” she corrected quickly. “I’m just trying to keep busy while I’m here. Might as well get to know people, including you, if I have to stay.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Peyton pointed out.
The ongoing argument was put on hold when Jo returned with their drinks.
“One Bud Lite for everyone’s favorite cowgirl,” Jo said, placing a cold bottle on Peyton’s napkin, “and one Cape Cod.” A short glass with pink liquid settled in front of Bea, ice clinking.
“Thank you sweet baby Jesus.” Bea grabbed the glass like a drowning man might grab a life preserver and took a sip. “That is fantastic. Jo, you might be my new favorite person in this town.”
“Thanks,” Peyton said dryly.
“Thanks,” Jo answered, a little more pleasantly. Sitting back down on the tall chair, she sighed. “Mind if I take a breather? I like being out on the floor with the customers, but I’m not twenty-one anymore.”
Coulda fooled Peyton. Maybe it was the woman’s short stature, or her slightly round face, but Peyton wouldn’t have put her over twenty-two, max. Obviously that was wrong, since someone in her early twenties wouldn’t typically have the cash or know-how to open a bar in a town like Marshall and keep it running well.
“I heard what Dan said before he walked away. I was eavesdropping.” She just put that out there, so there was no confusion. “Unlike Dan, sweet man that he is, I have no problem with gossip of all shapes and sizes. So, what’s the deal with you and Red Callahan?”
Peyton nearly tipped her beer over. “What? How do you . . .”
“I overheard, remember? It’s my place. I figure if someone’s talking in here, I’ve got a right to hear what you’re saying.”
Bea watched her for a moment. “I think you and I are going to be very good friends.”
Peyton sighed. “Before you two start bonding, could we back up a minute?”
Jo set her tray down on the table and stretched her arms overhead, causing her breasts to press against the front of her polo. For a short woman, she had some unexpected curves. “Current chatter is that you, dear Peyton, are involved in a hot, torrid affair with Red Callahan. Which most of the women in this town are green with envy over and the men are split on.”
Bea pushed her empty glass toward Jo. “I’m gonna need another one of these when you get a minute. You can drive home, right, Peyton?”
She ignored her sister. “Split? How so?”
“Seems a pretty even divide, truthfully. Half of them are pretty sure it’s the downfall of society once owners and trainers start shacking up and doing the nasty. The few who made some disgusting remarks I won’t repeat because it won’t add to the probably-already-shattered illusion that I’m a lady.”
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.”

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