Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) (4 page)

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Authors: Kat Murray

BOOK: Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled)
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She placed the file back down with precise care. “These all the offers you have?”
“All the ones still being considered.”
“Popular guy.” It wasn’t a compliment the way she said it.
He shrugged.
“How about one more?”
Chapter Three
H
e stared at her, almost afraid to hear her out. “One more what?”
“Offer.” She took a deep breath, linked her hands together, and stared at him with a silent dare to look away. “We need a trainer.”
No. The answer was obvious. Clear as day. He shouldn’t even be in the hotel room with her now. Too dangerous. He needed to say no.
His gut gave a little jump and roll.
Now? Fuck.
She barreled on, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. “The pay will probably suck compared to what you could get elsewhere, but I can give you what every one of these places can’t.”
“Besides money?” he asked dryly, trying to settle his stomach.
“Well, yeah. I just said that.” She rolled her eyes like he was a child speaking out of turn.
Against his better judgment, curiosity won out. “Let’s hear the pitch.”
Her eyes widened then narrowed, as if she’d already read his mind and sensed his reluctance. “Why, so you can just laugh and toss me out?”
He waved a hand toward the bed. “I haven’t made a decision yet. So it’s anyone’s game. Why should I pick you?”
“Because I need you.”
His heart all but stopped in his chest, and dropped down to rattle around in his ribs.
“I need your experience, your reputation. Your hand with the horses. I’ve got some great two-year-olds, promising colts. And strong breeding lines. And I’ve got the drive and the commitment to making it work. What I don’t have is the clout to get others to take a chance on me and my horses.”
Needed him . . . as a trainer. Right.
Time to get your head out of your pants and pay attention, Callahan.
“You don’t think they need me?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the files.
“Not like I do. Oh, they might say they need you. But they either have trainers who do well for them, or they don’t have the room to grow. Or they don’t give a shit about the future, and only want to use you for your name and pretty face.”
That’s exactly what he’d said earl—wait. “Pretty face?” He couldn’t help but smile at that.
She sat on the bed, causing the files to slide around. “Don’t get a big head.”
Peyton sitting on his bed was definitely not something he needed to be thinking about. “Is there a time limit on the offer?”
“Forty-eight hours.”
Bold. Nobody else had handed him a timeline. It’d always been at his convenience. But Peyton Muldoon and boldness went hand in hand.
“I’ll think about it.” His gut pulled again, in that way he’d learned to listen to. But he wasn’t ready yet.
She shrugged, as if the fate of her ranch didn’t hinge on his decision. “You do that.” Standing, she walked to the door, then shot him a cocky smile. “I’ll show myself out.” She shut it quietly behind herself.
He waited until he heard an engine—had to be hers—roar to life and take off, fading into the distance. Then he let out a big breath and rubbed a hand just under his sternum.
“Now? Really? With her? Anyone but her.”
It was too late. He knew, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, the decision was made. Now he just had to make sure that they didn’t wind up hating each other on a daily basis.
Good fucking luck with that.
 
Peyton pulled up the long drive and debated heading right, toward the stable. But truthfully, despite her cut to Red about starting early, she needed a nap. She’d be no good to anyone without some rest. And she’d spent the entire night before tossing and turning, trying to make up her mind whether she was doing the right thing by going to Red, or if she was the world’s biggest fool.
Jury, it appeared, was still out on that one. For another forty-seven hours and counting.
But she didn’t regret going over there, even if she ended up with nothing but egg on her face. She’d never know if she didn’t try, and Red was the best chance she had to save the ranch with minimal fuss.
Besides, if she hadn’t gone over there at such an early hour, she never would have scored the prime sight of Red in nothing but his boxers. God, that’d been a treat. It would be so much easier to dislike the man if he had a potbelly, or some weird deformity. But no, he had to look like God’s gift to females. All tan, smooth skin pulled tight over hard muscles. And that intriguing little happy trail that led...
Led to nowhere good. Time for a mental kick in the ass if
that’s
where her mind was heading all on its own.
Pulling up to the ranch house, she stopped short when another rig was in her Jeep’s spot. Old, slightly rusted, and dinged in several places, it’d seen better days. Better decades, really. Glancing on down the yard, she saw a horse trailer that didn’t belong to the ranch. That, of course, was newer and shiny. Cowboys always took great care with their trailers and equipment. Personal items ranked low on the list, behind anything their animal might need.
But who the hell was this? And why was he—or she—parked in her spot? She whipped around and pulled up next to the rust-bucket-rig and slammed her door shut. Just what she needed. Company, when she was hoping for a nap.
Who the hell came to call at five-thirty in the morning?
After wiping her boots on the mat and toeing them off in the mudroom—Emma could put the fear of God into anyone who muddied up her floors—she started the hunt for the rig owner.
“Emma? You up yet?”
The answer was quick in coming. “Quit your hollering and get in the kitchen. I’ve got breakfast started in here and I’m not leaving it to chase you down.”
She smiled. In a year full of changes, it was great to know that some things didn’t change at all. She followed the scent of bacon and eggs to the kitchen. “Emma, do you know whose rig that is out—”
She stopped short, breath cut from her lungs as the figure seated at the kitchen table rose and faced her.
“Hey sis. Long time no see.”
Breathe. Breathe, dammit. She whooshed out a breath. “Trace? What the hell are you doing here?”
His grin was slow and easy as he held out his hands. “Wasn’t that you who left the angry voicemail saying I needed to get the lead out of my lazy ass and call you back?”
Time to pop her eyes back in her head. “Yeah. But . . . but . . .”
“But you didn’t think I’d come on over this way, huh?” He walked toward her, long legs carrying him in a few steps, socks padding quietly over the kitchen tile. He grabbed her in a hug and lifted her straight off her feet. At six feet, he’d always been able to toss her around. It was his favorite pastime as a boy. “Christ, you grew up on me. I missed you, shortie.”
“Don’t call me that.” She beat her fists on his back, but only to give the appearance of resistance. Then, giving up on all hope of remaining aloof, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and squeezed like she would never let go. “I missed you, too,” she whispered. Hot tears burned the back of her throat. So long, she’d been holding things together, including herself, with some gum, a shoestring, and a prayer. And with the sight of one friendly face, she was about to crumble.
Then she remembered exactly what it had taken to get him back there, and she straightened. “I’m so mad at you.”
“I know. But be mad at me a little later.” Trace set her gently down and stepped back. Peyton took the chance to look him over.
He looked leaner, stronger than the last time she’d seen him. But then again, he’d only been nineteen. Lines crinkled around his eyes. Eyes that weren’t so naive anymore, so gung-ho, so full of energy. Weary to the bone, that’s how he looked. Weary and ready for a break.
“What are you doing here? Aren’t you missing something important? Another rodeo, another buckle to chase?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and ambled to the table. She followed and sat down across from him.
“I’m just taking a little breather from the circuit right now. Needed some time off.”
Emma snorted.
“Time off? But Trace, the rodeo is your life.”
This time, he snorted. “Not quite. I do love the thrill, but the lifestyle’s starting to get old.”
Another snort from Emma.
“Would someone tell me why everyone keeps sounding like a bull in heat?” Peyton glanced between Trace’s wry face and the back of Emma’s head at the stove. “What am I missing?”
“You said you needed to talk about the ranch. So, let’s talk.” Trace crossed one heel over his knee and leaned back, confident in his ability to bring her around.
She wasn’t the scrawny teen he left behind, worshipping his every move. “You’re dodging.”
“Yup.”
No bull with Trace. Never was. “Fine. We’ll get back to that. More pressing stuff to talk about anyway. Like how you abandoned your favorite sister to the dragon Sylvia.”
One more snort from Emma before she turned to place a steaming plate piled high with bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, and ham in front of Trace.
“Emma, I seriously missed you all these years.” Trace leaned over to kiss her cheek.
“Sure could have fooled me, what with you staying gone so long.”
He said nothing to that, only pointed to Peyton with his fork before digging in.
Peyton stared at her own slightly less full plate and felt her appetite shrink. “We need to talk about the will.”
Trace’s easy grin slid off his face. “I don’t want to talk about that woman.”
That woman. Their mother.
“Well, we have to. She’s connected to the issue, although only indirectly, so don’t get your tighty whities in a knot. The gist is, Mama didn’t have a will. So the provisions in Daddy’s will slide on down. After Mama died, the ranch came to—”
“You.”
That’s what they’d all assumed, apparently. The only one of the three who’d stayed, who’d wanted it. But no. “Not quite. Actually, it’s a three-way split. You, me, and Bea.”
“Bea?” A pile of eggs plopped back onto his plate as Trace’s fork froze halfway to his mouth. “But she doesn’t even ride. She doesn’t even like to get dirty. She’s been to the barn, like, three times in her entire life.”
Peyton shook her head. “I know. Trust me, I know. But that’s just what it is.”
“So what does this mean?”
“Since I’m the only one who has any real interest in the ranch, I’ll keep doing what I’m doing. I’ve got some ideas to work our way out of the debt Mama dug us into. But it’s not going to be easy. And also . . .” She took a deep breath, then a sip from the coffee mug Emma sat next to her plate. “Also, you and Bea have equal say in all major decisions regarding the ranch.”
His fork clattered to the plate. “No shit.”
Emma’s hand shot out from nowhere and slapped the back of his head. “Language at the table.”
Trace rubbed his head and scowled. “Yes ma’am.”
Peyton snickered. She’d been on the receiving end of the manners lesson enough times to know Emma didn’t pull her punches. Didn’t matter if they were three or thirty-three. Emma ruled the kitchen, and most of the rest of the house, with an iron fist.
“I assume you talked to a lawyer about it.”
“I did. It’s legit.”
“Bea isn’t gonna have a clue what to do with this place.”
At that, Peyton scowled. “She doesn’t have to. She just has to agree with me.”
Trace grinned. “That holy terror? She’ll argue what color to paint the barn simply because she can. Causing problems just to watch the dust fly was always her favorite thing to do, you know that.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she said dryly. “The good news is, if I need to run something by you two, I can just call you and Bea and get confirmation.” That reminded her . . . “Speaking of, not that I’m not glad to see your ugly mug. But you want to try again telling me exactly why you’re here?”
“Just taking a break. Every cowboy needs a little time to recoup.” He took a calm sip of coffee, as if he wasn’t hiding a damn thing. She wasn’t fooled one bit.
“You know eventually you’ll have to tell me.”
“Nothing to tell.”
“Uh huh. Well, after your break, you can rest assured that you won’t have to jot back here every so often for ranch business. I know you like to move around. So you don’t have to stay.”
“Yeah.” He picked up his mug. “Staying. About that—”
A muffled sound from up the stairs caught her ear, and she cocked her head. Trace started to speak, but she held up a hand. “What was that?”
It came again, sharper, louder, and completely unmistakable. The wail of a baby.
Peyton looked around wildly, then over at Emma.
The housekeeper didn’t bat an eye. Undoing her apron, she folded it on the counter and left the kitchen, saying, “I’ll get him.”

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