Chapter Six
Bea was silent, but from the corner of his eye, he could see she’d dropped her hand in her lap and was watching rather than inspecting her manicure for chips.
“We’ve still got outstanding bills to pay. People have been generous, and I appreciate it. But that generosity can only go on for so long. People want their money, and I can’t blame them. Plus . . .” She looked at the large computer monitor.
“Plus?” Bea asked anxiously.
“Back taxes.”
Ouch. Trace winced. Uncle Sam wasn’t known for his generosity on excusing taxes. “Sylvia really was a peach.”
Bea bit her bottom lip, finally looking enough disturbed by the conversation to pay attention. “So now what?”
“We’re on a payment schedule. But between the taxes, which I didn’t see coming, and the catch-up we’re still playing in other areas . . . it’s tight.” Peyton laid her hands on the desk. “I’ll be honest . . . we need something more. Something new.”
“Something new? Like what, new horses? A new trainer?” Trace’s mind spun, trying to follow his sister.
She shook her head. “Those are band-aids. We need to branch out a little more. Find a new clientele.”
“Wasn’t that my job, with my old rodeo buddies?” Was he really tanking that badly? Was this his fault?
“You’re doing great. Your friends and their word of mouth . . . it’s what’s keeping us going right now. Without it, we would have handed our keys over to Uncle Sam months ago. But we need to reach even higher.” Peyton tapped one finger on the desk and stared meaningfully at Bea.
She looked blank for a moment, then Bea’s head snapped back. “Me? What the hell do you think I’m going to add to this mess?”
More mess, was Trace’s guess.
“You have a ton of skills you haven’t tapped into yet,” Peyton said, all warmth now. “We just need to think outside the box and use your own personal brand of... individuality to our mutual benefit.”
Wow, clearly Peyton’s skills in diplomacy had improved in the last year.
“I’m not a rancher.” Bea crossed her arms over her chest. Trace recognized that stance.
“I didn’t ask you to be.” Peyton flattened her hands on the desk and leaned forward.
Yup, he recognized that stance, too. It was from every fight his sisters had as teenagers, all over again. Trace settled back in his chair and prepared to watch the fur fly.
“Then there’s nothing I can do.”
“You could start by getting your ass out of bed before ten in the morning,” Peyton snapped.
Trace watched diplomacy take a flying leap right out the window.
“My ass and its time schedule are none of your concern.”
“They are when you’re sleeping in my house.”
“I have my own apartment now.”
“Which is actually the trainer’s apartment. Which is a part of the ranch.”
Bea smiled smugly. “Which, I’ll remind you, I own a third of!”
Oh, Jesus. The death blow. Peyton’s face flushed and she slammed one fist down on the desk, standing. “You arrogant little—”
“Who are you calling little, you hobbit!”
“Hobbit this!”
“Ladies?” Trace tried once, quickly, to intervene before Peyton jumped over the desk and mauled their baby sister where she sat. She might have been shorter than Bea, but she had more muscle and endurance.
Though Bea did have those nails . . .
Not his problem.
“This is doing nobody any good,” Trace said. “Can we get back to that whole ‘mutual benefit’ thing? I was interested in that.”
Peyton took a few calming breaths, though they didn’t do much to improve the flush still covering her face. Some of her hair had escaped her braid and curled crazily around her temple, and her jaw looked clenched hard enough to break ice. Bea, for her part, still looked completely unruffled, as if she went through screaming matches like this daily.
“Fine.” Peyton spoke through the clenched jaw. “Beatrice—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Bea,” she corrected with emphasis. “I know you have friends in higher places. People who own land out there in California. Friends who might be interested in horses trained by the best in the business. People who are willing to shell out six figures for a horse.”
Bea stared at her as if she were speaking Greek. “You’re sure I have friends like that?”
Peyton blinked. “I’m hoping.”
“Time to let that hope die, sis. None of my friends ride.”
“But maybe they’ve thought about it. Or they have friends who might. Don’t all movie producers have little ranches just outside the city limits? It’s a cliché for a reason, right?”
Bea scoffed. “In case you didn’t realize this, we lowly soap stars aren’t exactly all that high up the food chain. I was second string, if that. I don’t have a list of movie producers I can just call up to chat with.”
Trace cocked his head to the side. Interesting. This was the first time Bea had mentioned her career in anything but glowing terms. She’d led them all to believe she was only in South Dakota to give herself some distance from the life, and reevaluate her direction for the next acting gig.
“Can you make friends? Use connections? Something?” Peyton’s eyes started to develop a hint of desperation. “Anything?”
Bea shook her head, and for once Trace believed her remorse in telling Peyton no. “I just don’t have the connections you think I do.”
Peyton stared for a moment over their shoulders. He would have turned around to see what she was looking at, but he knew that glazed-over expression. It was the same one he’d had when the woman he’d been sleeping with told him she was pregnant. A look of recalculation, of reconsideration, of rejiggering your entire life to fit around whatever new card you were just dealt.
She nodded once, firmly. “Okay then. Sorry I wasted your time, both of you. I’ll just . . . figure something else out. I haven’t looked hard enough, I guess. There’s another way.”
Trace didn’t believe her. But there was no point in talking more. She was beaten, and she wanted them to leave the office so she could privately grieve for the failed plan she’d so obviously hung her hopes on.
He stood and waited for Bea to exit before speaking. “You’ve done good, Peyton.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I think we both know that’s a crock.”
“You can’t fix everything. Sylvia did her damnedest to drive this place into the ground before she crashed into that pole. That’s not on your shoulders. If you were starting from scratch, there’d be no contest. You’d be unstoppable.”
She stood and walked around the desk, stepping easily into his arms for a hug. Her ear rested against his chest and she sighed. “I wanted to save it for Daddy.”
“How about for yourself, too?”
“Oh, yeah. That was obvious.” He chuckled. “But I just had this image of Daddy watching us, cheering us on like he used to when we’d be out in the arena learning a new trick.”
“Sittin’ on a barrel or draped over the top rung of the gate, yelling at us to keep pushing harder, not give up,” he said, the image clear as crystal in his mind. In a few years, he could substitute himself for his father, Seth for a younger Trace. That made him smile.
“It’s over, isn’t it?” Peyton leaned back and looked at him. “I need someone to tell me the truth.”
“Do you still have the keys to the front door?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
“Then it’s not over.”
Trace twisted his back around and moaned when he found the pulled muscle. Something hadn’t felt right the entire day, and now he knew why. Damn. He needed a masseuse and a heating pad.
Too bad all he had was lukewarm bottled water and a horse trailer.
Actually, he stood and watched as Steve drove away the M-Star vehicle with the trailer attached. Now all he had was his own pickup.
The thought of a three-hour drive with his back aching so badly was enough to bring a grown man close to tears. After a quick debate, he realized he needed to suck it up and drive. His back would only be worse in the morning; he knew that much from experience.
Damn Lad and his desire to throw him off whenever the animal damn well felt like it. And damn that kid for screaming and scaring the piss out of his horse. Who the hell taught that kid barn etiquette, a pack of wolves?
An hour into the drive, his cell phone rang. He picked it up out of the dusty cup holder and flipped it open, hitting the speaker button at the same time. “Yeah?”
“Well, hey there, Daddy. Someone wanted to say goodnight.”
“Da!” Seth’s shrill scream pierced his skull and sent shards of glass rattling through his brain.
Trace gritted his teeth and fought back the rough edges of pain to keep his eyes on the empty road. “Hey, little man. You being a good boy for Peyton and Emma?”
“Da! Bah bah. Da!”
“Sure, uh-huh. Sounds like fun,” he said, wanting to smile. He would have, if it wouldn’t have hurt. Man, he missed his son. Two days away and the kid picked up new syllables.
“He’s reaching for a ball. I’m pretty sure full words are right around the corner.” Peyton’s voice was strong again and it was clear she’d taken the phone back from Seth. “So how’d it go?”
“Not shabby, until the end.”
“Define ‘not shabby’ and then what happened at the end?”
“Second overall in my division, and a few guys who are gonna be popping by this week to check the place out. And one guy who was interested in Lad.”
“Huh. Not a bad idea.”
“Lad’s my horse, Peyton.”
“Technically, he’s an M-Star horse. Besides, I thought you never wanted a horse of your own. Something about responsibilities and how you had too many of them already.”
Yeah, he’d said it. And meant it, too. Trying to travel everywhere with a horse of his own while towing Seth along for the ride had proven too much. And Trace never got in the habit of attaching any sentiment to his animals anyway. They were livestock, end of story.
But the thought of watching some other man drive away with Lad in his trailer, riding Lad on his own land . . .
It left a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe he was changing his tune.
“Forget Lad. The end part was basically something spooked him after we were done with the day and he threw me like a sack of potatoes. I think I pulled a muscle in my back.”
“Are you out of commission?”
“Thank you for your concern, Peyton,” he said dryly. “No, I don’t think I need a doctor. Yes, I’ll live. Your worry is overwhelming.”
“Can it, big bro. You’re talking and you’re alive. If it was worse you’d have told me and made me feel all sympathetic. It’s how men work. ‘Oh, poor me, I’m near death’s door. I have a cold. It’s like the plague, but worse.’ ”
She had him there.
“Should you be driving if it hurts that badly?”
“Steve took Lad back with him. I’m on my own so I can pull over when I need to stretch it out. But I’m probably not going to get back tonight, just a warning. I’ll need to pull over and rest for a while.”
“No problem. Little man here’s about to hit the hay and then he’s out for the night. I’m not going anywhere, so we’re set. Just be careful on the road.”
“Yeah . . .” He thought about it a little and wondered if maybe he should push all the way home. “Just don’t expect me tonight.”
“You got it. We’ll see you tomorrow, and don’t push yourself.”
She hung up without a good-bye. So like Peyton.
Don’t push himself. Well, Peyton had ordered. And if Seth was going down for the night . . .
Trace ran some calculations and wondered if he could really make it back to Marshall tonight. Maybe, but it might not feel great.
He’d try. And if he made it, he might see about stopping in and asking a certain bartender to work a kink out in his back.
He could only try.
Jo watched the young man pound back his third beer in an hour. If he ordered another, she’d have to call him a cab or refuse service. She always hated playing hardball, so it was time to be a little diplomatic instead. She walked up and leaned over the bar, elbows resting on the polished wood.
“Have you been in here before?”
The younger man—she knew he was twenty-two, as she’d checked his ID herself—predictably let his eyes wander from her face down to the cleavage the polo shirt provided. She couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed about it. The reaction was too expected to rate annoyance. “I’ve been here. Just hang out in the back, usually.”
“And I’m always up front.” She took his empty away and started to fill a tumbler with ice. “Mind keeping me company while I take a quick breather?”
He nodded, then shook his head. “Sure. I mean, I don’t mind.”
He was cute, in an awkward, still finding his feet sort of way. She poured him some water as well, and as she hoped, he took a sip to match her own. Years and years behind the bar provided enough tricks to get a patron to slow down without being blunt. Lucky for her, her new young friend was easily led.
“So you work on one of the ranches around here?” She pulled the hair from her ponytail off her flushed neck and fanned the skin a little.
“Hell, no.” He looked offended. “I’m just home on break. I’m heading to law school next semester in Vermillion.”
“A smarty. I like a guy with brains.” The quick, teasing comment made him flush. Cute. “What’s your name again?”
“J. J. Jeff,” he corrected. “Jeff Junior, but everyone called me J. J. growing up. I’m trying to get rid of it.”
“Well, Jeff, it’s nice to meet you.” She held out a hand and he quickly shook it. She flashed him an apologetic smile as she stood to fill an order quickly, and then came back. “Excited about law school?”
“Sure. Family business. Can’t beat what you already know.”
She could relate, so she nodded. “Leaving any girls back here with broken hearts while you run off to school?”
“No,” he answered fast. “No girls.”
“Just as well for them, then. No need to leave a trail of crumbled souls behind you, right?” Jo winked, then glanced up as Stu motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. “Looks like my break’s over. Thanks for keeping me company.”
He saluted her with his ice water, and she was relieved to see it didn’t appear as though he would order another drink. With any luck, he’d finish off that glass before heading out the door. And as she watched from a distance while he cashed out with her secondary bartender, leaving a healthy tip behind, she was glad to see he walked straight and without a hitch. She took her business seriously, and over-serving was never an option.
Three hours later, Jo stretched and watched the last of her servers clock out for the evening. Amanda hung back and waited while the rest walked across the street to the parking lot as a group.
“How was your date?” Jo asked, swiping her manager’s card to bring up the day’s receipts.
Amanda gave her a knowing smile. “Can’t complain.”
“Who was the lucky cowboy?”
“Oh, some guy passing through. I think he’s already gone.” Amanda shrugged and folded her apron before tossing it into a bin to be laundered. “I wasn’t looking for forever. For now is good enough. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” She did. She’d always had for now. Sometimes she wondered what forever looked like. God knew, she didn’t have a solid example from her mother. Her father? Never seen him. But even her friends had a similar outlook to Amanda’s. There were no wedding invitations—Regina excluded—no calls to be a bridesmaid, no gushing e-mails about being the love of someone’s life. Her friends all sat on the same side of the line with regard to soul mates and true love.
Bunk it. Give me a good drink and a good orgasm and I’m satisfied.
“I saw Trace Muldoon hanging around a long while the other night.” Amanda stalled by starting to roll silverware for the next day’s lunch shift. “He have anything interesting to say?”
“Not a word,” Jo lied. “Just another cowboy. You know how that goes.”
“Yeah.” Her friend sighed lustily. “But God, what a sexy one. And there’s something to be said for the quiet types who know what to do in bed and don’t ruin it with a lot of chatter.”
Jo couldn’t disagree, so she simply kept her mouth shut.
“You know, it’s interesting about him. He—”
“Amanda. For the love of God. I’m—”
“Not listening to gossip. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Amanda rolled her eyes and let the last silverware roll drop into a bin. “No fun, that’s what you are.”
“Says so on my name tag.” Jo patted the embroidered pocket of her polo saying it was Jo’s Place.
Amanda snorted in disgust. “Fine. Stay here in your little bubble of solitude. When you want to know the good shit, come find me.”
Amanda left, and Jo watched her walk across the street and get safely into her car before turning away from the door. Now that she was alone, she hauled ass to get through the last of her duties and locked up. Walking around the corner toward her steps, she slowed, and then stopped as a feeling of déjà vu came over her.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Hey, yourself.” Trace leaned against the side of his truck, but didn’t approach. Just like last time. “It’s a little late, but I took a chance you wouldn’t kick me out on my ass.”
Jo shrugged. “I’m more inclined to get pissed over an early wake-up call than a late night visit.”
His smile was slow and easy. “That’s encouraging.”
Jo waited a beat, then swept her arm toward the stairs. Why pretend they didn’t both want it? That was self-defeating, and she made it a point to not be. “Well, if you’re coming, then let’s go.”
He followed her, then held out a hand when they reached her front door.
She eyed it. “What?”
“Keys.”
“I’m not giving you my keys. I can open the damn door myself. Country boys,” she muttered as she wrestled with the key ring and the fifty thousand keys on it. Seriously, did they make babies while the lights were out? When did she ever get this many keys? After trial and error, she found the one she wanted and unlocked her door.
“Maybe it’s just a polite thing, not a country thing. What, no city guys open your door for you?”
“They knew modern, twenty-first century gals like to do some heavy lifting ourselves,” she shot back. Clearly, she would have to lay down a few rules or else the man would be running over her life like a freight train. “I’m fully capable of carrying my own packages and opening doors and paying for dinner.”
“Of course you are.” He said it so easily, it took her a moment to figure out if he was joking or not. “But why do it, if you don’t have to?”
Jo opened her mouth, then closed it again. He’d asked a legit question. One she didn’t have a smartass answer to. She’d save that for later. “Whatever. Are you staying?”
“Are you inviting me?”
“You’re in my home and it’s one in the morning. I think if I didn’t want you to stay, it would have been foolish to let you in.” It was probably foolish, regardless. Something about Trace Muldoon screamed danger, and not in the bad boy biker dude sort of way. But in the you could so get burned way.
“Well, since you’re struggling to issue the invitation, I’ll do the hard work myself.” Trace took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it a little. The hat dropped to her entry table and his boots thudded softly over her scarred hardwood floors. “Jo, I’d like to stay with you tonight.”
Jo dug for some sort of snappy remark, but she came up empty. When his body closed in on hers, she breathed, “All right.”
His own sigh matched hers. Jo almost laughed. Was he relieved she’d said yes? Like she’d be able to resist him.
Trace reached out with one hand and cupped the back of her head, just below her ponytail, and tipped her face up to look at him. “I’m planning to stay all night.”
“If I get sick of you, I know how to bounce you.”
Trace chuckled low, and she wanted to hear more. It sounded rusty, as if he didn’t make the sound often. But she’d be willing to bet Trace was a guy who found humor in life frequently. He just seemed to have that kind of personality.
“Let’s hope you don’t have to bounce me, period.” It was the last thing either of them said before he bent to kiss her.