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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