Read Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) for Free Online Page B

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.”
    “Him?” Her eyes flew back to Trace. “Him who? What is going on? Whose baby is that?”
    Her brother took another maddeningly calm sip of coffee. “That’d be mine.”
     
    He was five shades of stupid. That’s the only reason he could think of to explain why he was listening to his gut again instead of his head. Clearly, his gut wasn’t up on the little problem he was having fighting a serious attraction to the current owner of the M-Star.
    And yet there he was, pulling up to the first barn, all but asking to get kicked in the teeth. He’d waited around so long for his gut to change its mind that he’d missed Peyton’s forty-eight-hour cutoff. Not that he thought she’d really hold him to it. But she’d give him hell just the same, because she could.
    Feisty. That’s all she was. And it got under his skin more than he ever wanted to admit. He knew he was setting himself up for a big disaster, putting himself in close working proximity to Peyton Muldoon.
    He pulled up to a rig that looked like it should have headed to the junk pile years ago. Definitely didn’t recognize it, and it was something to remember all right. Hopping down, he saw a horse and rider working out in the main arena and headed that way. From this distance, he couldn’t recognize the rider either, but using his sharp detective skills, he figured the man for the owner of the rustmobile.
    The horse, he was glad to see as he came up, was in much better shape. Excellent, actually. The man put the animal through its paces, weaving in and out of an obstacle course set up with barrels, dummies, and traffic cones. Sure-footed, confident, and quick, the horse maneuvered the course like it was born to handle the job. As the exercise ended and horse and rider headed to the side of the arena, he couldn’t help but wonder who the hell the guy was. Not a beginner, that was for sure.
    Locating Peyton off to the side, he girded his loins, wished he’d worn a cup, and headed over. She had one boot heel hitched up to the bottom rung of the metal gate and her elbows leaning over the top. The position did some interesting things to her backside, plastering the jeans to her bottom in a way he could more than appreciate.
    “Peyton.” He eased up slowly, giving her ample warning so she couldn’t blame him for startling her.
    She turned a cool, dispassionate eye toward him. “Callahan. See you finally came sniffing around.” Glancing back at the horse and rider exiting the arena from the opposite side, she asked, “All those other ranches rescind their offers? Are we the last stop?”
    “First stop.” Why lie? She could find out with one call that he’d already said no to every