Busting Loose (12 page)

Cynthia pursed her lips, then took in a breath as if to say something. But he was spared from the lecture when Andrea burst in through the back door. “Grandma! You'll never guess what my kitty did yesterday!”

His mother's face immediately lit up as she opened her arms for a big hug. “You'll just have to tell me, now, won't you?” But when she looked up over Andrea's lopsided pigtails, she shot him a look that said they weren't done yet.

“Thank you, sis,” he muttered, and headed into the den with his father. The safety zone.

B
ea stopped by the main house early the next morning, determined to have a pleasant conversation with Peyton if it killed her. Or Peyton. Yes, if it killed Peyton, they would have a decent, healthy, normal sisterly conversation over her grapefruit and Peyton's bacon fat.

As she walked in, Milton zoomed straight for the dining area to his place under Seth's high chair. The dog was a vacuum. One of the few times he never whined when out of her sight was when he was with Seth. Bea had worried early on that Milton would be too rough with the child. And then, as Seth grew, she worried the toddler would be too rough with the dog. But they seemed to have an easy relationship, full of fun and understanding of each other's limits.

Maybe it was just something the “verbal” crowd wouldn't understand.

“I see the dog, and . . . oh my God.” Peyton's voice was sharp enough to cut through steel. “Is that damn dog wearing a freaking bow tie?”

“It's dapper,” Bea said, entering the room. “Mondays are dapper days.”

“Mondays are Mondays.” Peyton stuffed another piece of bacon in her mouth and chewed a little before saying, “You're here.”

“Should I not be?” She popped into the kitchen quickly to grab a bottle of water and an apple from the basket on the counter. A grapefruit sounded wonderful, but Emma wasn't in the kitchen and she was too lazy to slice it up herself. She seated herself in front of Peyton, to the side of Seth. “You babysitting?”

“Trace had an early start this morning. Steve hurt himself last night.”

“Oh no.” Bea frowned before taking a bite of the apple. Steve was their youngest hand, and a doll. He had a puppy love crush on her, which she was flattered by and not at all interested in returning. But it was cute, and he was a sweetheart, as well as a good worker. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Just pulled a few muscles in his back. Didn't start feeling the pain until late last night. Finally had his mama drive him into town this morning for the doctor. He'll be okay, but he needs some rest.” Peyton sighed a little. “Puts us in a bind, though.”

“How so?” When Peyton arched a brow, she shrugged. “I'm interested.”

“He was going with Trace this coming weekend to a small event. It's just a two-day gig, nothing special. But see and be seen, right?”

“Right,” she murmured. “Can nobody else go? Tiny?”

“Busy with me.”

“Arby?” Their ranch foreman, whom she'd always avoided because he was too wise for her own good.

“Doesn't travel anymore. Claims he's too old.” Peyton rolled her eyes at that.

“So then, are you just sending Trace alone?”

“I guess. Red can't go. He's gotta stay back with me since we have another client coming by this weekend, and Red's the connection. I almost thought about pulling out of the event, given how small it is. But Trace said he could handle it himself.”

Bea chewed another bite, then played with Seth's food a little. She nudged the Cheerios out of his way so he had to fight to grab them, giggling all the while. She might not get kids, on a basic level, but when she wasn't expected to hold them, change them, or be in charge of their general welfare, she could be amused by them. And as far as kids went, this one was pretty darn adorable.

“I'll go.”

Peyton's fork clattered to the plate, still full of pancake. “Sorry, what?”

“I'll go. With Trace. I can probably take Friday off. I mean, maybe half day.” She chewed her lip and tried to visualize the week's schedule. “Maybe. Do you think he could leave late afternoon on Friday?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, then I could drive separately, I suppose. Seems like a waste of gas but—”

“No, you aren't going.”

Bea swallowed the hurt. “Afraid I'll mess something up?”

“I can't answer that without pissing you off, so I'm going to plead the fifth.” With that, her sister picked her fork up and shoveled the bite of carb-loaded pancake in her mouth.

Bea's fingers drummed on the tabletop for a minute. “You said it was a small event.”

“Yeah.”

“And I take that to mean not many people?”

“Most likely.”

“So if I screw up, there's not much I could do to damage our reputation, right?” When her sister said nothing, Bea sighed. “I can just be a helper. Keep my mouth shut. Hold his space when he's out doing his thing, take names, write down information. I'm good at that much, or I wouldn't still have my job at the clinic. I'm not talking about saddling up and riding out there to make an ass of myself.”

Peyton side-eyed her as she snatched Seth's sippie cup in midair before it hit the floor and Milton took off with it. “Why?”

Bea glanced around, shuddering once at the gold-tipped everything in the dining room. Ick. “Because this was my home, too, once. And I'm a Muldoon, dammit. I can do this. I just need the chance to prove it.”

Peyton chewed another bite, scowled when Seth swept a handful of cereal down to the floor for the ever-hopeful Milton. “Then fine. Take your chance. But you won't have fun. This isn't a hotel with room service and a spa you can waste your time in. You'll be dirty for most of the weekend, crashing in the bunk of the horse trailer or the back of the truck's cab. You'll be exhausted and you won't know the first thing that's going on.”

“Okay.” She took a sip of her water to hide her smile. God, they really thought she was worthless. And while she didn't quite have the courage—or maybe just the desire—to share her riding habit with Peyton yet, she was looking forward to seeing the expression on her sister's face when she figured out Bea wasn't so helpless and dainty as all that.

“Just okay? No backing out, no excuses, no begging for a hotel?” Peyton gaped.

“Just okay.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen to toss the apple core into the trash. “I can do it.”

“I'd like to see that,” Peyton said.

Bea let that go. But as she walked by the foyer, her gaze couldn't help snagging on the tacky gold-plated statue of . . . was that supposed to be Satan? She tilted her head this way, then the other, but the art still made no sense. How long had that ugly thing been there that she'd gotten so used to its presence she'd never even considered what it was supposed to represent? Taking out her iPhone, she snapped a picture, then took a few more.

Research time.

 

Morgan rolled into the clinic parking lot right behind Bea. He watched as she spent the time checking her reflection in the flip-up mirror on her visor, watched her drum her hands on the steering wheel a few times, watched her . . . sing? He grinned. Singing and moving her head around like she was in the middle of a karaoke battle for her life.

Nice.

She stepped out of her car, and he watched the shoes—a sexy navy heel with red polka dots—emerge first. She did know how to choose her footwear. It made a man's blood hum, thinking about her with those heels on. Just those heels.

And this was exactly what he didn't need . . . an erection at his own clinic. He shifted from foot to foot until the ache eased a little.

Milton sprang down when she opened the back door, prancing forth to greet him with a bow tie collar this morning. “He's fancy.”

“It's Monday,” she said, as if that explained exactly why her dog was wearing a bow tie. He chose not to question the reasoning.

When she reached him, a bottle of water in one hand, purse in the other, her glasses pushed up on top of her head, he simply reached out and caught her around the waist. Her startled look lasted only a second before her lids lowered and she slipped into a sultry, knowing smile.

“Morning, handsome.” She leaned in and kissed him lightly. When he pressed for more, she stepped back. “Lipstick.”

“Right.” Feeling a little like a teenager meeting his girlfriend at her locker before walking her to class, he hurried to get the door. “How was the rest of your weekend?”

She paused as she stepped through the doorway. “Interesting.”

Might as well ask her to the prom next. Dammit, Morgan. Get it together. You're an adult. Act like one. “Anything fun going on at the ranch?”

She walked in and set her water bottle down on the desk, dropped her purse in the bottom desk drawer. “Steve hurt his back, poor thing. So he's out of commission for a while. Not that it would normally be a big deal. Seems they have a million hands roaming around at any given time. But there's an event this weekend and . . .”

He watched her mouth, wished she hadn't put on lipstick this morning so he could lean in and take a healthy bite. Soothe that bite with his tongue. Drag her into his office for a real, healthy, down-and-dirty morning make-out session. Best part of waking up, and all that.

“Morgan.”

“Huh?” He blinked and looked up at her eyes. They were smiling at him, along with that sexy mouth.

She shook her head a little, then reached for his glasses and polished them on the corner of his still-untucked shirt. Her knuckles skimmed the skin of his stomach before she was through. He resisted sucking in a breath. “I was asking if I could have Friday off.”

“Friday off?” He took the glasses and blinked as she came back into focus.

“Or just the half day,” she rushed on. “Maybe an hour or two in the afternoon? I'm going to double-check the appointments and see if I can juggle something around but—”

He kissed her again, quickly, before she could protest. “It's fine. I'm just curious why, if you don't mind me asking.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So you really did tune me out earlier. I'm going with Trace. To the horse event thingie. Whatever they call it.”

Now he wondered if it was his ears, not his lenses, that needed cleaning. “You're going with your brother . . . to a horse thingie?”

“Event. Whatever.” She waved a hand at that, like it was no big deal. Sure, cowboys gathered around and competed in thingies all the time. “The fact is, I'm going. I've told Peyton I would, and so I am. I want to be helpful. This is me being helpful.”

He wanted to ask more but wouldn't. She was taking steps, all on her own, to become more a part of the family. This was a positive thing. He waited until she sat in her chair, then kissed the top of her head. “You can take Friday off, the whole day. No problem at all.”

She smiled at him, as if he'd given her a gift in a Tiffany's box. “Thank you. I'll juggle what I can appointment-wise to make it easier on you.”

“Not a problem.” He headed for the shelter, determined to get something done before he had his first patient of the morning.

“Morgan?”

“Yup.” He looked over his shoulder.

“Hope you got all that kissing out of your system, because you can't pull that crap in front of clients.”

He grinned and gave her a thumbs-up before heading into the shelter and greeting their remaining guests.

“I'm going to assume you consider this a grand adventure or some crap like that.” Trace pulled into the parking lot of the arena. Bea's back teeth rattled as he hit as many pot holes as he avoided on the rut-filled road to the back, where all the trailers were parked.

“I don't—don't think it's—anything but me he—helping out. I wanted—wanted—oh for God's sake!” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.

“Wanted what?”

She shook her head, pointing forward resolutely. This wasn't a conversation to have when she was worried her back molars were going to slam together and shatter. Stupid road.

He laughed, but kept going.

Bea braced a hand on the dash, wrapping the other around the
oh, shit
bar. Through clenched teeth, she muttered, “If the airbag on this piece of junk deploys and breaks my nose, I will never forgive you. My face is my job.”

“Relax, this thing doesn't have airbags.” She gaped at him, and he laughed harder. “Your job is answering phones at Morgan's clinic, in case you forgot.”

“That's my temporary job.” She loosened the grip on the bar long enough to roll her shoulders. “My real job is back in LA.”

“Which you haven't really seemed to miss much. I mean, you talk about it, but you're not making any moves to go back. Why is that, Bea-Bea?”

She stared straight ahead, watching the dust fly up and surround the truck in a fog.

Trace sighed and pulled the truck carefully into an open spot. “You trusted me with your riding, didn't you? So why not trust me now with this?”