Busting Loose (18 page)

Bea blinked repeatedly to clear her eyes before smiling. “Well, you know I love to shop. It was hardly a chore.”

“True enough.” Peyton walked out of the office, but paused in the doorway. “And get out of my chair. Your bony butt is gonna make a weird dent in it.”

Bea waited until Peyton was long gone before grinning and muttering, “Bite me.”

 

In the early afternoon on Thursday, Bea kicked off her Wellies and stretched her legs in the passenger seat of Morgan's truck. “That was a productive day. Not one emergency.”

“It's a record,” Morgan agreed, and turned the AC up a little higher. “Don't jinx it, though.”

“I know. I just . . . hold up.” Bea scrolled through her phone a minute, then smiled.

“Good news?”

“Good news for you. My favorite candidate is still available and willing to come in for an interview today.” She scowled down at her outfit. “I'm not looking my best, but that's not the point. So that's one more thing off my list of stuff to worry about.”

“Ah. Yeah.” His hands tightened over the steering wheel and he stared straight ahead, swerving gently to avoid a hole in the dirt road.

“I know it's a little sooner than either of us expected. But the faster we can get someone in, the faster we can train them.” She settled back, pleased with herself. “I think this is going quite well.”

Quite well, his ass. He was trying to figure out ways to keep her here, and she had one-way-tickets to California dancing in her eyes. “Dinner at my parents' tomorrow?”

“Have you cleared this with them? It's Friday night, after all. Are you sure they don't have plans?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Right. Would that be eating at Jo's Place in town? Or taking a walk around the land?”

“Good point.” Bea ran a hand through her hair. “I don't suppose there's any way I could take a half day tomorrow and run out to get my hair done?”

He nearly said no, because her hair looked fine. But the fact that she cared enough to primp before meeting his folks—again, now as an adult . . . a dressed adult—said it was a bigger deal than she let on. “Yeah. That's fine. No problem.”

“Great.” She clapped her hands together once and rubbed them gleefully. “It's long overdue.”

He bit his tongue before saying something Man Stupid like, “It looks good to me.” It was just asking for a beat-down.

“And I'm excited to try out Jaycee's recommendation.”

This time, he couldn't hold back. “You're not coming back with blue spikes or anything weird, right?”

Bea smiled. “Of course not.”

Whew.

“I was thinking purple.”

He dared a look at her, found the smile spreading smugly, and knew she was joking.

God, he hoped.

Bea reached back and rubbed Milton's head, who'd spent most of his day in the backseat stretched out with a rope to gnaw on and his favorite ball. Every so often, he hopped down to investigate the ranch they were at. But the larger animals got his hackles up, and he eventually chose to stay in the truck with the doors open. Damn dog was about as needy as a toddler sometimes.

“I'm thinking about having her look around the shelter first. That'll tell me a lot,” Bea mused, back on the interview subject. “Last girl I tried was scared of the bigger dogs. Why she thought a vet's office was the place for her, I don't know.”

She continued on, outlining what she would be doing with the candidate, and Morgan let his mind wander.

Dinner with his folks. His dad would like Bea immediately. She was pretty, but he'd see the intelligence there almost as fast. And he trusted Morgan's judgment. If he liked her, his dad would, too. His mom was a harder sell. She wasn't one of those moms who thought nobody was good enough for her baby boy. She'd had plenty of suggestions for wifely candidates over the last few years. But Bea, for whatever reason, his mother just couldn't get behind. There would be some work involved there.

He could handle it. He was a big boy. And if she didn't grow to love Bea, then they would jump that hurdle when they approached it. In the meantime, he would have to pick the right day to bring over his sister and the kids. Then after that, they—

“Morgan!”

“Hmm?” He blinked and took his foot off the accelerator, ready to brake fast if necessary. “What?”

Bea blew out an exasperated breath. “I said, if I like this one, can you meet with her later on today so you can give the sign-off?”

“Oh. Sure, whatever.” He relaxed his once-again clenched hands. Fighting it was going to get them nowhere. “What's going on at home? Any news from M-Star?”

“I've started selling off the décor. That was big news. A few paintings are gone. Those things are difficult to ship, but worth the effort.” She glowed with pride. “The look on Peyton's face when I presented her with the check those things brought in was worth every annoying minute. Not dead weight anymore.”

Of course she wasn't. He grinned that, naturally, she'd found a spot for her to contribute and made it all hers. That was just like Bea. “Proud of you.”

She was silent, and he glanced over quickly to see if he'd upset her.

She was blinking hard, staring ahead, her cheeks a little flushed.

He gave her the moment. She'd earned it. But he'd be willing to give her a thousand more if she'd only stay.

“Y
ou cannot be serious.” Peyton brushed by Bea to walk into the stable. She ignored the horse heads poking over their stall doors and headed straight back for the tack room.

“Of course I'm not kidding. I'm going tomorrow afternoon to get my hair done. You're coming with me.”

Lover Boy stretched his neck out, and she dared a quick pit stop to rub his nose and say hello. Since she'd been sleeping over at Morgan's most of the week, she hadn't had time for a joyride. It surprised her just how much she missed it.

Maybe she needed to schedule in a quick ride some night. She didn't have to spend
all
her time with Morgan in the evenings. In fact, tonight would be a great night to sleep alone. Get a good ride in, feel refreshed, and gear up for meeting his parents tomorrow for dinner.

And God, what a mistake it had been to agree to that.

Lover Boy bumped against her shoulder, a silent
hey, you stopped scratching, get back to work, woman
. She blew him a raspberry, but kept going.

“Bea?” Peyton's head stuck out from the tack room. “Where'd you go? You stopped haranguing in my ear.”

She slid gracefully away from Lover Boy, ignoring his snort of annoyance. “Strategizing my battle plan.”

“Sounds ominous.” Peyton's head disappeared and Bea followed into the tack room. She settled down on an old wood bench and watched as Peyton did a quick catalog of the inventory by turning in a slow circle. Then she sat down on the dusty ground to start examining the equipment piece by piece for wear and tear.

“You could have one of the hands do that, you know.” Bea crossed her legs, not wanting to sit in the dust more than she had to.

“I usually do. But people are busy and I had some time. It's called pitching in.” Peyton made a mark on her clipboard.

Bea's back teeth ground together. “I'm sorry, I thought I was pitching in. What with the decorating and all. Not quite dirty work, but you haven't tackled it yet.”

Peyton sighed and shoved a strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry. That was bitchy.”

Bea held up her thumb and forefinger close together. “Little bit.”

“You bring the worst out in me. Always have.”

“Is that my fault?”

Peyton started laughing.

“What's so funny?” Bea's feet landed in the dust, stirring the air and making her eyes water.

“We're fighting like we were four and seven again.” Peyton searched for a second, then looked over Bea's shoulder. “Can you hand me that hackamore behind you?”

Bea glanced back, reached around and grabbed the looped bit of rope and handed it to Peyton. Peyton's mouth dropped open and her hand went slack around the hackamore. It dropped to the dusty ground with a soft thud.

“What?” Bea glanced back. There were no other hackamores—or other headpieces at all—behind her.

“How did you even know what I was asking for?”

Well. Ahem. “Just a good guess,” Bea said, shrugging. She nudged the rope with the toe of one shoe. “I'm brilliant, you just don't know it.”

“What crap. Of course you're brilliant. It's how you always got out of most of the chores when we were kids.” She said it so easily, Bea didn't take offense. “But I'm still not going to get my hair done.”

Bea sighed. “That's unfortunate. I'm sure Red would have loved it.”

“Red met me with my hair stuffed up under a hat and my face streaked with mud. I doubt he's going to mind continuing on in the same vein.”

“Oh, sweet sister. You aren't seeing the possibilities.”

Peyton's pen stopped its scratching over paper for a moment before it started up again. That small tell showed Bea she'd found a chink in the armor.

“Red loves you. He's gaga over you. It's adorable, it's awe-inspiring the way that strong, hard man goes completely gooey inside over you.”

“Morgan does the same thing for you,” Peyton said, not looking up.

Bea chose to ignore that, mostly because it was too complicated to think about. “He thinks you are beautiful, covered in mud and smelling like horse crap. But what,” she said quietly, “what would he do if you just showed up, very casually, all dolled up?”

That pen paused once more, then started writing furiously, as if it was going to tear through the paper.

“Visualize with me. It's tomorrow night. He's inside, washing off the day's sweat. Thinking about dinner, maybe dying for a bottle of beer. He knows you'll be down at the table waiting for him, that you'll have a nice dinner with Trace and Seth, maybe Jo. Quiet, simple, ordinary.

“And then you walk in.” Her voice was a whisper now. The pen was completely still, all pretense given up. “You're not covered in dust like normal. Your hair isn't in a braid. Your clothes aren't worse for the wear. You're different. You're magnificent.”

Peyton stared at her. Her favorite kind of audience: captive.

“Here's the key. He'd love you, just as you are. Covered in mud, no makeup on. But you surprise him. You catch him unawares. You give him something to think about.”

Peyton scoffed. “What's there to think about? Am I walking in naked?”

“Quite the opposite.” Enjoying herself more than she could say, she settled back. Then immediately wished she hadn't. Ick, dust. Too late now. “You're fully dressed. And not too obvious about it. Nice jeans, the type that mold to your curves and show off everything. A low-cut top. Not slutty, but something to catch his eyes with cleavage when you bend over. Your hair is down, curly and wild, like you just left the bed, and your makeup is subtly done, playing up your eyes.”

“Why my eyes?”

Bea smirked. “Because when he looks into them, you can watch him melt like ice cream. He loves your eyes. So use them.”

Peyton blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “Yeah, so? Then what? What's the next step in your big plan?”

Bea sighed. “If I have to share what comes next, you aren't doing enough with that handsome man to keep him interested.” When Peyton stared at her blankly, she added, “You seduce him, P. Lead him to that bed of yours and do what comes naturally. What the hell else would you do with him?”

Peyton went back to her paper, marking down the number of bits piled in the box in front of her. “Why do I need to seduce him? Our love life is fine.”

“But whose love life couldn't be better? That's right. If it's already good . . . what's beyond good? Mind-blowing. Something to think about.” Bea stood up and headed for the door. Then she delivered the killing blow. “You know the best part about the whole plan, Peyton?”

Her sister looked up, aggravated at the new interruption. “What?”

“The next morning, you're going to go back to being covered in dirt and dust, with mud on your clothes and your hair stuffed under a hat or pulled back in some ratty braid. The curls will be gone, the makeup long worn off, the cleavage all buttoned up. And he's going to still love you so much he'd hand you the moon if he could. That's the best part.”

She walked away.

If her sister didn't join her after that pep talk, she was an idiot.

She, for one, would work her tail off to keep Redford Callahan interested. That man was prime beef. Just not
her
prime beef.

Bea inspected her nails—
two
—as she reached for her car door.
One.
Maybe a quick manicure wouldn't hurt.

“Bea! Wait up.”

Bea smiled in the side mirror before turning to see her sister striding after her. “Get in, short legs. I don't have all day.”

 

“Bea. Stop.” He watched her flip her hair from one side to the other for the nineteenth time before grabbing her wrist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “It's fine.”

“It's not fine. I should have given it a day or two to settle before doing this. Why? Why did I get my hair done today? It always looks the best a few days out!” Bea rechecked the mirror once more before shaking her head. “Do I look too punk? It's too short. She cut it too short. She said to trust her, but maybe I—”

“It's not too short.” He ran a hand over her head, then circled his thumb at the base of her neck. “And I like that I can do this. Your skin is really soft back here, did you know that?”

She relaxed a little while his fingers sifted through the hairs at the back of her scalp and the top of her neck. Later, she'd probably swat at his hand and say he was ruining her hair. But for now, she let him. And he loved it.

“You don't need to be nervous.”

“Shows what you know,” she muttered, but her head drooped forward more so he could reach farther up to scratch and soothe.

“They've met you before. You've seen them around town. It's not a secret anymore we're dating.” He ignored the way her body tensed up as he pointed that fact out. “So there's nothing to worry about. We're just having supper.”

“Your mother caught us in bed.”

“No, she caught us in the kitchen.” The fact that he was naked and she'd been wearing nothing but his robe was beside the point. Awkward, yes. Worth dwelling on? Not really.

“You're sure this skirt isn't too short?” She fussed with the material, pulling it over her knees a little.

“You look beautiful. Now, we're getting out of the car, and you're going to let me walk you into the house. Okay?” He brushed a kiss over her lips, then another, just to carry the taste of her with him before he opened the door and walked around. She got out, steady in her heels as she linked arms with him.

“Milton okay back at home?”

“He's keeping Seth entertained. Or the other way around. Not sure which.” She smiled a little at the reminder of her four-legged baby. “They adore each other, but Seth isn't a fan of sharing toys. Milton's more agreeable, except with his balls. Those are nonnegotiable. He'd pick a ball over a treat, which is bizarre to me.”

“We all have our limits.” Morgan opened the side door and led her into the kitchen, where his mother was at the stove. “Hey, Mama.”

Cynthia turned and smiled, but the smile was a bit strained around the edges. “Hello, Morgan. Beatrice, nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Mrs. Browning.” Bea stood, rooted to his side, her voice a little stiff. “Thank you for having me at the last minute. I hope it wasn't any trouble.”

“No, not at all. I always cook more than I need to. Bert says I never got used to cooking for two when I was so accustomed to making for four, including the human garbage disposal known as my son.” She laughed a little. “And he's right. I always expect that one to come strolling in asking what's for supper.”

There was a pause, and Morgan struggled for something to say. Thank God it didn't matter, as his father saved the day by walking in.

“There's the girl.” He came over and bear-hugged Bea, lifting her an inch or so off the ground. “I've barely seen you, it seems.”

“Hello, Mr. Browning.” She sounded winded. “It's good to see you.”

“Oh, just Bert is fine. No Mister crap.” He slapped Morgan on the shoulder. “Not sure what you're doing with an ugly guy like this, but you let me know if you have a change of heart and I'll—”

“Bert!” His mother's eyes were wide and her mouth was open. “What are you talking about?”

His father winked and headed for the dining room. “Just making pleasant conversation. Come in here with me, Bea, and keep me company. I'd offer to help in the kitchen, but she always blames me for making food disappear. Let's escape and you can tell me all about the trials my son puts you through at work.”

“Oh. All right.” With a quick glance at Morgan, she followed his dad into the dining room.

Morgan waited until his father and Bea were out of the room before walking over to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, fine. Just fine. You know how I love last-minute notice for company,” she snipped, yanking the oven door open fast enough to have him jumping out of the way.

Morgan thought back to the hundreds of times he'd had friends over unannounced and she'd never batted an eye. “So what's really going on?”

“A little notice would have been nice.” She let the sheet of dinner biscuits hit the stovetop with a clatter. “But why bother? It's not like I've got things to do in my life.”

“Mom. Mom,” he said more forcefully. “I get that. It's why I asked four days ago. And you said it was fine. But if you're pissed, be pissed at me. Not her. I'm the one who invited her. And if it's that big a deal, we'll leave. We can come back some other time when it's more convenient. I just thought family didn't throw you in a panic like this.”

“Family.” She whirled on him, the towel over her shoulder whipping around like a cape. “Family? That girl isn't family. That girl is your date, for who knows what reason. And if you had the sense God gave women, you'd see she's got one foot out of the state already.”

“Mother.”

She turned back to stir vegetables on the stove. “You're half in love with her, and she's leaving. So which is it? Are you going with her? Or are you going to watch her disappear and be left here, heartbroken?”

“That's up to me.”