Taking the Reins (Roped and Wrangled) by Kat Murray Read Free Book Online

other offer. “Came here to accept the job.”
    She pushed the gate wide open and started walking to the obstacle course, picking up cones. “Too late.”
    He paused, gate halfway shut behind him. “Too late for what?”
    “I said forty-eight hours. It’s been”—she checked her watch, but he’d bet she didn’t have to—“fifty-six.”
    “True.” He picked up one of the dummies and walked it to the side where she was stacking cones. “I just needed a little more time.”
    “Wanted to play hardball. Show me who’s boss.” Her words were harsh, but she bit the corner of her lip, as if not sure how to play it.
    “Actually, no. I just needed the time to think.” Or to try to convince himself that his instincts were wrong. Fruitless in practice. He rolled a barrel over, and she hopped up on it.
    “Doesn’t matter. You’re too late.”
    He understood pride, knew sometimes it stepped in the way of a good thing. And he was a good thing . . . for the ranch. “You keep saying that, but we know it’s not true.” He placed a hand on either side of her hips and caged her in. “You need me. Said so yourself. You need anyone, but you really need me. So go ahead and give me hell for taking my sweet time. I can take it. I even deserve it. But when you run out of steam, we can go inside, sit down like adults, and start making a plan.”
    Her smile was all teeth, and more than a little scary. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
    He raised a brow.
    And her expression turned smug. “I have a trainer.”
    That knocked him down a few pegs. “You what?”
    “Did you stuff cotton in your ears?” She grabbed his chin with one hand, and his breath caught as he wondered what she was going to do with it. “I have a new trainer.”
    “Bull. No way in hell you could get a trainer that fast. I’m only eight hours late.”
    She shrugged and dropped her hand. He resisted the urge to pick it up and replace it. Her touching him was a new development. And his body liked it, even as his mind screamed to step away.
    “Who?”
    Peyton looked to the right, and he followed her eyes to see the mystery rider walking back through the training arena at a fast pace.
    “Peyton? This guy bothering you? Need me to take care of him?”
    She looked back at Red, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
    “Don’t you dare,” he muttered.
    With a sigh, she hopped down and ducked under his arm, body brushing against his. He jerked back like he’d been scalded.
    “No, Trace. Not bothering me. He’s just a little lost.”
    Trace? The name was familiar. First or last name?
    Reaching Peyton, the man slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Red’s eyes narrowed in automatic response.
    With reluctance, Peyton started the introduction. “Trace, this is Red Callahan.”
    Red held out a hand, shook it a little more firmly than normal. God, this was insane. He had no business being possessive.
    “Red, this is my brother, Trace.”
    Brother? Well shit in a bag, that was not at all what he’d been expecting. Wait. “Trace Muldoon? Rodeo circuit?”
    “One in the same.” He tipped his hat in mock salute.
    “I’ll be damned. Why are you here? There’s the big rodeo in Oklahoma next weekend.”
    The man’s face shuttered a little. “Personal business. I’ll be sticking close to home for a while.”
    “I saw you ride in Montana a year ago. You were damn good.”
    The man nodded in acknowledgment. Red looked back between Trace and Peyton. Despite the almost foot difference in height, he could now see the similarities between the siblings. But hold on. “Trace is your trainer?”
    “That’s right. You didn’t show up, and he did. So it’s one point to Trace, zero to Red. Thanks for stopping by though. Good luck with everything.” She turned to go but Trace held her still.
    “You can’t be serious. He’s a cowboy. A rider. A damn good one,” he added to Trace, “so no offense meant. But you know it’s not the same