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His Last Rodeo
Claire McEwen
Back in the saddle again…Tyler Ellis catches Kit Hayes completely offguard when he swaggers back home and into the bar she manages. Since high school, he's been a champion rodeo star...a notorious playboy...and now, apparently, a bar owner. She accepts his offer of a hefty bonus and helps him transform the place because she's desperate to escape their tiny town in the Sierras. She doesn't expect him to work this hard beside her. Where's the cocky cowboy he's supposed to be? Instead she discovers he's still the sweet, genuine young man she once knew. And so much more...including a threat to the adventurous life she craves.


Back in the saddle again...
Tyler Ellis catches Kit Hayes completely off guard when he swaggers back home and into the bar she manages. Since high school, he’s been a champion rodeo star...a notorious playboy...and now, apparently, a bar owner. She accepts his offer of a hefty bonus and helps him transform the place because she’s desperate to escape their tiny town in the Sierras. She doesn’t expect him to work this hard beside her. Where’s the cocky cowboy he’s supposed to be? Instead she discovers he’s still the sweet, genuine young man she once knew. And so much more...including a threat to the adventurous life she craves.
“I’ll help you—teach you how to run this place.”
Tyler wanted to hug her, his relief was so deep. He put a hand to his heart instead. “Thank you. Seriously. Thank you.”
Kit nodded. Then glanced at the sky. “It’s getting late. You’d better go get that booze. And this week we’ll fill out the order form for the bar together. Maybe we can come up with a form that’s less confusing, too.”
It was all he could do not to fist-pump the air. She was going to help him. But he kept his voice steady. “That would be great. And we’ll get a contract drawn up, with the terms of our partnership, so you can be sure you’ll get everything we talked about.” He turned toward his truck, then looked back. “See you soon.”
He liked saying it. He liked knowing it was true.
Backing his truck down the driveway, he paused for a moment. He felt funny. Lighter. And he realized it was Kit. With her on his side he knew he could do anything. With her help they could make The Dusty Saddle a success. He’d just have to remember not to fall for her, because he was pretty sure he was already partway there.
Dear Reader (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721),
The Sierra Legacy series has been about many things, but overall it’s about the legacy left by Nora, Wade and Arch Hoffman’s father, his crimes and his abuse. In the first three books of the series, Nora, Wade and Arch all had their chance to come to terms with their past, to discover their purposes in life and to find the loves of their lives.
But there’s one person still reeling from everything that’s happened: Kit Hayes, the woman who loved Arch, and who has never been able to move on from that love.
His Last Rodeo is Kit’s story, her chance to realize her dreams and break free of the past. And it’s the story of Tyler Ellis, a man trying to come to terms with his own past as a rodeo champion, as a son and as someone who struggles to overcome a hidden disability.
It was such fun to write their chemistry, humor, friendship and love. I hope you enjoy their journey. And thank you for reading the Sierra Legacy series!
Claire McEwen
His Last Rodeo
Claire Mcewen


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CLAIRE MCEWENLIVES by the ocean in Northern California with her family and a scruffy, mischievous terrier. She loves writing stories where strong heroes and heroines take big, emotional journeys to find their happily-ever-afters. When not dreaming up new books, she can be found digging in her garden with a lot of enthusiasm but, unfortunately, no green thumb. She loves discovering flea-market treasures, walking on the beach, dancing, traveling and reading, of course!
Find Claire on her website, clairemcewen.com (http://www.clairemcewen.com), and follow her on Facebook, Facebook.com/cmcewen.writer (https://www.Facebook.com/cmcewen.writer), Twitter, Twitter.com/clairemcewen1 (https://www.Twitter.com/clairemcewen1), Pinterest, Pinterest.com/cmcewenwriter (https://www.Pinterest.com/cmcewenwriter), and Instagram, Instagram.com/claire_mcewen_writer (https://www.Instagram.com/claire_mcewen_writer).
His Last Rodeo is for all the readers who have embraced the Sierra Legacy series and taken the Hoffmans into their hearts. Thank you for your letters, your encouragement and your enthusiasm!
And for my editor, Karen Reid, whose incredible talent, patience and faith make it all possible.
I couldn’t have written His Last Rodeo without my son and my husband cheering me on, picking up the slack, and assuring me over and over that I would figure out the best way to tell Kit’s story. Arik and Shane, all of my books are for you, but this one really is your achievement as well as mine!
Contents
Cover (#uffd1ca1c-95f9-5d02-ab9b-3ba992cc0841)
Back Cover Text (#uafa9772a-1f9b-5d41-a0b9-608cff97e9e8)
Introduction (#u5b37c196-0ab8-509d-bed6-f8b55f11012f)
Dear Reader (#u783dd434-59f9-56a8-9b84-1aba46ae474e)
Title Page (#u3c0e515d-6f60-5c73-b3ba-7eb8b409f67b)
About the Author (#u8f4707ba-9cd5-53da-8f9b-d15b013d6292)
Dedication (#u9dcdea3c-a7c1-5b5b-97d3-aa0dac8b3a8e)
CHAPTER ONE (#u7f0703c3-a3f1-5353-87bd-b426c89a73f1)
CHAPTER TWO (#ud4ae3ccf-3cae-5cab-a57a-f044a31cb8d4)
CHAPTER THREE (#ud1c73f83-01bb-5000-80bb-d34d0b678028)
CHAPTER FOUR (#udadc9e0f-254b-5fd7-b546-c77ab63368ac)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721)
KIT HAYES STOOD on the steps of the Benson library and watched the love of her life leave town. Again.
Arch Hoffman, duffel bag in the back of his truck, was waiting at the last red light before Main Street turned into highway.
He never used to have a truck. When she’d last seen him a year ago, he was just out of prison and didn’t own much.
“That jerk.” Kit’s best friend, Lila, moved to stand next to her. “Why was he even in town? I though he’d moved to San Francisco.”
Kit shrugged. “He must have come to see his family.” If he’d been here any longer than a day or two, she’d have been sure to run into him in this tiny California town. It was just a few picturesque roads mushed up against the east side of the Sierras.
“Where’d he get that fancy truck?”
The afternoon sun glinted off the chrome bumper of the red Ford. “He probably has money now,” Kit said. “From his sculptures.”
“Oh, right. I’d forgotten he’s the next big thing in the art world.” Lila’s tone made it clear she was anything but impressed.
Kit wished she could care so little. A few months ago, there had been a photo of Arch in the Benson Record, gorgeous and smiling, taken at an art show in San Diego. She’d stared at the photo for a long time. Years ago—when he’d loved Kit—the only section of the paper Arch would have made was the police blotter. He’d been her charming criminal back then. Neither of them could have imagined he’d become the town’s prodigal son.
The light changed and Arch’s truck accelerated, oblivious to Kit’s scrutiny. Heading back to the city—home to the woman he loved. The pretty, perfect Mandy Allen, who’d swiped Arch’s heart just as easily as he used to swipe cars.
Kit shifted, trying to ease the jealousy that squeezed her chest. It may have been over a year since she’d seen Arch, but the feeling still gripped her every time she thought of him and Mandy together.
“You need to let him go,” Lila said.
“I’m trying. Trust me, I hate feeling like this.” Kit held up her stack of books.
Lila glanced at the titles. “More self-help books? You’ve read about a million of them already and they haven’t worked. You need to get back out there. You need a date.” She bumped her shoulder gently into Kit’s and gave her a sly smile. “You need to get laid.”
Kit bumped her right back. “Shush! We’re at the library, not the bar.”
“No one heard.” But Lila lowered her voice. “Seriously, reading about feeling better won’t make you feel better. You need to do something.”
“I’ve been doing stuff.” Kit had kept busy at work, trained for a half marathon last summer and gone skiing. “I even took that pole dancing class you talked me into. Which was a disaster, by the way.”
Lila grinned. “I didn’t realize it was at the seniors’ center when I signed us up.”
Kit laughed. Which felt good. Seeing Arch drive away left tire marks of regret in her muddy heart. “I’m scarred for life. Images of the seniors getting funky are burned on my brain.”
“You laughed so hard after that class. It was better than therapy. Maybe we need to go back. I think their spring session should start any day now.”
“No!” Kit didn’t know what would help her get out of this black hole of jealousy and loss, but she was sure the cure wasn’t pole dancing. She just had to keep reading and keep trying. She’d been working on not loving Arch for almost half her life—she had to be successful eventually.
She’d almost managed to unlove him. During the decade after he’d walked away from their four-year relationship, she’d done okay. She’d learned to live without him, had some fun, even had a few boyfriends. All in all, she’d done pretty well, until he showed up again.
The moment she’d seen him, all her old feelings had flooded back, almost as if he’d never left. And they wouldn’t go away again.
Stupid, stupid feelings.
Meanwhile, Arch had fallen in love and moved to San Francisco, and she still didn’t feel free of him. Somehow Arch’s success as an artist, his happy relationship with Mandy, had made Kit realize how stuck she’d become: living in Benson, looking after her dad, working at a bar. She was thirty-two years old but still living the way she had throughout most of her twenties. It was a depressing thought.
Lila glanced at her phone. “You’ve got to get to work. Are you okay? Do you want me to take your shift for you?”
Kit shook her head. The last thing she needed was to sit at home and think about Arch. “Work will be good for me. Plus, a shipment was delivered this afternoon and I told Chris I’d check it in.”
“I hope Chris is paying you a lot more than he pays me. You’re practically running the bar for him.”
“I’m glad he gives me a lot of responsibility.” Kit took a breath, suddenly ready to say aloud what she’d kept to herself until now. “I’ve learned a lot and I’ve saved some money. When he retires, I think I want to buy the place.”
“Really?” Lila’s green eyes were wide. “That’s...that’s great.” The false enthusiasm in her voice rang too loud in the quiet afternoon.
“What’s wrong? You don’t think I can do it?”
“No.” Lila put her hand on Kit’s arm. “No, of course that’s not it. You’re great at running the bar. It’s just...you love reading those travel books and you’ve been taking those online Spanish classes. I just thought you’d—” The pale skin of her cheeks stained pink. “That’s what you want? To stay in Benson and own the Dusty Saddle? I just didn’t realize.”
Kit inhaled the chill of the early spring evening, hoping it would clear the Arch-induced melancholy from her heart. “What I want is to travel. To move to Spain or South America or someplace where I will never have to see or hear about Arch Hoffman again. But I don’t get to do that. I have to look after Dad. So owning the Saddle is a pretty good plan B.”
“Are you sure you can’t fix things for your dad? Did you ever go talk with that ex-boss of his?”
“Mr. Ellis.” The evil rancher. “Yes, he finally agreed to meet with me last week. But it didn’t help much. He showed me all these papers. Said my dad borrowed money against his pension years ago and never paid it back. So he’s only entitled to a hundred dollars a month.”
“What about Social Security?”
“It helps a little. But not enough. Even if it did, even if I could travel, Dad’s depressed. He’s lost without his work. I swear if I didn’t stop by his house every day, he’d never get out of bed.”
“I’m sorry.” Lila’s eyes were wide with sympathy. She understood hard times—had seen plenty of her own. “Well, it is a good plan B. I can see you owning the bar, and you’re certainly a great manager. Almost no one complains ever since you took over the scheduling from Chris.”
“Almost no one?” Kit teased.
“Well, Tim and I were grousing last week because neither of us wanted to work a Monday. No tips.”
“Everyone has to work a Monday sometimes. I’m doing it tonight.”
Lila grinned. “We know. It’s just fun to complain. But don’t worry. Even if we give you a hard time, we still love you.”
Kit was suddenly self-conscious. “Well, it might not happen anyway. Who knows if I can save enough? Or if Chris will want to sell it? Or if the bank will give me a loan to do it?”
“It will work out,” Lila assured her. “But are you certain you don’t want me to take your shift tonight?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Kit raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you want to go home? Did you and Ethan have a fight?”
Lila sighed. “No. It’s the opposite, actually. Ever since we moved in together I’ve become so...I don’t know...attached. He has his veterans’ support group tonight and if I’m sitting at home, I’ll miss him. And then I’ll feel like a lame, dependent girlfriend. I don’t want that.”
“You mean fiancée,” Kit corrected. “And it’s good that you miss him. It means you like him a lot. Which is great, since you’re marrying him.”
Lila grinned, just like she did every time Kit mentioned Ethan or marriage. “I guess you’re right. It’s just a little weird.”
“You’re not used to being in love yet. You’re still getting used to feeling safe and settled.” Kit gave Lila a light kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you so happy. Go cook him a meal or something wifely like that. Or work on your photographs—the show is only a couple months away.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m so nervous. Which is why I’m probably going to cook. Procrastination is my solace.”
“Your photos are gorgeous.” Lila took photos of ordinary life around Benson. But somehow she made a simple piece of sagebrush look like a feather, or a high mountain ridge look like it was molded from glistening silver. “Trust me. Every tourist in Mammoth is going to buy one when they walk into that gallery.”
“I hope so.” Lila glanced at the stack of books in Kit’s arms. “Want me to take those for you?” She tucked her own book under her arm and held out her hands. “You can stop by tomorrow to pick them up.”
Kit didn’t comment on Lila’s change of subject. She was private—probably uncomfortable even admitting she was nervous. “No, thanks. It’s Monday night. The bar will be empty, just like you said. If I get my work finished, I might have time to read.”
“Call me if you get bored with your self-help. We can chat.”
“Will do,” Kit promised.
They started down the steps. Lila’s white Jeep was parked behind Kit’s red one. When they’d first met, they’d bonded over their almost-identical cars.
Kit shot one last glance at the stoplight, then shook her head. Lila was right. It had been over a year since Arch had gotten out of jail. Over a year since he’d told her he loved another woman. Kit had to move on.
Maybe she’d find the magical words she was looking for in these books. Some insight that would end this endless heartache. But she was getting the feeling that the words she needed to hear hadn’t been written yet.
Or maybe there was no cure for a love like hers. Sometimes she wondered if she’d missed Arch so much, for so long, that missing him had become another part of her. An extra limb she’d grown, like an obsolete tail, crafted from layers of her own stupidity, slowing her down as it dragged along the ground.
Kit climbed into her Jeep and dumped the books on the passenger seat. It was a short drive to the Dusty Saddle. She rolled down her windows, hoping that the rain-tossed breeze would blow some sense of hope in along with it. A promise of something new to help her get over this musty old heartache.
* * *
THE HANDS OF the old Budweiser clock above the bar were moving backward. Kit was sure of it. As she watched, it paused, then the minute hand lurched backward, like it was trying to gather the momentum to go forward. But it never did.
Kind of like her life, Kit thought. She definitely lacked momentum. Arch’s moving on, Lila’s getting married, had made that pretty clear.
She wiped a tiny smudge on the bar. The Dusty Saddle was never busy on Mondays, but tonight it was completely empty. The regulars must be home nursing their weekend hangovers. The younger crowd was probably at the High Country Sports Bar, which offered all the games on its multiple TV screens, and drink promotions to go with them.
She’d hoped to keep busy tonight, but she’d unpacked the order in the first hour of her shift. Finished the inventory in the second hour. Then she’d scrubbed every possible surface during the next three hours. Now she had three hours to go and nothing but silence to keep her company. The Dusty Saddle was located on the edge of town, and since Benson was nestled against the east side of the Sierras, it was eerily quiet. If Kit poked her head out the door, she could probably hear coyotes howl. Or maybe an owl or two.
She went behind the bar to get a glass of ice water. Then she pulled a book off the stack she’d left there. Healing a Broken Heart by someone named Dr. Melinda Mellton. The doctor’s calm, radiant smile on the cover had pulled Kit in. She wanted to look and feel that happy. And even if Dr. Melinda’s contented glow was Photoshopped, the word healing in the title held some promise.
Kit leafed through the first few pages, stopping at the section called “The Broken Heart Questionnaire.” Dr. Melinda wanted to know if she was having trouble eating or sleeping, how long she’d been sad, was she dreaming of the person she’d lost. The questions went on for two pages. Mentally answering yes to almost every one, Kit read the analysis of her results. Melinda informed her that, given the number of times Kit had answered yes, it was clear that she had a broken heart. Duh.
She slammed the book on the counter. She didn’t need a book to tell her that. Pushing away from the bar, she paced the empty room a few times, pausing to throw a few darts at the dartboard. Bull’s-eye. Wandering to the bar, she stared at Dr. Melinda’s photo. Maybe the questionnaire was dumb, but Kit was desperate for something, even a few words of wisdom to give her hope that she’d feel better soon. She sat and opened the book again.
Chapter 2 was titled “Surviving.” That seemed like a good place to start. Surviving was all she’d been doing lately. She was relieved to realize that Dr. Melinda did actually know what it was like to live with a heart made of lead.
“Can’t a guy get a drink around here?”
Kit grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling off her stool. She’d been so engrossed in Dr. Melinda’s sympathetic descriptions of heartache that she hadn’t heard anyone come in.
A man stood a few feet away, his black cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes. But the brim didn’t hide the broad shoulders or the muscular arms bulging out of his tight black T-shirt. She slid off her stool and hurried behind the bar. “Sorry about that. You sneaked up on me.”
“That must be some book you’re reading.” The man took a few steps toward where she’d been sitting and glanced at the cover. “Healing a Broken Heart? Really? You were always the one breaking hearts, if I remember it right.” He tipped up the brim of his hat and she saw the face of an old friend.
“Tyler Ellis! I didn’t recognize you under that grown-up hat of yours.”
His lazy grin could melt an iceberg. “All grown up and ready for a beer.”
Kit reached for a glass to give herself a moment to regroup. Tyler wasn’t just grown up. He was gorgeous. She’d known that, of course. He was a world champion bull rider, and his wide, cocky smile was a common sight in the local paper, which covered his successes religiously.
But the photos hadn’t done him justice. He smiled at her with a confidence that must work magic with rodeo fans, because it was making even her jaded knees feel wobbly.
She straightened her spine. The last guy she’d felt wobbly for was Arch, and look how that turned out. She gestured toward him with the empty glass. “What are you drinking?”
He glanced at the taps. “Pale ale, please.”
Kit poured the local ale. Watching it foam was far more relaxing than watching Tyler. She stole a quick glance. Yup, he was gorgeous. He always had been, even in high school. Back when they’d been best friends.
Back before Kit had fallen head over heels for Arch Hoffman. And gotten herself involved in stuff she shouldn’t have.
Back before Tyler had worried about her, and told her to leave Arch, and they’d had the fight that ended their friendship.
Back before Tyler had quit high school and left town.
Kit had managed to avoid him every time he’d come to Benson since then.
“It’s been a while,” Tyler said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.
“It sure has.” Kit slid the pint across the bar, a small peace offering. “It’s on me.”
“What have you been up to all this time?” He sat heavily on a bar stool and took a gulp of the ale.
“Not too much.” What could she possibly tell him? He’d joined the army. Then joined the rodeo, started winning, become one of the Professional Bull Riders big stars. His looks had gotten him product endorsements and modeling contracts. He’d been in magazines, commercials, on billboards even. And all she could say about the past fifteen years was not much. “I’ve worked here, mostly.”
“You must like this place.” He paused, like he wanted to say something about that. Instead, he picked up her book. “So why are you reading this?”
No way would she tell him she was still hung up on Arch Hoffman. Not when he’d lived this incredible life while she’d stayed stuck right here in Benson. She made a grab for the book, but he held it out of reach. Just like they were kids again, growing up on his family’s ranch, with her daddy working for his.
The warmth she’d felt at seeing him seeped away slowly at that thought, leaving a hollow anxiety behind. Her dad had been so good to Tyler. He’d been a mentor and a friend. He’d taught Tyler how to ride bulls. Did Tyler know that his father had fired Kit’s? Was he complicit in it?
She could feel anger rising. “It’s a library book—don’t mess it up.” She reached for it again, but she was short and he stood, so she didn’t have a chance.
His grin dimpled wide and he took a few steps back from the bar. Wobbly steps.
Kit froze, taking in, for the first time, the slight flush to Tyler’s face, his untucked shirt. “Hey. Are you okay?” She crooked a practiced finger, summoning him closer, in full bossy-bartender mode now. He obeyed, moving unsteadily to the bar.
Studying his green eyes, she noticed a lack of focus there. He’d always had a sharp gaze. Piercing, even. “You’ve drunk a lot already.”
His answering nod was somber, as if they were sharing a profound moment. “Yes. I have.”
“Good to know.” She pulled the pint off the bar and set it on the counter behind her, out of his reach.
“Hey! I was enjoying that.”
“Great. You can enjoy it another night, when you’re not stumbling drunk.”
He shook his head and swayed a little. How had she not seen this before? “I’m not stumbling.”
“That’s because you’re hanging on to the bar stool.”
He glanced at his hand, white-knuckling the stool, and looked puzzled. “I am. Must have been the shots I had right before I came here.”
He set the book on the bar and Kit quickly placed it with her others, safely out of reach. “You need to get home and sleep this off,” she told him.
“You’ll go with me?” The tilt of his eyebrow might have been seductive if he’d been remotely sober.
“If you’re going to be an idiot, don’t talk,” she snapped.
“Right,” he said. “Good advice.”
“Smart boy. Now let me call someone to pick you up.”
“It’s early. And I want to be here.” He slid carefully onto the bar stool and folded his forearms on the bar, looking at her quizzically. “I’m just trying to figure out how in the hell you got more beautiful than you were. How is that even possible?”
She didn’t hide the roll of her eyes. “Beer goggles make anything possible.” She poured a glass of water and set it in front of him. “Drink this. And then let’s get you home before you say any more stuff you’ll regret later.”
“I won’t regret saying it. Should have said it years ago.” He pulled his hat off his head and set it on the stool next to him. She’d forgotten his hair. Kind of a reddish brown, straight as a board, and he still wore it just a little too long. “I came back here a couple times. To host the Benson Rodeo, make some guest appearances, stuff like that. How come I didn’t see you then?”
“Maybe because I don’t watch rodeos. Or maybe because you got your drinks elsewhere. Kind of like you did earlier tonight. Were you at the High Country?”
“Yup.” He nodded. “Great bar.”
“Sure, if you like cocktails and big-screen TVs.”
“And you don’t?”
“I prefer the basics. Good beer. Good customers.” She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What are you doing in town, so messed up on a Monday night, anyway?”
“A few of my buddies threw me a party. A celebration.”
“What are you celebrating?”
He hesitated a fraction. “Moving home.”
She’d been expecting him to say another rodeo win or another endorsement deal. Certainly not this. “You’re moving to Benson? No more rodeo?”
His head moved in one emphatic shake. “Nope.”
He’d lived and breathed bull riding since he was a kid. “Tyler, that’s a big deal. How come you quit?”
“A lot of reasons.” He took a sip of water then swirled the glass, watching as if it was actually interesting.
“Suddenly you don’t want to talk, when we’re talking about you.”
He shrugged. “Not much to say. I had a great run. I won some titles and made a bunch of money. And I was lucky that I did all that and didn’t get hurt much. But I saw a lot of friends get pretty torn up. Figured I’d quit while I was still in one piece.”
“But you’ll miss it.” It was a guess, but she saw the way his eyes widened a little.
Then he hiccuped and blinked a few extra times. “Excuse me. It’s possible that I may have celebrated a little too much.”
“Yeah. Which is why I’m suggesting, again, that you get home to sober up.”
“Don’t really want to do that.” His arms folded across his chest in a three-year-old’s version of stubborn.
“Fine. Have it your way.” She grabbed a clean cloth to start polishing glasses.
Tyler was quiet for a few moments. Unfortunately, his attempt at restraint was no match for the alcohol in his system. “You know those self-help books you’re reading are a con, right?”
She glared at him. “They’re just books. Maybe I’ll learn something, maybe I won’t.”
“They won’t cure what’s hurting you.” He leaned forward, as if he was about to share a secret. “The only cure for heartache is a good beer and a good lay. I’d be happy to help...”
“Stop!” He might be an old friend and a local hero, but she didn’t tolerate harassment. Ever. “You need to get the hell out of my bar if you’re going to be a jerk.” She moved toward him, grabbed his hat and clapped it on his head. And if she was a little rough, well, maybe he deserved it. She yanked him off his stool. He staggered into her, throwing an arm around her shoulders for balance.
She took a few steps to counter his weight and regained her footing. Dealing with drunks came with the territory. But dealing with Tyler felt a little different. Because he’d been a friend, she reminded herself. It was that old familiarity that had her noticing the way his body pressed warm and hard against hers. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here.”
“No car,” he told her. “My buddy took the keys.”
“He’s a good friend. You should thank him tomorrow.” She walked Tyler across the room, then shoved open the door so they both stumbled out into the cool night air. “You can walk home. It will do you good. Or sing really loud and the sheriff will pick you up and give you a ride. Of course, he might cite you for disturbing the peace, but I hear the fines are pretty small.”
“You’re the best, Kit.” He pulled her in closer, leaning down as if to plant a kiss on her mouth. She ducked out from under his arm and instinctively stuck her foot behind his. A quick shove on the shoulder and he was flat on his back in the gravel.
He stared at her, and she almost laughed at the shocked expression on his face. “Don’t kiss me,” she told him. “I’m not part of your celebration.”
His smile returned, slow and wide. He sat up and grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, setting it on his head. Then he shoved himself up and staggered a few steps to get vertical. “You haven’t even asked what I’m celebrating.”
“Your retirement. You told me, remember?”
“Nah... Not sure if I want to celebrate that. There’s more. A new business venture.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” she told him.
“Sure you do.”
“Fine,” she said, packing as much sarcasm as she could into her tone. “What venture would that be? Something on your daddy’s ranch?”
He laughed as if she’d said something truly funny. “Nah, my brothers have that covered.” He took a few uneven steps, grinning at her in the faint glow of the outside lights. “You, Kit Hayes, are looking at the new owner of the Dusty Saddle.”
He took a few more steps, tipped his hat, then turned, stumbling down the street toward the center of town.
She stared after him, trying to absorb his words. As he walked away, he took her advice and broke into an off-key rendition of “Rhinestone Cowboy.” Then he disappeared around the corner.
Kit closed her gaping mouth and sank onto the cracked cement steps. Tyler had bought the bar? Kit hadn’t even known it was for sale. Chris had never mentioned it. Which stung, since Kit had been bartending for him for the past nine years.
She shoved her head into her hands. For a moment she relished the darkness there, the shutting out of everything. She’d clung to this idea of owning the Dusty Saddle for the past year. Using it as something to focus on besides Arch. Setting it as a goal to keep her satisfied with living in this town and looking after her dad. And now, in a few heartbeats, that goal had vanished.
This sucked. Just like everything had sucked since Arch got out of prison. She shoved off the step, not willing to sit crumpled and defeated. She walked to the edge of the parking lot. When she faced this direction, there were no lights from town to diminish the night sky. The stars exploded across the darkness, layer upon layer of cosmic insanity.
Usually the sky out here took her breath away. Tonight it just made her nervous. Because it reminded her, the way Tyler had, that in the grand scheme of things, she was nothing.
When Arch told her he didn’t want her after all, he’d broken her heart. But at least she’d had her work. A place where she felt she mattered. Now she knew that wasn’t true. The boss she’d worked so hard for had sold the business without a word to her. Under this vastness of stars she was a speck of dust, adrift and floating around this piece of the planet that once felt like home.
Stuck here, belonging nowhere.
Jealousy hit hot despite the cool air. What was it like to be Tyler Ellis? Born and raised in a wealthy ranching family, talented enough to achieve the highest level of his chosen sport. Now sauntering into town with enough money to buy a business that should have been her business.
Ha. Her business in another world, maybe. She was a Hayes. Permanently poor. Born and raised to work for the Ellis family, just like her daddy had.
If she worked for Tyler, would he screw her over, too? Like his father had cheated hers? Probably. Only he’d do it with a sugar coating of cowboy grin and flattering words, because people like Tyler thought the whole world was there just for them.
And why not? Because it was right there for them, waiting at their fingertips. While people like Kit were destined to watch their dreams, slippery as trout in a Sierra stream, wriggle right out of their grasping hands.
CHAPTER TWO (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721)
KIT PARKED HER Jeep in the lot in front of the Dusty Saddle. It was early on Tuesday morning, but Chris usually came in about now. She walked to the bar door, shoving it open. “Anybody here?” she called out in the quiet bar.
“We’re closed!” Her boss’s voice came from the small office to her left.
“It’s Kit,” she replied.
“Kitto! What’s up?” Chris appeared, his sweatpants and I’d Rather Be Fishing T-shirt advertising his readiness for retirement. “You’re not on today, right? Did I misread the schedule?”
“It’s my day off, but I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk.”
“Sure. Grab a seat.” He indicated the empty tables she’d polished last night.
Kit picked the closest one and sat, trying to ignore the way her heart seemed to rise and stick like a lump of dough in her throat. They’d worked together for almost a decade, and it hit her that she wasn’t just losing the chance to own the Dusty Saddle. She was losing a boss she’d loved. She cleared her throat. “I heard the news. About you selling the bar.”
Chris plopped down heavily, his bulky frame dwarfing the chair. “How? I meant to tell you myself.”
“Tyler came in last night. Drunk. He told me.”
Chris folded his worn hands on the table and huffed out a sigh. “I’m sorry you found out that way. I figured he’d have the sense to check with me before talking to any of my employees.”
“Well, he was beyond sense last night. Celebrating his purchase, I guess. I threw him out.”
That gave Chris pause. “You threw out the new owner?”
“He hadn’t told me he was the new owner yet. And he was giving me a hard time.” Seeing the look of alarm on Chris’s face, she tried to reassure him. “We knew each other really well growing up. I don’t think he’ll be too upset about it. Plus, he deserved it.”
The relief on his ruddy face showed how much Chris wanted this deal to go through. But maybe it hadn’t gone through yet, which meant there might still be hope for her. Kit remembered the opening she’d practiced earlier. “So you’re retiring?”
His shy smile was a surprise. “Yup. I’m finally doing it. Gonna spend my days fishing and my nights watching the stars. I’ve had a good run here—owned this bar for over twenty years. I’ve enjoyed it, but I don’t want to spend another minute of my life behind the bar.”
“Congratulations,” Kit said. And wanted to mean it. He owed her nothing, so why did she feel betrayed? “Is it a done deal? I mean, are the papers signed and all that?”
“Yup, they are,” Chris said. “About a month ago.”
“A month ago,” she repeated. Her disappointment was edged in nausea.
He must have seen her distress because he leaned forward to take her hand. “Hey, it’ll be fine. Tyler will do a great job.”
“But why didn’t you tell me this was going on?” She wouldn’t cry, even though tears were hot under her eyes.
“I didn’t want some big fuss. I didn’t think you’d be this upset.” He let go of her hand and leaned back, suddenly looking all of his sixtysomething years. “I’m out of here at the end of the week.”
“You mean—” she somehow resisted the urge to whack him upside the head “—you’re only giving us a few days’ notice?”
“I know you.” Chris grinned suddenly, as if delighted with this part of his deception. “You’d want to throw me some big old party where the regulars would get all drunk and weepy on me. And that’s not my style. I’d rather just grab my tackle box and go.”
Kit studied him, making sure he meant it. “Fine. Though you’re missing out. I plan good parties.”
“So I’ve heard. And seen, when my staff stumbled in the next day.”
Disappointment and loss combined, overriding her efforts to hold back her tears. “We’re going to miss you so much.”
Chris brushed the sentiment off, of course. “Hell, he’s Tyler Ellis. Big rodeo champion. I figured you’d all be over the moon to work for a guy like that.”
“I guess I’d been hoping to buy the bar myself, if you retired,” she admitted.
He looked at her sharply. “You never said.”
“You never said you were planning on retiring anytime soon.” There it was, that note of accusation she’d planned to avoid.
“I guess I assumed you wouldn’t be interested. Because...” Chris stopped, so she finished for him.
“Because I wouldn’t have the money?”
“Well, I know you’ve been taking care of your daddy lately. It’s a big responsibility.”
“I’ve been saving. And maybe the bank would have helped me.”
“Maybe,” Chris said, but she could hear the doubt. She must seem like an idiot. Like she’d been hoping for a handout.
Her voice came out small. “Can I ask what it sold for? Just so I know if I was even close?”
His gaze went to the table. “Almost a million dollars.”
Her gasp burst out before she could bite it back. That much money stole her breath.
He leaned forward, meeting her shock with concern. “You might not realize it, but this bar is on a huge piece of property. I inherited it all, but I only use this building. There’s a bunch of barns, outbuildings, all kinds of acreage for ranching. And Tyler wanted it all.”
“What’s he going to do? Tear the bar down and stick cows on the land?”
“Nah. I think he wants to expand. Maybe even add a restaurant. He’s got some big dreams.”
A million dollars. Kit might laugh if it didn’t sting so badly. She may as well have been saving pennies in a piggy bank.
“Wait until you talk to him,” Chris went on. “I’m sure he’ll call a meeting with the staff soon and fill you in on his plans. It’s gonna be exciting to see what he does. You might find that me heading out to pasture is a good thing for everyone.”
“Maybe.” He was trying to make her feel better so Kit found a smile, but it felt like a grimace. “But I doubt it. We’ll miss you.”
“Likewise. It’s been a pleasure working with you. You’ve been a bit like the daughter I never had.”
“Well, don’t be a stranger then.” Her voice was husky. “Take me fishing with you or something.”
There was a suspicious shimmer in Chris’s eyes. “I’d like that.”
“And when will the rodeo star take over?”
Chris chuckled. “Don’t give him too much of a hard time. I know you’ve got a disdain for cowboys, but Tyler is a champion for a reason. He worked his butt off to get where he did. You might find he’s made of better stuff than you imagine.”
His words wormed guilt into her conscience. She’d been cursing Tyler three ways to hell since yesterday. Letting her jealousy and her disappointment make him the villain. He may have been drunk and obnoxious last night, but he’d been her friend when they were kids. He’d stuck by her, stuck up for her, and she’d kicked him out of her life the moment Arch Hoffman tilted a badass eyebrow her way.
“You’re right,” she admitted. “I might find that out. Or I might already be fired for throwing him out of his own bar.”
“He shouldn’t have come in here drunk like that.” His eye crinkled into a Santa Claus wink. “Though I wouldn’t have minded seeing you send him out the door. I’ll say something to him. Make sure he knows who’s really been running this place for the past few years.”
“Thanks, Chris.” His praise didn’t warm her the way he meant it to. She’d been running the bar, but now she’d just be one more employee of Tyler Ellis. Just like her dad had been one more employee of Ken Ellis. And look where that had landed him. Broke. Cast off like some old ranch horse. Except the Ellis horses were given nice pastures and good food.
“Now you go enjoy your day off,” Chris said, shoving up from his chair. “I’ve got to open this place up. Strange to think it’s one of the last times I’ll ever do it.”
“Yeah, strange,” Kit echoed as she stood on numb limbs. Everything had felt surreal since Tyler showed up last night.
Maybe owning the Dusty Saddle had been a pipe dream, but it had also been her lifeline. The thing that made her feel like she could survive staying in this town. And now Chris had hauled up that line and tossed it to someone else.
She gave Chris a vague wave and left, furious at the traitor tears that kept pooling in her eyes. She had to pull herself together. Her next stop was her dad’s house, and she didn’t want him suspecting anything was wrong. She was his lifeline, and no matter how many things were going wrong in her life, she had to show up as strong as ever for him.
* * *
TYLER CHASED HIS third aspirin down with his second glass of water and tried to focus his eyes. His father’s kitchen looked exactly the same as it had for the past two decades. Clean, quiet and barren of decor. Sometime after Tyler’s mom died, his dad had removed all of her homey touches and never replaced them. The only changes were the new cracks in the faded green linoleum and the increasingly battered edges of the white cabinets.
His father and brothers had long since eaten and headed out for chores. He could almost feel his dad’s disapproval in the ticking of the clock, in the tidiness, in the plate of eggs and bacon left for him. There was no way he could keep that down.
How the hell had he ended up drinking so much?
It had started simply enough. He’d met a couple friends at the sports bar. They’d shot some pool, knocked back a few beers, caught up. Then he’d told them about his business plans. How the papers were signed, the money paid. How he was going to turn the Dusty Saddle into the finest bar this side of the Sierras.
And his friends had ordered shots to celebrate.
They didn’t know that Tyler was a lightweight. Anyone looking at him could see almost six feet of solid guy. But it took training to ride rodeo as well as Tyler did. As well as he had. It took a good diet and hours clocked in the gym. To stay in top form, he didn’t drink much.
Until last night.
There’d been some dancing at the High Country. He vaguely remembered a pretty blonde draping her arms around him. Then someone had mentioned how Kit Hayes worked at the Dusty Saddle. Which got his attention. And held it until he didn’t care about what the blonde was offering. He’d had to see Kit.
Because she’d haunted him. Was someone he’d always thought about, even when his life had taken him to the biggest arenas in the country. He’d been crazy about her when they were young. But they’d been friends. He hadn’t known what to do about his crush. Then she’d fallen hard for Arch Hoffman and that was that.
Going to see her hadn’t been such a great idea. But knowing she was a few blocks away, working in the bar he’d just purchased, had been a siren call he couldn’t ignore. Seeing her again, it was clear he still had that thing for her. Had it so bad he’d stayed awake last night remembering the way her dark brown eyes—huge already, but totally exotic under the heavy makeup she wore—had flashed at him. How her long black hair gleamed as it swirled to her elbows. How her sweater slipped off her shoulder and revealed a fraction of a tattoo that left him wanting to see the whole picture. Then there was the way she’d felt, pressed against him, when she’d walked him so sternly out of the bar.
And her surprising strength when she sent him sprawling to the ground.
A thumping on the kitchen steps had him turning in time to see his dad come through the door, tall, iron-haired, with shoulders broad from years of work and upright responsibility. He had a binder under his arm and moved like a man in a hurry, but he stopped when he saw Tyler.
“You’re up.” Tyler could hear the subtext: The rest of us were up hours ago.
“Yes, I am.” He resorted to the good manners that had been drilled into them. “I appreciate you saving me some breakfast.”
“It might be spoiled now. Didn’t know it would sit out for so long.”
“Right.” Not much of an answer but all he could think of in the face of the loud and clear message. He was slacking off.
“You were out drinking last night?”
“Yes, I was.”
“I don’t appreciate you stumbling in drunk, you hear me?”
“Yes, I do.” He was a kid again. Being chastised for his bad grades, his lack of brains, his inability to be what his dad felt he should be. A dull pounding kicked up a rhythm at the base of his skull. Last night was too much to drink, but all this was too much to come home to. What the hell had he been thinking? He could have bought a bar anywhere. Why’d he choose his hometown?
“Your brothers are down on the southern end of the ranch. We’re redoing that old border fence. Why don’t you go help them out?”
Tyler braced himself for more disapproval. “I was hoping to work on my business plan today.”
“Your plan for what?”
“Remember the bar I told you about? That I bought?”
“You don’t start working there for a few days. You can help around here until then.”
Tyler tried to summon patience through the fog of his hangover. “I can help out today. But I also have my own work to do. I need to be ready when I take the reins.”
“You need to be ready? To pour beer?” His dad let out a breath of disgust. “I still can’t figure out why you bought that thing, anyway.”
“It’s a business, Dad.”
“This ranch is good business.”
Tyler laughed out loud before he could stop himself. He and his father working together would be a disaster resulting in fists or worse. “My brothers have that covered. You don’t need me on the ranch.”
“You have enough money, you could get your own place.”
“I did get my own place.” He’d explained it all a few times now, but he tried again. “There’s a lot of land behind the bar. Maybe I’ll raise bulls on it, eventually. But ranching isn’t all I want.” Tyler cast around for the words to explain. The restless feeling. The need to connect with others after years of hotel rooms and training. “I think ranching’s a little too solitary for me. I like being around people.”
“Suit yourself.” His dad shrugged, looking as mystified as he always had when it came to all things Tyler.
“Trust me, Dad, it’s gonna be good.”
His dad squinted, as if by changing his vision he could somehow change his son as well. “Well, we aren’t a hotel, son. We expect you to earn your keep around here.”
Tyler felt his dreams shrink so small they’d fit in his jeans pocket. “Which is why I’m looking for a new place to live. I appreciate you letting me stay a few days, but we both know that won’t work out so well in the long run. I’ve got a few leads on some rentals in town.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
His dad nodded and turned away, striding toward his office. Hurrying away from the one son who made no sense to him. Who never had. Who probably never would.
Tyler watched him go, wondering what it would take for his dad to see him as a success. A long time ago he’d thought it would be all those junior rodeo trophies. When he grew up, he thought it would be winning the world championship or making good money. When he decided to retire from rodeo, he thought it might be buying a business and a big piece of property. But nothing had changed. In Ken Ellis’s eyes, Tyler was just a disappointment. The third son, who didn’t fall in line with the first two. A problem he couldn’t fix. Same as always.
Tyler glanced at the congealed meal and shuddered. He scraped the food into the garbage and rinsed the plate. He needed coffee and lots of it. He wished he could eat at the café in town, where the food was hot and the waitresses flirted with him. Where he could be reminded that for a few sweet, short rodeo years, he’d been a hell of a lot more than the Ellis family loser. But he had work to do. So he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and went to find his brothers.
* * *
THE CHESTNUT GELDING Tyler had borrowed nickered low at the sight of the two horses tied to the pasture fence. He picked up the pace, eager to be with his buddies.
At the sound of their approach, Tyler’s brothers looked up from their work. Parker stopped cranking the wire taut and grinned. “You finally out of bed, princess?”
Miles was kneeling, hammering in a staple to hold the wire to the fence post. He finished, then joined the fun. “Oh, look who decided to join us. I thought celebrity bull riders were too important for ranch work.”
Tyler tied his horse near the others and made his way through the thick spring grass. “I doubt I’ll ever get too self-important with you two clowns constantly busting my balls.”
“We’re just glad you got your beauty rest.” Miles grinned, not willing to let the joke go. “In case you have any modeling gigs coming up.” Older than Tyler by two years, Miles took special pleasure in tormenting him. One time he’d shown up at a rodeo in Reno carrying a giant pink sign with the words I Love Tyler written in rainbow letters. That sign had made national TV and the other bull riders had teased Tyler about it that entire season.
“What’s with coming home hammered?” Parker was the oldest and took that role seriously. Maybe losing their mom before any of them were out of junior high had grown him up too fast.
“I went out with Eric and Mitch. They bought shots to celebrate my new bar.”
“You’re a lightweight,” Miles teased. “It’s all that granola and kale you eat.”
“Gotta keep fit.” Tyler’s answer was automatic. Followed by the realization that he didn’t actually have to keep fit anymore. Not in bull-riding shape, at least. The idea left him a little hollow.
“Well, you stumbling in singing was like nails on a chalkboard for Dad. He was ranting about it this morning,” Parker said.
“Yeah, he ranted when I saw him just now.” Tyler grabbed his work gloves out of his pocket. “What can I do to help?”
“Bring a few of those posts over, will you?” Miles jutted his chin to indicate the large pile a few yards away. “And we need that bag of concrete out of the truck.”
Tyler nodded. “You guys think Dad’s going to get over me buying a bar?”
Parker shook his head. “Doubt it. You know Dad. Ranching’s the only job that makes any sense to him.”
“But I got over it,” Miles chimed in. “In case you were worried. I’m looking forward to free beer.”
“Come on by and I’ll start you a tab,” Tyler shot back. “And I’ll bill you for it at the end of each month.”
“No family discount?” Parker added with uncharacteristic humor. “Cheapskate.”
“Not until I’m running in the black. Right now the place is a money pit.”
“So why’d you take it on, then?” Parker asked.
“Because I can make it great.”
“You and your big goals.” Miles grinned. “Isn’t it tiring being so ambitious all the time?” He put a gloved finger to the side of his face, as if he was thinking. “Hmm. I think I’ll join the army. Boot camp sounds fun. No, maybe I’ll become the best bull rider in the world. Now I’m going to buy a dive bar and convince everyone that it’s cool. Yeah, that’ll be relaxing.”
It was such an accurate portrayal that Tyler couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I find it relaxing to try to meet my goals. I like pushing forward. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t.” Parker sent Miles a strict glance. “In fact, maybe someone around here could use a few more goals.”
Miles took the chiding with his usual good nature. “What, you don’t think working for you and Dad is the definition of success? Because it sure is fun.”
“Fun until a daddy of one of the girls you chase comes out here with a shotgun.”
“That’s when I hide behind my big brother.” Miles shoved Parker on the shoulder. “Hey, Tyler. Can you grab those posts? Or are you worried you’ll break a nail?”
“Shut up, Miles.” But Tyler walked to the pile and grabbed a couple off the top. “I wanted you guys to help me with something.”
“No beer, no help,” Miles said and grabbed the handles of the posthole digger.
“What do you need?” Parker asked.
“I plan to fix up the barn at my new place. It’s not in such bad shape—should be done in a few weeks. I want to get a few horses. And a couple bulls.”
“Bucking bulls?” Parker eyed him shrewdly. “I thought you were done with rodeo.”
“I want to offer a class or two. Get some local kids started in rodeo.” Tyler set the posts down near Miles.
“I’m sure parents will love you for that. Especially when one of their little darlings breaks a neck.”
“Bull riding’s the fastest-growing sport in the country.”
“Doesn’t make it any less crazy,” Parker said.
“You don’t have to like it. But can you help me get some bulls?” It didn’t matter to Tyler that Parker wasn’t a great fan of bull riding. His brother had a better eye for cattle than anyone Tyler knew.
“I can ask around to see if anyone has the stock for that. Horses will be a lot easier. You thinking about some trail riding?”
Tyler nodded. “Trail riding, light ranch work. Quarter horses would be nice, but I’d consider other breeds.”
“I’ll look into it,” Parker promised.
“Thanks, Park,” Tyler said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help.”
“It’s good to have you home,” Parker said.
“It’s good to have you home and owning a bar,” Miles added.
“Shut up, Miles,” Tyler and Parker said in unison. And they all burst out laughing.
Tyler walked to the pile for a few more posts. It wasn’t fun to clash with his dad again. Or to feel his father’s disappointment seep into the confidence Tyler had finally developed once he left home. Being home wasn’t easy, but it sure was good to be near his brothers again.
* * *
KIT CLIMBED THE rickety steps to her father’s door, clutching the railing as she avoided the rotten boards. She glanced at the pile of new wood, still stacked where she’d left it a month ago. Cut to size, ready to be nailed on. Losing his life’s work had knocked the wind out of her dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was totally depressed.
His cottage was perched on a small rise at the edge of town, where he could look out over the high desert that rolled on in miles of dry desolation. Kit worried that he was lonely out here. But her dad insisted he was happy. That the open sky was the best friend a guy could have.
Of course, that was before he’d been fired. Now he and the open sky were spending a lot of time together, and Kit suspected the relationship was no longer healthy.
She knocked, faded bits of green paint raining down on the porch. The afternoon winds were fierce out here. They were sandblasting the place. She had to add “find a painter” to her to-do list.
Her dad was watching TV. Kit could hear the perky cadence of some talk show host when she put her ear to the door. She knocked again and was finally rewarded by a shuffling sound. Her dad still wore his blue flannel pajamas and slippers at 11:00 a.m. His gray eyebrows scrunched together, as if he was puzzled at her arrival.
“Hey, Sunshine.”
The old endearment had Kit smiling through her worry. It was a ridiculous name and they both knew it. With her black hair, heavy makeup and tattoos, Kit didn’t look like anyone’s sunshine. “Did you forget I was coming by? Remember we talked about it on Sunday?”
The frown cleared. “I guess I forgot which day we said.” Her dad gestured for Kit to enter. “You want some coffee?”
Kit nodded and her dad shuffled toward the kitchen. Kit stayed by the door, taking in the clutter strewn around the living room. A few dirty dishes teetered on the arm of the couch. Laundry sat in a heap waiting to be folded and a pile of newspapers was stacked haphazardly on an end table. Her dad used to be a neatnik.
Thank you, Ken Ellis. Owner of Sierra Canyon Ranch, where Garth Hayes had worked his entire life. Where his hard work had been rewarded with two words. You’re fired.
Because the Ellis family took what they wanted and ran right over smaller people, like Kit and her dad, in the process.
Like father, like son.
Guilt twinged. Tyler hadn’t taken anything from her. He’d bought what was for sale. Bought what Kit couldn’t afford. Still, she felt run over.
Automatically, Kit reached for the jacket draped over the rocking chair and hung it up in the small hall closet. Then she went into the kitchen, wincing at the dirty counters and piled dishes. “Dad, things are getting pretty messy here.” The words were out before she’d realized she was saying them. But hell, they needed to be said.
He sighed. “I was going to clean up today.”
“You told me the same thing on Sunday. But I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the same dirty dishes.” Kit took a deep breath, forcing herself to say what had been on her mind. “You aren’t dressed. You’re watching TV. This isn’t like you at all. I think you might be depressed.”
He looked out the window to the desert he loved. “I’ve just been busy lately.”
“Doing what, Dad?” Kit couldn’t hide the worry that sharpened her voice. “I never see you in town. Jed Watkins asked about you the other day. Said he was concerned because you’ve been missing poker night. And you told him you didn’t want to judge the Benson Rodeo this year. You always judge the rodeo.”
He looked weary. It seemed like the past four months since he’d been let go, as Ken Ellis had called it, had aged him twenty years. “I didn’t much feel like it this year.”
“Because you’re depressed. Have you seen Dr. Miller?”
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just having a little trouble figuring out what to do with myself all day long. Retirement is an adjustment, right? Isn’t that what they say? So I’m adjusting.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re adjusting very well.” She knew she was nagging, but worry wouldn’t let her quit. “What about those boards I got for the steps? They’ve been on the porch a month now. They’re cut to size, Dad. All you have to do is yank out the old ones and nail the new ones down.” An idea hit. Manual labor wasn’t her cup of tea but maybe it would wake her dad up a bit. “What if I grab the tools right now and we do it together?”
Her dad glanced at her suspiciously. “You hate building stuff. You hate it if you so much as break a fingernail.”
Kit glanced at her new manicure, the purple polish so dark it was almost black. Twenty bucks and her favorite color, too. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” she lied. “Get dressed. Let’s take our coffee out on the porch and build some steps.”
“If you’re sure.”
“We can pretend each nail is Ken Ellis’s head.” Or Tyler’s.
“Kit Hayes, I didn’t raise you to be vindictive.” He sounded a little like the tough dad she’d known, before he’d lost everything.
“It may be vindictive, but I bet it’s also therapeutic,” she retorted. Pushing. Wanting him to come back to her. “Maybe it will help you with all that adjusting you’re doing.”
He glared at her. But she’d rather see him mad than beaten down.
“Fine. I’ll get changed. You get the tools out of the shed.”
“Sure,” she said, trying to keep the triumph out of her voice and the hope out of her heart. But she shouldn’t hope. Nothing she’d tried for her dad had worked so far.
On the porch, she left her coffee mug on the railing and jumped the steps to the ground. She found a couple crowbars in the shed and brought them to the stairs, using hers to rip out the first board. It felt good. Actually, it felt great to see the old boards come off. For months it felt like things had been happening to her. Arch not loving her. Ken Ellis firing her dad. Tyler Ellis buying the bar she’d been scraping and saving for.
At least in this moment she, Kit Hayes, was ripping up boards. Making something happen. Maybe this could be a turning point for her, too. Because she sure as hell needed one.
The next board splintered, she went at it so hard. Her dad might have lost his way, but she wasn’t letting an Ellis, or anyone, bring her down. She’d already let Arch throw her for a loop when he showed up. It was taking her a while to recover from that, but she was recovering. So with this new setback she’d keep in mind how far she’d come. She’d keep pushing forward. She’d find a new dream. One that Tyler Ellis couldn’t buy out from under her.
CHAPTER THREE (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721)
TYLER LOOKED AT the bar staff he’d inherited, trying to ignore the dismay prickling beneath his skin. His employees sprawled in the circle of chairs he’d set up in the middle of the bar. And none of them looked very happy to be at this meeting.
The Dusty Saddle didn’t look great, either. It was even more drab than usual in the bright morning light. The stained, scuffed plank floor probably hadn’t been refinished since the bar was built in the early 1900s. Stuffing poked out of ripped brown vinyl booths. Tabletops were covered in drink rings that couldn’t be scrubbed off anymore.
This Monday-morning staff meeting had seemed like a way better idea when Tyler had planned it. He’d seen it so rosy in his mind’s eye. Everyone chatting happily, excited for his first day as owner of the Dusty Saddle.
But there was no excitement. Quite the opposite. Here he was, trying to give an inspirational speech, but he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard a single word.
One of the bouncers, Ernie, a hefty brick of a guy, was playing some game on his phone. Loomis, his fellow bouncer, had one leg slung over the other and was studying the sole of his steel-toed boot. Lila, one of the bartenders, was sleepily twisting a lock of her long red hair, clearly not excited about being at work this early. Her bartending colleagues didn’t look any more enthusiastic. Maybe they were here just to pick up the fifty bucks Tyler had bribed them with to get them into the bar first thing on a Monday.
Tyler tried not to look at Kit, but his eyes kept straying her way. She barely seemed to see him, her face a mask of studied boredom that did little to hide the anger in her eyes.
She was still pissed at him. Well deserved after his drunken visit a week ago. He’d stopped by a couple times this past week in hopes of catching her alone to apologize. But she’d avoided him each time, disappearing to the stockroom or announcing, suddenly, that it was time for her break. And since it was Chris’s last week, Tyler hadn’t wanted to stop by the bar too often. The guy surely needed time to say goodbye to his business and his staff without the new owner breathing down his neck.
Tyler tried again to inspire some enthusiasm. “Picture the bar expanded.” He pointed north. “This whole wall will be moved out, doubling our seating capacity. Then we’ll build a second bar in the new addition—an area especially for sports fans. That way, we can give the High Country a run for their money on weekdays.”
Lila’s eyes rolled in Kit’s direction. Kit’s answering shrug was the embodiment of whatever.
Yeah, he was really firing them up. Any more enthusiasm and they’d be asleep.
Ernie raised a beefy hand and Tyler nodded to him, relieved that finally someone cared.
“Does this mean we’ll get more hours?”
Hallelujah for something he could say yes to. “Once we’ve renovated and we’re up and running, you’ll definitely have more hours if you want them.”
Mario, one of the part-time bartenders, yawned. So much for wowing them. Tyler’s gaze went to Kit with a will of its own. She was staring somewhere over his shoulder. He followed the direction of her gaze. She was watching the clock.
This chat wasn’t working, but he didn’t know what else to do except keep going. “We’ll have a lot to offer once the renovations are complete. I’d like to add a restaurant with an outdoor barbecue area. And a stage and a dance floor. I’m going to restore the barn and build a small arena. I’m hoping to start a rodeo school. Any questions?”
Of course not.
Then a hand came up. Not one he wanted to choose. “Kit?”
She gave him a smile laced with ice. “Are you gonna give us a raise?”
Damn it. Trust her to ask what he couldn’t answer. “I’m still going over the figures. I’ll know more after I draw up cost projections, revenue estimates, stuff like that.”
She gave him a cool look. “It just seems like if you have all this money to transform the Dusty Saddle into a one-stop cowboy experience, you must have enough to compensate the people who’ll be doing all the work.”
Ouch. Her cutting summation of his plans stung. She was walking a thin line, but he’d be cool about it, for now. “I’ll work hard, too. And I won’t pay myself until we’re profitable. I’ll certainly consider raises once we start making some money.”
There was a slight stirring among the staff, an exhaled breath of relief. It must have been the right thing to say. Or as close to right as he’d gotten so far. But it was clear he was missing something here. Some chance. He could feel it as sure he knew a bull would shift left or right.
His palms were damp. He wasn’t used to talking like this, trying to inspire others. Put him on a bull and he’d inspire. With actions. With stamina. But with words, he was out of his league. “Look, you all probably know I’ve spent the past few years hitting the rodeos. But I also spent a lot of time with corporate sponsors, doing promotion, stuff like that.”
“‘Me and my Wranglers,’” Lila purred. “Yeah, we saw the commercial.”
Heat crept from his collar to his jaw. In the commercial Lila referred to, the camera had been mainly focused on his ass. “I may not have experience owning a bar. But I learned some stuff about business along the way. I’m no expert, but I have a feeling about this place.”
He paused, gratified to see a few nods from the bouncers and Mario. “I’ve thought my plans through and I know I can make this place profitable. I just need good people around me to do it. I need you, if you’ll give it a try with me.”
“What if we like the Saddle the way it is?” Kit leaned forward, her elbows on the table and, oh boy, her neckline had slid down, treating him to an eyeful of what he should not be looking at. When he raised his glance he saw the fierce emotion in her eyes. She wasn’t giving him a hard time for the heck of it. For some reason, she loved this place, ripped vinyl, filthy floor and all.
“There’s history here. I get that. But let’s be honest, most customers don’t appreciate it. The bar is empty most weeknights.”
“It’s a small town. No one’s out drinking,” Kit shot back.
“It’s a growing town, and the High Country is packed. Look, if we can’t bring more customers in, this place will go under. Chris knew it. He told me himself when he sold it to me. And Kit, weren’t you just asking me about raises?”
She looked at him sharply and he knew he’d hit a nerve.
“You can’t have it both ways,” he said. “You can’t keep the Dusty Saddle the way it’s always been and expect a living wage from it. So we’re going to need to make changes.”
“Don’t get all sentimental, Kit.” Loomis finally looked up from his boot. “More money sounds pretty good to me.”
“Amen,” Ernie added, and Tyler saw several other heads nod around the room.
At least he’d gotten one thing right. He didn’t need everyone on board—and clearly Kit wasn’t signing up for the Tyler Ellis fan club anytime soon—but he needed some of the staff with him. He looked at Kit. “Not all change is bad. It might even be fun.”
“Depends on your idea of fun,” Kit murmured, ostensibly to Lila but loud enough for him to hear, too.
“Any questions?” Tyler deliberately looked over Kit’s head.
“You gonna change the name?” Tim, a bartender, glanced around. “The Dusty Saddle doesn’t really fit what you’re describing.”
“I hadn’t thought about it yet.”
“How about the Last Rodeo?” Kit asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently when he glared at her. “I mean, since you just had yours, right?”
“Ouch,” Mario murmured.
“Isn’t that a little depressing?” Tim nudged Kit with his elbow. “Not sure we’ll get people in the party spirit with that one.”
“I kind of like it,” Lila countered. “It’s mysterious. Like Tyler’s rodeo days are over and so what comes next?”
“Dance floors and big-screen TVs, apparently,” Kit tossed in. “Not very mysterious, really.”
“Let’s not worry about it now.” A weariness crawled up Tyler’s spine, threatening to bring on the headaches he sometimes got from too many falls in the arena. “Plenty of time to come up with a name. For now, you’ll all pull schedules similar to what you’ve been doing. If you want to change that, let me know.”
He pulled his new business cards—hot off the press—out of his pocket. An old saddle in faded sepia. His name and contact information in bold letters. He handed one to everyone, feeling inexplicably like a tool. “Call me with any questions or concerns. The schedule will be posted Tuesday, like always.”
“We post it on Monday,” Kit corrected.
He glanced her way to see if she was messing with him again. Her slight smile was unreadable. “Chris said Tuesdays.”
“Chris hasn’t done it in five years.”
“Oh.” This was news to him. But there were bound to be surprises. “Okay, so who makes the schedule?”
“Kit,” Lila answered. “She does everything around here.”
Tyler looked at Kit but she regarded him calmly, not offering any confirmation.
“Well, Kit, maybe you and I could meet and you could bring me up to speed.”
“I’m not working today,” she said.
“Okay, so when are you working?”
“I’m not sure, since no one made the schedule.” At Tyler’s exasperated look, she opened her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I didn’t know. I thought, as the new owner, you might want to take it on.”
Tyler looked around, feeling a twinge of desperation. “So no one knows when they’re working this week?”
Ten heads shook no.
“Right. Call me later today and I’ll have your hours. Anyone want to work today?”
Ten pairs of eyes exchanged furtive you-do-it glances. He got it. Once a day off was promised, it was hard to let it go. Especially since they’d all given up their morning for a staff meeting.
He’d never thought his first day on the job would be so rocky. Maybe his ego was a little too big. In the arenas, on the road, he was someone special. People wanted his autograph, a handshake, a piece of his attention. But this meeting reminded him that here in Benson, he was still the same screw-up he’d always been.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Make sure to put this hour on your time card.” The last sentence was lost in the sound of scraping chairs. It was the most enthusiasm he’d seen so far from the employees. And it all centered on getting the hell out of there.
Well, at least today would give him some time here. He could practice making a few drinks. Maybe he should have considered, before he bought a bar, that he had no idea how to bartend.
He walked to the office and stared at the blank wipe-off calendar titled Schedule. How did he figure out who went where? The lines seemed to bend and blur.
“Welcome to the world of bar ownership.” Kit leaned against the door frame, the position accentuating all the curves defined by her tight black dress.
“Your type of welcome sucks, to be honest. If you want to work for me, don’t act like that in a staff meeting again.”
“Or what? You’ll keep up the family tradition and fire me?”
He tried to process her words. “What are you talking about?”
She straightened, her arms crossed, outraged, across her chest. “Oh, didn’t you know? Your dad fired mine. After my father spent his life working on your ranch.”
Tyler knew he should say something, but shock wiped out any response. Kit’s dad had been Tyler’s mentor. Garth had spent countless hours teaching Tyler how to ride bulls. “When did this happen?”
“A few months ago,” Kit bit the words out, and he could see the emotion she was holding back, in her too-bright eyes and the pink flush staining her cheekbones.
“I had no idea. I haven’t spent a lot of time on the ranch since I came home. I’ve rented a house in town.” It had been a relief to move off the ranch a few days ago. An even bigger relief, now that he had this piece of news to digest. His dad had fired Garth? “Is your dad okay? Does he need anything?”
Pride closed down Kit’s face. He could see it in the tilt of her chin, the press of her full lips into a rigid line. “He’s fine.” But it was clear that she was lying.
Tyler could picture exactly what had happened. His cold, logical dad doing the calculations and deciding that Garth Hayes was no longer an economically sound employee.
A sick feeling melted into Tyler’s stomach. Garth had toiled on Sierra Canyon Ranch from dawn until past dusk six days a week for as long as Tyler could remember.
“I tried to talk to your dad last week. My dad borrowed against his pension fund, so he’s broke now.” Kit’s voice had tears in it, though she’d never let them show. “I asked your dad to forgive the debt. But he wouldn’t bend.”
“Why did your dad need that loan?” Tyler put out a hand to stop her. “Never mind. It’s not my business.”
“It’s okay.” Kit sighed. “Ask anyone in town and they’ll tell you. When I turned eighteen, my mom asked my dad for a divorce. Seems she’d always hated it here. She left and broke my dad’s heart.”
“I had no idea.” Kit’s mom had never come around the ranch, but he’d see her in town and at school events. She’d worn long, flowing skirts and a remote expression on her face.
“My dad still loved my mom. He wanted her to be happy. So he took out that loan to help her start a new life and a business. She owns a groovy crystal shop in a little town on the Oregon coast.”
“No kidding.” Tyler tried to read her mood.
“She even changed her name. She’s Starflower Kindness now, owner of Kindness Crystals and Healing. You can look her up. She has an online store, too.”
Kit was tough, as always, shrugging like she didn’t care. From the tremor in her husky voice, he’d bet she cared a lot.
“Have you seen her?”
“Once or twice. But not lately, because she never paid Dad back. And now he’s struggling to get by. I have trouble forgiving her for that.”
“Makes sense.” It was tragic that her family had fallen apart. Doubly tragic that her dad had sacrificed so much to make sure the woman who’d left him would be okay. “I’ll speak to my father. I’ll try to make this right. Your dad deserves a hell of a lot better after all he did for my family. And for me.”
She nodded, and he realized it wouldn’t help to say more now. He’d talk to his dad, and if by some miracle he got anywhere, he could share that with Kit. Anything else would be empty promises. But they had something else between them that needed to be resolved.
“I can see why you’re upset at my dad. But I don’t want it to cause trouble with the staff. If you’re pissed at me, tell me straight.”
She didn’t answer right away, but he saw a twist of guilt in her guarded expression. Finally she sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been so rude in the meeting. It won’t happen again.”
“Okay. Good.” He wasn’t sure what else to say now that he’d finished laying down the law. But he still had his own guilt to assuage. “The other night, when I sprang the news on you about buying the bar... I should never have shown up here drunk. And I have a feeling I said some other things I shouldn’t have.”
She smiled faintly. “You did. But if I had a problem dealing with drunks, I’d have quit this job a long time ago.”
He nodded at the truth there. “Seems to me you’re kind of an expert. You had me on the ground faster than a pissed-off bull.”
“It comes in handy.”
“I could use a great bartender like you. I hope you’ll stick around.”
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded, as if considering his invitation. “Do you want help with the schedule?”
He didn’t recognize all the new hard edges on her, but this was more like the Kit he remembered from childhood. Getting mad, forgiving easily, then moving on. “Sure.”
She tossed her thick black hair over her shoulder. “Okay, so...move over.” She walked into the tiny office, brushing up against him to get by. She paused, so close to him that her full breasts pressed into his torso. “Hey, boss? Maybe enlarge this office as part of your remodel. Because this isn’t going to work.”
That was for damn sure. He could barely breathe. His brain had dropped below his belt, making it crystal clear that she was definitely not the same childhood friend he’d known. “The schedule?”
Her derisive smile was back, letting him know she saw the effect she had on him. “Scoot over.”
He shuffled out of her way and she grabbed a file out of a cabinet by the desk. “Let’s talk at the bar.”
He led the way into the empty room, relieved to have more space between them. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, conscious that it was his first time offering anyone anything in his new place.
“Just soda water.”
Tyler went behind the bar and grabbed two glasses. He set them on the counter, then realized he had no idea how to get her what she’d asked for.
“You need a little help?”
He nodded. “And I bet you’re going to give me a hard time about it?”
But she didn’t. Just slid off her stool and came around the bar. “Ice is in that cooler,” she said, pointing to a built-in compartment. “And soda, tonic, it’s all from this gun.” She pointed to a black nozzle that was hooked to a metal bracket.
He picked it up. There were different buttons marked with letters.
“S for soda water.” She put ice in their glasses, then held them out.
He pushed the button and filled the glasses. It was the only easy thing about today so far. He was still absorbing the news about Kit’s dad. And trying to contain the anger he felt toward his own.
He put the nozzle back and followed her to sit side by side. Kit pulled the folder toward him so he could see it and her elbow brushed his. Her dress had short sleeves, and he tried not to stare at the inked rattlesnake that wound its way up her arm, highlighting the way every toned muscle rippled under her creamy skin. It wasn’t a tattoo he’d have imagined for her, but then again, what did he know? They’d both changed a lot since they were kids.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he directed his attention to the papers she’d laid out.
“Here are the schedule requests,” she said. “Everyone fills one out each week, or they get what they get and no griping.”
“Okay.” He picked one up and read over it. “Loomis only wants weekends?”
“He’s full-time at Lone Mountain Ranch during the week.”
“Got it.”
“So once you’ve gone through the request sheets and you know what everyone wants, you plug them into the calendar on the office wall.”
“It sounds pretty straightforward.”
“It is, sometimes. Other times, everyone wants the same thing so you have to be diplomatic. This week, for example, everyone wants to work Saturday night. And, for that matter, so do I.”
“Why this Saturday?”
“The Benson Spring Fling. Huge crowd. Good tips.”
Tyler remembered the Fling, with its rummage sale, the art walk downtown, horsemanship demos at the fairgrounds. And he remembered one Spring Fling especially. He and Kit had met up as the day became dusk, and ended the night in the back of a cop car.
She might have remembered it, too, because her pale skin tinged pink. Or maybe she wished he’d hurry up and learn the scheduling so she could get out of here.
“So how do I decide?”
“You’re the boss. Figure it out.”
“But what would you do?”
“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” Her feral-cat smile gave no guarantee she told the truth.
“Right.”
She took a slow slip of her water, regarding him levelly over the glass. “It’s a little surreal, you know, that you’re going to be my boss.”
“So that means you’ll stay and be my employee?” He said it lightly, but it was a real question and they both knew it.
She studied him for a moment, as if considering a serious answer. Then all her sass and attitude were back. “If you’re really, really lucky.” She slid off her stool. “I’ve got to go. Make sure you put me on for Saturday night.”
She gave him the opening. Not his fault if he took it. “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.”
Laughing low, she grabbed her bag. “Story of my damn life. See you around, Tyler.”
He watched her saunter out of the bar, riveted by the way her hips moved, by the fall of her hair when she shook it down her back, by the brittle note he’d heard in her laugh that made him wonder if she was really laughing at all.
* * *
KIT BLINKED, the bright sunlight of the parking lot accosting her after the dim light inside the bar. Round two with Tyler. At least she hadn’t knocked him down this time. That was an improvement.
But not a great one. She hated feeling out of control, but that’s how she’d been in that staff meeting. She knew she was being rude, but somehow she’d been unable to stop. She’d been overcome with a fiery resentment that Tyler could walk in and have the power to change the bar she loved. Just because he had money.
Her thoughts stopped her in her tracks and she fumbled for her keys, absorbing the idea. They’d been friends growing up, but he’d always been the rich kid. The one with the horses they rode, with the truck, as they got older. He’d always had so much to offer, and she’d just tagged along behind.
Is that what all of this fury was really about? Whatever the reason, she had to get it under control. Tyler was right to reprimand her. Her behavior at the meeting was childish and rude. If she wanted to keep working at the Dusty Saddle, she’d have to learn to keep her mouth shut.
She located her keys, but instead of opening the Jeep she leaned against it, looking west toward the immense Sierra peaks, as tumbled and jagged as the jealousy that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her soul. It had been there ever since Arch came to town and fell in love with Mandy. But now the jealousy encompassed the bar, too. Because once again, something she’d wanted had been scooped up by someone else. Someone who couldn’t appreciate it the way she did.
She shouldn’t keep working here. Not if it ate at her like this. Not if it was going to bring her to this place where she didn’t want to be, wishing so badly for what someone else had.
She’d lied to Tyler about not being able to work today. About having something on her calendar. She had nothing. Just a pile of self-help books and a long afternoon in front of her. Maybe she’d make use of it to fill out an application for a job at the High Country Sports Bar. Because clearly it was time for a change.
* * *
TYLER PULLED HIS truck alongside his father’s cattle barn and cut the engine. A ranch hand had pointed him this way, saying that his father was here looking over a new bull. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the spring sunshine on his face. The warmth felt good after all the tension this morning. He still couldn’t decide what was worse. His challenging staff meeting, or learning that his dad had fired Garth.
There was also the way he kept thinking about Kit. That wasn’t great, either. Because she was beautiful and sexy as hell, and he had no business noticing that. Maybe it was a little twisted, but he’d kind of liked the way she stood up to him. He wasn’t used to it. The women he met on the road were drawn to him because they liked rodeo cowboys. They’d flirted with him and fawned on him more with each victory. Kit, on the other hand, seemed totally unimpressed. It was strangely refreshing.
Tyler shoved his shoulder into the door of his truck when he opened it, not because it was stuck shut but because he needed the impact to jar him out of his reverie. Kit was his employee, and hopefully, still his friend. He should just be grateful for her help with the schedule today.
He should be focused on the injustice his dad had done to hers.
“Dad,” he called as he stepped into the barn. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the shadows and spotted his dad at the end of the center aisle. He walked toward him, trying to assemble the words he needed to say into some kind of coherent order.
“Tyler.” His dad nodded at his approach. “Check out Red Letter.”
The Hereford bull was knee-deep in straw, chewing on alfalfa hay. He eyed Tyler balefully, so much calmer than the bulls he’d faced in the arena. “Looks too mellow to get much done with the heifers.”
Talking cattle was about the only time Tyler saw his dad smile. “Don’t underestimate him. Give him his own herd and no tough Angus bulls to compete with, and he’ll do just fine.”
“You’re cross-breeding. Doesn’t that reduce the price when you sell?”
“A little,” his dad said. “But it strengthens the herd in the long run.” He turned away from the bull and fixed his piercing gaze on Tyler. “You miss the bulls? Is that why you came by?”
“I miss them a little, but it’s not why I’m here. I came by to talk about Garth Hayes.”
His dad looked startled. Then worried. “Is he okay?”
“Depends on what you mean by okay. According to Kit, you fired him.”
His father’s face drew into harsher lines. “I did. He wasn’t pulling his weight.”
“I’m sure he was doing all he could. He’s getting older, but the guy can still work.”
“If he wants to work, he can. Just not here.”
“And who the hell is going to hire him?” Tyler tried to keep his voice steady, but frustration cut through his tone. “He should be allowed to grow old working here, on the ranch he’s given everything to. Why don’t you want him here anymore? Did he do something wrong?”
“Not really. But now that your brothers are taking on so much responsibility, we just didn’t need him anymore.”
A deep breath stemmed the fury that threatened to erupt at his father’s cold dismissal of a loyal man. Sometimes it seemed like his wife’s death had siphoned all the compassion out of Ken’s soul.
Tyler willed away the feeling that he was a kid about to get his ideas shot down by his dad one more time. “He’s got no money. He isn’t receiving much of his pension.”
Annoyance drew his dad’s thick gray eyebrows together. “I already told that daughter of his that Garth’s pension situation is out of my control. He borrowed against it and never repaid the money. If he has a complaint about that, he has to contact the folks who manage the pension fund.”
“You know full well that the pension fund isn’t going to help him out. And did it ever occur to you that the reason he never paid back that loan is maybe you didn’t pay him enough? When was the last time you gave your ranch hands a raise?”
“They make plenty,” his father snapped. “What, you want me to pay off their gambling debts, too? Their bar tabs? I have grown men working for me and I expect them to handle their own finances.”
“And I’m sure most of them do. But Garth worked for you almost his entire adult life. He put in twelve-plus hour days, whether the sun was blistering or the snow was piled deep. He was here on Thanksgiving and Christmas, making sure things ran smoothly while we were all inside enjoying our dinner. He took that loan out because he’s an honorable man who felt obligated to provide for his wife, even though she left him. Don’t you think we should help him out?”
His father’s face went pale with a rage Tyler hadn’t seen since the day he told his father he was hitting the road to rodeo full time. “I have fulfilled my obligations to Garth, and to all of my other employees.”
Tyler pulled out his last ace. It was just a guess, but it was worth a try. “What do you have against him? What did he do to you? Is this about how he taught me to ride a bull?”
His father flinched and Tyler knew his guess had some merit.
But no way would his father admit it. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Garth Hayes retired with all the money that was due him. I met my obligation to him.”
“You fired him for no good reason. The least you can do is give him a comfortable retirement. You can certainly afford it.”
His father shook his head, his entire face drawn into a defensive mask. “You’re a businessman now, son. And you’ve got to learn to keep emotions out of your work if you’re going to have any success.”
“If success means turning my back on the people who work for me, then I’ll take failure any day.” Tyler turned away from his father’s narrow worldview, shoulders aching from the tension. He started back through the barn, disappointment weighting his steps.
“Tyler,” his father called.
A flicker of hope rose in his heart, but sputtered as soon as Tyler saw the bitter line of his dad’s mouth.
“You’ll see that I’m right.” His father clenched his fists at his sides as tightly as he’d clenched the warmth out of his soul. “The best thing you can do for your employees is to run a tight ship. Expect a lot from them, give them what they’re due and nothing more. Everyone will benefit.”
“What I see is that you and I are different,” Tyler said. “And I don’t believe your view is one I want to live by.”
He headed for his truck, refusing to look back again. He couldn’t control his father’s choices, but he could make amends. He’d find a way to repay Garth the debt his family owed him. That he personally owed him. And if he made Kit feel a little better about things in the process, well, that would ease his mind, too.
CHAPTER FOUR (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721)
TYLER BLINKED AT the inventory list in front of him. The columns of numbers, units, price per unit, net cost, blurred into a gray blob that ached behind his eyes. He glanced around the small office with its battered desk and dusty window. Maybe he needed more light. He’d pick up a desk lamp at the hardware store later on today.
He stood, rubbing his temples. Who was he kidding? He’d been trying to get his mind around the paperwork all week. It was his third day as owner of the Dusty Saddle, and he’d made almost no progress with any of the files Chris had left behind.
It had always been like this for him. Textbooks, manuals, graphs...they all made him dizzy. Words and numbers were tricky things that never seemed to hold their meaning. It’s why he’d left school early. Why he’d left the army. Why he’d chosen rodeo. Bull riding might be dangerous, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as that moment when someone realized he could barely read.
Laughter rippled into the office and he gave in to the temptation, following the sound to its source. Kit. She was behind the bar, laughing at something one of their customers had said. It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon and the guys looked like backpackers, decompressing after a trip in the mountains. Their cargo shorts, hiking boots and back-turned caps were trail-dusted. Their eager eyes, fixed on Kit, were way too eager.
How could he blame them? He wanted to plunk himself next to them and stare, too. She was all creamy skin, thick black hair and dark eyes made up even darker, so a guy could lose himself trying to see behind her tough facade.
Or find himself. Because all that confidence surrounding Kit like heady perfume promised that maybe some of that amused poise would infuse you, lift you up and put your demons on the run.
Tyler joined her behind the bar and she fixed him with the baleful glance he was getting used to. It wasn’t a welcome, more like an amused tolerance of his presence. “You need anything?” she asked.
“Just wondering if you want me to fill in for a bit,” he offered.
She shrugged. “I don’t really need a break yet.” She shot a flirtatious smile to the backpackers. “Plus, we’re having fun here.”
He was jealous and lost in his own bar. His own business, which didn’t yet feel like his.
“Do you need a job?” Her smile reminded him of the coiled snake tattooed on her arm. “Because I’m sure I can think of something that needs doing.”
He jerked his gaze away from her smile. “I saw the order is due in tomorrow. I figured I’d go fill it. Is there a list of what we’ve kept in stock?”
“On the wall in the storeroom,” she said. “I’ll do the ordering if you like. I always did it for Chris.”
“If I want to learn the business, I figure I’d better do it myself.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. There are blank order forms on a clipboard on the shelf in there.”
“Okay.” Tyler felt her eyes on him as he pushed through the door behind the bar that led to the cramped storeroom. Enlarging this space was high on his list of improvements. He unlocked the door that led outside and propped it open, grateful for the infusion of pine-scented air. Picking up the clipboard from the shelf, he took a look at the order form. His eyes crossed.
More rows and columns. Liquor names listed down the left-hand side. The number of bottles they kept in stock listed next to that. All he had to do was fill in the column with the amounts to be ordered. It was simple. He could do this.
He started at the top. Vodka. They generally kept two dozen bottles around. He jumped up on a stool, grateful to do something active. He counted four bottles, but they’d use a couple in the next few days. He jotted twenty-four on the list. Made his way to triple sec...rye...rows and rows that started to slither like snakes on the page so he traced across with his finger to make sure he was writing on the correct line.
Half an hour later he was finished and desperate to escape from any more paperwork. Fortunately, he had errands to do. He was still moving into the house he’d rented a few blocks away from the bar. He needed dishes, cleaning supplies, pretty much everything. As much as he hated shopping, it would be better than more forms or schedules. He set down the clipboard and headed out to the bar.
Kit was still chatting with the hikers. The scruffy bearded guy was telling Kit a story, gesticulating with hands that housed a woven rainbow-colored bracelet and a thick silver ring, while she polished glasses.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tyler said, not sorry at all. “I’m gonna head out for some errands. What time do you want a break?”
“In an hour. Or later is fine, too.”
“Okay then.” Still, he lingered, glancing toward the guys at the bar and not liking the way the bearded hiker stared at her backside with the rapt expression of a guy in his own personal heaven.
“You’ve got my cell number,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t hesitate to call if these clowns try anything.”
One raised eyebrow messaged her utter disbelief. “These college boys? Please.”
“I don’t like the way they look at you.”
She laughed at that. “Tyler, I’ve been doing this job for years. I know how to handle a few hikers. Now go do something useful.”
She still saw a kid when she looked at him and Tyler felt that old high-school need rise up. The need for her to see him as more than just a buddy. It grated. Here he was, fifteen years later, still wanting her to see him differently. Some things never changed.
He had to get a grip. Kit Hayes wasn’t the reason he was in Benson. He should focus on what really mattered—making a name for himself, right here in his hometown. Showing everyone who’d doubted him that he was more than a bull rider. More than the kid who’d never been anything but trouble in school and regret in his daddy’s eyes.
He gave the hikers one last stern look before he headed out the door.
* * *
KIT WATCHED TYLER stalk out of the bar and glanced at her phone. Still no message from the High Country Sports Bar, though she’d handed in her application a couple days ago. Lance, a bartender there, had said they might be hiring. But so far, no word.
She resisted the urge to duck into the storeroom to check Tyler’s order. It was tough to let go of control, especially when he was doing all the jobs she’d done. But he owned the place now, and if he wanted to order and inventory and schedule, well, that was his right.
She should be happy. She was pulling down the same wages Chris had paid her, but doing a lot less work. All she had to do was chat with customers, make drinks and keep the bar clean.
She leaned against the counter behind the bar. Tapped a restless foot to the nineties mix playing on the speakers. The thing was, she’d never been much good at just hanging out. She had too much energy for that.
The door opened and she recognized a group of field biologists who came through from time to time. Relief had her smiling broadly as they approached the bar. They were studying reptile populations. Not her favorite topic, but she’d take anything over this boredom.
“What can I get you?” she asked. And when the pints were on the counter, “So how’s the research been going lately?” And willed herself to be fascinated by the hunting behavior of the long-nosed leopard lizard. And to ignore the unruly part of her mind that kept wondering when Tyler would walk into the bar again.
Because something was different. In all of her mixed-up feelings around him taking over the bar, there was this awareness of him. Of how he moved with an intense power and grace that was probably what kept him on the back of a bull long enough to be called a champion. Of the way his smile slid sideways to reveal a wry humor, as though he’d seen more ups and downs than most people. Of the creases around his eyes that gave his face a lived-in look and roughed up his beauty enough to keep it manly.
How could she not notice it? Every woman did. Even Lila had been talking about Tyler the other night when Kit went to her friend’s house for dinner. She’d gushed so much that Ethan, her fiancé, had finally said he was coming to the bar to check this Tyler guy out. He’d said it laughingly, because he and Lila had a bond that was unbreakable. But he was definitely curious.
Kit had to remember that Tyler was her boss now. He wasn’t the kid she’d had hay fights with, swam in lakes with and thrown snowballs at. Their past didn’t mean much now that he signed her paychecks. And until she heard from the High Country, she needed those paychecks. So she had to ignore these confusing feelings that had her glancing toward the door.
Lizards, she reminded herself, smiling at the biologist who, thankfully, seemed oblivious to her wandering mind. Focus on the lizards.
* * *
IT WAS TYLER’S first Friday night behind the bar. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that he’d spent the past decade riding bulls whose sole desire was to get him off their backs so they could stomp him to death. After that, nothing should make him nervous. But this did.
So he kept himself busy, slicing lemons at the counter behind the bar. Away from the customers so he’d have a chance to observe a bit before he jumped in.
Kit was on the schedule tonight. Apparently she and Lila usually worked Friday nights together, along with Tim. Ernie and Loomis were by the door ready to bounce anyone who got too rowdy.
He’d understood the books enough to see that most of the bar’s income was generated on weekend nights. But he also knew how busy the High Country got on the weekends. Benson wasn’t a big town, so he was curious to find out who spent so much money at the Dusty Saddle.
The jukebox in the corner was pounding out one country hit after another. It was still light outside, only about six. This time of year, it wouldn’t get dark for another hour. But the door of the bar flung open and the first customer came in, and Tyler couldn’t help but stare.
The guy looked like something out of a history book. His faded canvas pants and flannel shirt weren’t too surprising around Benson, but his beard was down to his belly and the lines in his face spoke of twenty-four hours a day in the elements.
Then the old-timer spotted Kit and his face lit up in a boyish grin. “There’s my angel,” he called as he strode across the room to shake her hand, which turned into a hearty, across-the-bar hug and a fatherly peck on her cheek. He did the same for Lila, and gave Tim a hearty handshake and clap on the shoulder.
“How’s it going, Crater?” Kit pulled a pint glass from the rack above. “Did you have a good week out there?”
“Better than most.” The big man parked himself on a stool that looked impossibly small for his frame. “You know mining. One minute you think you’re striking it rich, the next you’re chipping away at nothing.”
Mining? Tyler had forgotten there were still solitary miners out here. Scraping out silver and gold in high desert claims, burrowing into veins the mining companies had deemed too small when they pulled out of the area years ago.
Kit put the glass under the Guinness tap, poured a perfectly built pint and set it on the counter. “Peanuts?” she asked.
“You betcha.” Crater took a long haul of his pint then sighed, swiping the foam off his mustache with his sleeve. “You all are a sight for sore eyes as usual.”
“We know the weekend’s starting when you show up,” Lila said kindly. “It’s great to see you, Crater.”
The door swung open again and a tall, thin man ambled in. “Evening, Crater,” he said in a quiet tone that still carried in the nearly empty bar.
“Stan.” Crater held out a meaty paw that encompassed the other man’s bony hand. “Good to see you. Good week?”
“Not bad.” Stan nodded gravely, shaking hands with the entire bar staff. “Not bad.”
Kit placed a pint of lager in front of Stan and set a shot glass down. “Bourbon?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Stan said. “Care to join me, Crater?”
“Not for me, my friend. Gonna take it easy tonight.”
“Hard to take it easy when it all goes down so easy,” Stan replied, lifting his shot glass in a somber salute.
Crater let out a guffaw and slapped Stan on the shoulder. The bourbon sloshed in his glass, but Stan managed to gulp it before it spilled.
Tyler moved on to slicing limes, listening as Stan and Crater discussed the price of silver. A couple other older customers, Doug and Marcus, joined them. When Kit came to the sink to wash some glasses, Tyler grabbed a towel to help dry. He kept his voice low. “Are those guys really miners?”
“Yep.” Kit dunked the glasses in the soapy water. “We get all kinds of interesting characters here. Miners, shepherds, rock hounds, UFO hunters.” She grinned at him. “All the wild folks who love this part of the desert show up at the Dusty Saddle.” She glanced at his towel in horror. “Use the lint-free kind.” She handed him a towel from the stack on the shelf over the sink. “Jeez, you are green, aren’t you?”
“Green at this,” he admitted. “But rumor has it I’m a pretty quick study.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out if the rumors are true,” she teased. “It’s your first Friday night, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.” He tried to smile, but it felt a little weak. “I’m looking forward to it. But I’ve got a few nerves.”
“You should. You have no idea what you’re doing.” Her intoxicating combination of sass and mischief had the glass slipping out of his hand, so he had to hustle to catch it.
“Nice reflexes,” she murmured. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
“If you help me out tonight, there is. I can pour a pint—”
“Barely.”
“—and measure out a shot. But if I get anything more complicated than that, I’m toast.”
“You don’t know your cocktails?”
“Don’t drink ’em myself. I’ve been reading recipes, but I’m more of a hands-on learner.” A nice way of saying that half the words he read made no sense. He glanced hopefully in her direction. “I just need a good teacher.”
“You want me to train you? You won’t be embarrassed?”
“When you rodeo, you learn by falling on your ass in front of hundreds of people. This can’t be more humiliating than that.”
She studied him from underneath her thick black lashes. “What’s in it for me?”
“A boss who’s not totally incompetent?”
Her slow smile could melt metal. “But that could be kind of fun to watch.”
“No shit-show is fun to watch for long. Plus I saw you with those customers. You pretend to be all tough, but you have a soft spot for the lost and lonely. I’m part of that club right now.”
“You?” She laughed, soft and bitter. He’d give a lot to know what put that resentment in her soul. “Not the words I’d ever use to describe someone like you.”
“Someone like me will pay you a training stipend. A hundred extra bucks each night.”
“Now you’re trying to buy my help?” She scrubbed the pint glass in her hand with extra vigor. “Not everything can be bought, you know. Loyalty, for example.”
“I’m not asking for your loyalty, though that would be nice,” Tyler said. “I’m trying to treat you like a professional. You have years of experience. I have none and I need to learn. So I pay you extra to share your expertise with me. It’s only right.”
“Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it. But you have to be willing to move fast and do what I say.”
“I’m yours to command,” he said, liking the flush creeping up her cheeks at the tiny innuendo. “And I appreciate the help.”
She grabbed a stack of dry glasses. “Well, let’s get going then. It’s getting loud out there, which means it’s getting busy.”
They rounded the corner and Tyler was amazed to see a crowd that stretched almost to the door. A quick scan revealed a collection of some of the most rugged-looking folks he’d ever seen in one place. Bikers in leather, ranch hands in hats, jeans and bowlegs. Women in tight T-shirts and big hair. Kit glanced over her shoulder, her smile a combination of excitement and derision. “Welcome to the Dusty Saddle. Hope you’re ready to earn your spurs.”
* * *
KIT HATED TO admit it, but Tyler was a born bartender—naturally quick, outgoing, throwing friendly insults back at the regulars who were determined to give the new owner a hard time. After an hour or two he was pouring pints almost as fast as she did, leaving the tap on while he switched glasses with a blur of motion.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she measured a couple rum and Cokes. He was laughing at one of Crater’s lame jokes. She appreciated his interest in the regulars. Some of them lived such lonely lives, on their own out in the high desert that rolled east of the Sierras, eking out a simple and unpredictable living.
They came to the Dusty Saddle for a drink, but they were after much more. A sense of belonging. A chat and the comfort of knowing that someone would miss them if they didn’t show up each weekend. And now Tyler wanted to change all that with his clichéd cowboy ideas. Where would Crater and Stan and the rest of them fit into his fancy new bar?
The old resentment had her slamming the drinks in front of two cute twentysomething girls a little too hard. No matter. They were too busy watching Tyler to notice. Kit didn’t recognize them. They were obviously here for Tyler’s star power, not the ambiance of a dive bar. She’d bet anything that when word got out that hunky Tyler Ellis owned the Dusty Saddle, the clientele would become much younger, much more female and would show up wearing a whole lot more Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots.
Another girl, blond curls cascading from under a pink cowgirl hat, said something to Tyler and he leaned over the bar to listen. She brought her mouth close to speak into his ear, giving him a close-up of her ample cleavage.
He straightened, nodded and walked to the counter behind the bar to start pulling down bottles. He glanced Kit’s way, caught her looking and mouthed the word help.
Kit set three pints in front of the burly ranch hand who’d ordered them, flashing him a smile when he handed her a twenty-dollar bill and told her to “Keep the change.” At the cash register, she kept an eye on Tyler, who was furtively looking something up on his phone. For a second, the resentful part of her considered letting him sweat out whatever order he was trying to fill. But her promise to him earlier wouldn’t let her stay away.
She tapped Tim on the shoulder and tipped her head toward a redhead who was waving her money at them. “Card her? If she’s twenty-one, I’ll buy you a scotch after closing.”
Tim glanced the girl’s way and grinned. “Another Tyler groupie? They start young.”
“Evidently.” Kit joined Tyler. “What’s up? Besides blondie practically pulling your face into her breasts?”
He grinned. “Yeah, how ’bout that? I think I’m going to like this job.”
“I’ll bet.”
His smile dimmed a little. “They want cosmopolitans. I looked up the recipe, but I don’t know how to do this.”
“Piece of cake.” Then his words sank in. Cosmopolitans? Kit hadn’t had an order for a cosmo here in pretty much ever. Change had come to the Dusty Saddle and Tyler hadn’t even torn down a wall yet. Glancing at his phone, she reminded herself of the recipe. Then she grabbed three martini glasses and slicked the rims with lime. She showed him how to dip the rims in sugar and add the cherry and lime to each toothpick as garnish.
“You think you’re ready for the shaker?” She elbowed him like it was something naughty, trying to inject some humor into the lesson.
“I’m ready for anything,” he said with a wink that should not make her skin warm the way it did.
“Since you’re making three, use the biggest shaker and make them all at once.”
It was getting busier and louder in the bar. Tyler tipped his head close to hers to hear her. “How am I supposed to measure it all out?”
She pulled away to avoid his spicy scent, which ran soft fingers over her nerves. Rummaging in a drawer to her left, she grabbed a jigger and showed him the marks on it. “Pour into here to measure the alcohol first.”
He blinked at the small metal cup. “We’re not baking.”
“How else are you going to measure it? Have you practiced your pours?”
He looked confused.
“You have to practice pouring water from a liquor bottle before you can go by instinct.”
“I’ve got good instincts,” he protested.
“For bull riding, maybe,” she countered. “Make your drinks too strong and you’ll waste money and have those girls puking in the bathroom. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to practice. Tonight, use the jigger.”
He nodded. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Kit.”
She headed to the bar, surprised to see Tyler’s red-haired groupie with a drink in her hand. Maybe as Kit was getting older, customers were looking younger. Maybe she just wasn’t used to all these sweet young things in her bar. Tyler’s bar, she corrected herself.
She glanced back as Tyler carefully measured the vodka into the shaker. It was kind of cute, how seriously he was taking this.
What was she doing, thinking he was cute? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. He was cocky. He was overly confident. He wanted to change her bar. And he’d shown up on the busiest night to practice his nonexistent bartending skills. No, she didn’t like him much. Not even the tiniest bit.
Tyler had said she had a soft spot for the lost and lonely. Well, he was neither of those things, and she needed to keep that in mind when her heart went soft on her, like it was doing now.
* * *
TYLER’S BARTENDING CONFIDENCE was rising with every drink he made. So when Crater asked Kit for another pint of Guinness while she was busy with another order, Tyler offered to get it for him.
“No!” Kit and Crater both yelled at the same time. He must have looked surprised because Kit laughed. “Sorry about that,” she said through her giggles. “It’s just that pouring Guinness is tricky.”
“Only Kit pours my pints, usually.” Crater eyed Tyler suspiciously.
“We’ll do it together,” Kit assured him. “And if it’s no good, I’ll pour you another. Tyler needs the chance to learn.”
“Okay then,” Crater said, and turned to Stan. “Sure are a lot of changes happening around here.”
“Sure are.” Stan nodded sagely. “There sure are.”
A lot of changes? Tyler glanced at Kit in disbelief. The only change to the Dusty Saddle so far was that he was behind the bar. Kit’s eyes sparkled with suppressed laughter. She loved her regulars but she clearly got the joke.
Kit motioned him over to the Guinness tap. “Okay, this is serious stuff. Are you paying attention?”
“Sure.” He was, but it was difficult, because she smelled good. He’d noticed it earlier, too. Some sort of sweet, spicy scent that interfered with coherent thought.
“Okay, so with Guinness, use the tulip pint glasses.” She pulled one from above the tap. “See how they have a big curve in the side?”
He took the glass and tilted it. “I see it.”
“Fill the glass to the bottom of that curve. Then turn the tap off.”
“Sounds doable.” He put the glass underneath the tap and went to pull it.
“Wait.” Kit covered his hand on the tap with hers. “Tilt the glass at a forty-five-degree angle.”
He liked how it looked, her small white hand with sexy wine-colored fingernails over his tanned knuckles. How was he supposed to focus?
“Okay, now we’re going to pull the tap forward, slowly. Guinness has to slide down the side of the glass. Otherwise it gets too foamy.”
He was stuck on the word slide and how her husky voice was low for only him to hear. He tried to ignore the feel of her hand on his, that scent surrounding him now, the heat of her as she stood so close to his side. He watched the way the dark liquid moved down the glass, breathed her in and...
“Enough.” She brought his hand back so they closed the tap. “Set the glass down right here. Gently.”
Together they lowered the Guinness. “Now just let it stand there.”
“This is quite a process.” Tyler stepped back, needing a little air, a little distance from her and her perfume and the way it made him want to wrap his arms around her lush curves. Which was totally inappropriate. They were at work, and she worked for him.
“It’s an art. A lot of bartending is. Whether it’s crafting a cocktail or making someone feel a little less alone for a while, it all takes practice and attention to details.”

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