“Your look says it all, Tyler.” She sounded tired, defeated. “Please leave. I don’t want you here right now.”
He grabbed his socks and boots and stalked over to where she stood, trembling, and it was that one action that tipped the scales. His mad evaporated. His little redheaded filly standing her ground, eyes blazing but watery, chin held high. He loved her. He had to make her see his side without losing her.
“We’ll talk about this later.”
“Maybe.”
“Hell, woman.”
“Don’t call me woman.”
His lips twitched and he fought the urge to smile. “You won’t let me call you ma’am, and I’d bet the ranch you don’t want me calling you darlin’ right now.”
“Shut up and leave, cowboy.”
The urge to smile shriveled up and died as hurt lanced through him. Jolene’s nickname for him grated across his wounded pride. Maybe it was time to step back and see what happens when the dust settles. He loved Emily Langley, but he hated the job that brought them together. But if hating the job was going to drive a wedge between them, he had some thinking to do.
Her tears dried up, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to talk to her right now when her temper was boiling over.
He had bigger problems right now. If he didn’t get his ass over to the ranch and handle that sonofabitch bull, then they wouldn’t be able to sell the animal to O’Malley. Too bad he was the only one who could handle the beast.
Their eyes met, and he prayed the trace of regret he saw there would be enough to keep her from making a hasty decision, one that included him being shut out of her life.
He nodded and strode through the door. He was leaving, but he’d be back.
***
Emily watched the stubborn man she loved to distraction walk out of her life unsure if he’d walk back into it. When she heard his footfalls on the stairs, she fell back against her door remembering a sad song her mother used to love about footsteps down the hall walking away. Tyler hadn’t answered her. “What if he can’t handle the idea I planted in his stubborn head? What if he couldn’t handle if it were me up there on stage?”
She slid to the floor and the tears she’d been holding back pricked at the backs of her eyes. No need to be strong since she was all alone and nobody could see her break down.
Giving in to the ache in her heart, she hung her head and cried.
Chapter 23
“I’m gonna shoot the sonofabitch!” Dylan’s voice broke through the haze of pain clamping around Tyler’s middle, squeezing the breath out of him.
He got up on his hands and knees and tried to take a deep breath, but pain lanced through him, debilitating him. He collapsed and rolled over onto his back, breathing in and out in short, sharp, panting breaths. He heard his name being called, but just couldn’t drag in enough air to speak. Dizzy from lack of oxygen, he fought to hang on and stay conscious.
“Forget Widowmaker,” Jesse yelled. “Get the first aid kit.”
Dylan ran to the truck, grabbed the toolbox they used to store the bandages, gauze pads, peroxide, and antiseptic ointment they used regularly, and skidded to a halt next to where his brother lay breathing like a freight train.
“Damned bull head-butted him and knocked him right into the fuckin’ barbed wire.”
Dylan frowned. “Shut up and let me think.”
“What the hell do you need to think for?” Jesse demanded. “Our big brother just got the shit kicked out of him because he was too tired to pay attention and turned his back on that mean sonofabitch bull.”
“We’ve got to get a good look at that gash to see if it needs stitches,” Dylan sounded as if he were in pain.
Must be pretty bad if the middle Garahan brother was rattled.
Dylan’s next words confirmed Tyler’s fear of just how bad the cut really was. “Good thing O’Malley left the deposit and said he’d be back,” Dylan ground out, “or else I’d shoot Widowmaker right between the eyes.”
“Not worth it,” Tyler rasped, finally able to drag in enough air to speak. He took a mental tally of his injuries. His ribs felt bruised, maybe cracked. He tried to take a deeper breath and groaned. Maybe broken.
“Lie still,” Dylan bit out, “you’re bleeding.” His brother placed a wad of gauze against the worst of it all the while telling Jesse to pour peroxide onto a fresh piece of gauze.
Tyler finally had most of his wind back. He rasped, “Must be bad if you’re willing to lose the money O’Malley’s paying for that animal.”
“Hell, bro,” Jesse ground out, “no money’s worth putting you in the hospital.”
Before he could wrap his mind around that possibility, Dylan added, “You used to be pretty. Right now it’s kind of hard to tell if you’ve spilled any of your guts in the dirt.”
Tyler blanched, knowing his brother was doing his best to distract him while performing first aid and keeping Tyler from sitting up to inspect the damage himself. He fought against the need to do just that. He looked down at his gloved hand and saw blood… lots of it. He closed his eyes.
“I’ve cleaned out as much of the rust and corral as I can,” Dylan rasped. “We’ve got to concentrate on getting the bleeding to stop.”
Jesse knelt next to Tyler. “Brace yourself, bro,” Jesse warned. “You’re gonna need stitches.”
“Shit.” Tyler saw the blood covering both of his brothers. “Mine?”
“Yeah.” Dylan narrowed his gaze at his older brother and demanded, “Stay with us, Tyler. We can’t carry you and keep the pressure on the gash.”
Tyler closed his eyes and nodded. “Use the ace bandage. Wrap it around the gauze. It’ll hold me till we get to the hospital. When’s O’Malley coming back?”
“After dinner,” Jesse answered. “Hold this.” He handed the edge of the bandage to Tyler. “And quit worrying about the money! You’re getting us back on track with the money from your night job.” Careful not to press too hard, Jesse wound the bandage around the wad of gauze and Tyler’s ribs.
“O’Malley can find another bull,” Dylan said, “I’m going to the truck for my rifle.”
“No.” Tyler didn’t know whether to be worried about the possibility of bleeding out before they got him to the hospital and stitched up, or that his brother would follow through with his threat to shoot the bull.
“O’Malley wants Widowmaker,” Tyler said. “He knows about the bull’s bad attitude. That old man’s smart. He knows that Widowmaker sires more steer than any other bull in the county.”
He drew in a breath and clenched his jaw. Focusing to remain conscious took all of Tyler’s strength. He could let the pain have him later. Right now, he had to help his brothers get him to the hospital and stitched up.
“I’m drivin’,” Jesse muttered, helping Tyler to his feet. “Wait here.” Jesse sprinted for the truck.
“He’ll just grind the gears,” Tyler rasped.
Jesse stopped the truck and hopped out to help Dylan get Tyler inside. “Let’s go.”
Braced between his brothers, Tyler ground his teeth all the way into Pleasure.
“Hang on, Ty, we’re here,” Jesse said, throwing the gearshift into first, pulling on the handbrake, and cutting the engine. “I beat my old record.”
“Shut up and help me get him inside.”
Tyler let his brothers talk while he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He didn’t want them to realize how weak he was. But one look from the woman manning the desk in the emergency room and he knew it was worse than his brothers let on. “Hell.”
“Oh I think you’ve got a little more time here on earth,” Dylan rasped, nodding that he’d go with Tyler and the triage nurse. “Jess you handle the paperwork.”
“Divide and conquer,” Tyler mumbled.
“Is he delirious?” the nurse asked.
Dylan shook his head. “He’s fighting the pain. I’m pretty sure he’s got a couple of cracked or broken ribs underneath that gash.”
<
br /> Two hours later, Tyler had been poked, prodded, stitched, and injected. “I still say I didn’t need the tetanus shot.”
“Wimp,” Jesse mumbled halfheartedly. “You always did hate needles.”
“I’d gladly have traded places with you and been the one filling out the paperwork.”
Once again braced on either side by his brothers, the brothers led Tyler outside. “Easy,” Dylan warned, “you don’t want to rip out the doc’s handiwork.”
Tyler had felt the first couple of stitches while waiting for the local to take effect. It had hurt like hell, so he wasn’t going to take a chance of ripping them out. “Remind me to punch you later.”
“Done,” Dylan agreed. “But I’ll give you a couple of weeks to heal first.”
“Appreciate it.” Damn he hurt all over.
“Hand over the keys, Jess,” Dylan said. “You barely kept the truck on the road.”
“You just don’t appreciate my style of driving,” Jesse muttered.
If Tyler didn’t hurt so damned much, he would have said something to back up Dylan. Their little brother still talked about making it big driving Craftsman Trucks for NASCAR out at Texas Motor Speedway.
Dylan held out his hand. “Gimme the keys so we can get this prescription filled. Then big brother here can call his boss and tell her he won’t be at work tonight.”
Later after they’d returned to the ranch he realized the pain from the stitches and his ribs didn’t hurt as much as the pain in his heart. Emily didn’t trust him because he hadn’t answered her question quick enough.
Did he really want Emily to spend the night without him and give her time to come up with another convoluted reason not to trust him? It’d probably kill him if she rolled over into his side, but he was determined not to give her any more time alone to think. He’d spent too much time thinking already and all it got him was skewered into the barbed wire fence in the south pasture.
He needed Emily. He had to be with her tonight. “I’ve gotta go in.” Tyler braced himself against the counter, praying he would make it upstairs. His nose hadn’t been injured, and one whiff told him he needed to get cleaned up, because there was more than just Texas dirt ground into his shirt and jeans.
“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Dylan demanded getting right in Tyler’s face.
“Pretty sure,” Tyler nodded.
Jesse ranged himself next to Dylan and nodded. “Good because you’re not going in to work tonight.”
“But—”
“If we have to tie you to the damned bed to keep you here,” Dylan ground out, “we will.”
“You lost a lot of blood, Ty,” Jesse said. “Give yourself at least a day or so to get your strength back before you go lifting cases of beer.”
“Hell.”
“Dylan or I could take over your job and give you a break,” Jesse offered.
Dylan nodded. “One Garahan back is as good as another.”
Tyler shook his head. “Amen to that,” he said, easing down onto a chair, “but I already told you I don’t exactly lift kegs or cases of beer.”
His brothers looked at each other and then at him.
Damn. Why the hell couldn’t they have believed him the other day when he’d told them the God’s honest truth?
They waited expectantly. Shame filled his gut and iced it over, but then he thought of Emily’s question. If the tables were turned what would he do? He remembered the way she’d stood by him when Linda Lee had tried to cause trouble and break them up. He’d be a fool not to trust that Emily would be as honest and trustworthy no matter if she stripped for money or he did. It was a job. Period.
“Gimme the painkillers,” Dylan urged.
Jesse dug into his pocket for the bottle of pills while Dylan reached for a glass and filled it with water.
Grateful that he’d finally sorted it out in a way that made sense to him, he was ready to tackle the uphill battle of trying to convince one fiery-haired filly. Tyler took the pill and downed the glass of water.
“Whatever it is that you do nights, bought us time,” Dylan said.
“Yeah,” Jesse added. “We’re gonna make the bank’s deadline.”
“O’Malley buying Widowmaker will push us closer to the black,” Tyler agreed. “But I need to keep working for a couple more months to make sure we have a buffer. The roof on the barn’s shot, the plumbing’s shaky, and the damned furnace is older than O’Malley.”
Dylan crossed his arms across his chest. “You’re not going in tonight,” he said. “I’ll take your shift.”
Tyler’s gut clenched. No way could he imagine Dylan getting up on stage and shucking his jeans for a couple of greenbacks. Hell, the way the women crowd up to the stage, vying for position so they could stick dollar bills in his black spandex briefs would have his brother running for cover.
Dylan had gone longer without a woman than either of his brothers. It had taken a good eight months before Dylan had come around after his girlfriend had walked out on him. No way was Tyler going to do anything to force his brother back into his shell.
“You can’t fill in for me.”
Jesse and Dylan looked at one another, and then his younger brother crossed his arms across his chest and said, “Then I’ll go.” Damned Garahan stubborn streak.
“You’re not irreplaceable, Tyler,” Dylan said. “No one is.”
Jesse was staring at him. Tyler shifted underneath his youngest brother’s close scrutiny. “I didn’t say I was irreplaceable.”
“Are you serious about stripping?”
You could have heard a pin drop while his brothers worked it out in their heads. Finally Dylan swore, “Sonofabitch. Linda Lee wasn’t lying… it’s a ladies’ club, isn’t it?”
Tyler lifted his head and met his younger brother’s steady gaze. He swallowed past the lump of shame in his throat and said, “Yeah I wasn’t kidding the other night when I told you I stripped for money.”
“The hell you say!” Jesse shook his head at him.
When Tyler nodded, his brothers looked at each other again. Jesse shook his head and laughed. “Man you really had me going there,” he said. “Imagine my big brother getting paid to strut his stuff.”
Tyler cleared his throat. When put that way, it didn’t sound all that bad.
Dylan shoved Jesse. “He’s not kidding.”
Jesse shoved back. “How do you know?” He looked at Tyler, “You don’t have to really… uh… strip. Do you? You just walk around without a shirt and let the ladies—”
When Tyler stared at him, Jesse visibly cringed. “Aw shit, Tyler,” Jesse said. “We didn’t need the money that bad.”
Dylan walked over to Tyler and squatted down in front of him. “Yeah,” he said, meeting Tyler’s shame-filled expression. “We did.”
His brother put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder, patted it awkwardly, and then stood up. “I don’t know if I can fill your boots or step out of my clothes in front of a room-full of strangers, but I’ll try.”
“Are they all drop-dead gorgeous?”
Tyler shook his head at his brothers. “Hell.” They hadn’t reacted the way he thought they would. “Some,” he answered, all the while wondering when Dylan would just say whatever was on his mind instead of flat out staring at him.
“Blondes, brunettes, or redheads?” Jesse wanted to know.
Tyler sighed. “All of the above.”
“It’s the redheaded boss’s fault,” Dylan said softly. “She wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He locked gazes with Tyler. “Am I right?”
Tyler wanted to say yes, but he’d lied to his brothers for the last time. Nothing, and certainly not his pride, was worth the guilt he’d had to live with for the past few weeks trying to hide the down and dirty side of his night job from his brothers.
He shook his head. “I could have walked away. But we would have had to give up Grandpa’s dream… our dream… the Circle G.” The ache in his heart doubled just thinking how cl
ose it’d been. “I’d do anything to keep the ranch…” he let his voice trail off. What more was there to say?
“Hell,” Dylan mumbled, “couldn’t you have just robbed a damn bank?”
Jesse started chuckling then Dylan joined in. Their laughter soothed the worst of Tyler’s guilt and loosened the knot in his stomach. He found his voice and a small piece of his pride. “Hell, and take a chance that one of mom’s brothers would find out?” he cringed at the thought of it. “Besides, I couldn’t be responsible for ruining the one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old sterling reputation of the Justiss men who’ve served as U.S. Marshals, could I?”
His brothers stopped laughing. “Uncle Matt would have skinned you alive,” Dylan said.
“Yeah, and Uncle Ben would have nailed your hide to the side of the barn.”
Relieved to have unburdened himself, Tyler leaned against the back of the chair and groaned. “Damn.” His side hurt like a bitch. The local must be wearing off.
“It’s got to do with Emily, doesn’t it?” Dylan asked.
Tyler nodded. “I’ve got to get to town and explain. She put me on the spot and asked how I’d feel if our places were switched and she was the one up on that damn stage.”
Dylan and Jesse looked at one another. “Hell, Ty. We like Emily.”
Tyler sighed. “She told me she liked you guys too.”
“Tough call though, Ty.” Dylan shook his head. “How would you feel about it?”
“I trust her, damn it.”
“Well then, that’s all you need to worry about and all you have to tell her.”
Dylan’s gaze met Tyler’s first and Jesse’s second. “The Garahans are going to ride into town, to save Tyler’s job, the lovely redheads who own The Lucky Star, and Tyler’s ass where Emily’s concerned.”
Tyler’s throat tightened. “Thanks, Dylan.”
Jesse stared at him. “Two redheads?” Before Tyler could answer, Jesse said, “Man, redheads are the devil in bed and hell on a strong back.”
Tyler played back last night’s lovemaking marathon in his mind and grinned back at his brother. “Oh yeah.”
Tyler Page 25
