His Last Rodeo

by Claire McEwen

  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

  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 tou
gh 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 lea
rn 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.