by Jeannie Watt
She set what was left of the cinnamon roll aside. “It’s done and I haven’t lost the ranch.” She propped her elbows on the table in front of her. “What else?”
“I got winter hay for a good price from Blaine. He’ll deliver while I’m gone.”
“That’s good.” Even though she hated feeling as if the ranch operations were being taken out of her hands.
“And, since you’re working and I’ll be gone a good deal of the time, I decided that we should hire out the fence and roof repairs.”
“You decided.” She couldn’t help herself. She hated having all of the decisions taken out of her hands.
“Here’s the deal, Skye. I have the money to do the repairs now. If I get hurt, then I won’t have an income. My idea is to pour as much into the ranch as possible now, so that it can start making money and then I’ll have something to fall back onto.”
Talk about déjà vu. Mason had said the exact same thing when they’d first married and started planning their future. He’d meant what he said, until gambling took over his life and common sense. She was sure that Tyler meant what he said—for now. But how long would this aura of responsibility last before circumstances, and good times on the road, caused it to dissipate?
She swallowed her rising annoyance and said in a stony voice, “That makes sense.”
It also made sense for her to get that second job and do everything she could to buy her ranch back as soon as possible.
“Since I’m paying for half of the repairs, maybe I should have half a say in matters.”
“I planned to pay for the repairs.”
“That isn’t the way our agreement is written.” It was very clearly a fifty-fifty deal for cash outlay.
“I want the repairs made soon.”
“And I want to wait until I can pay fifty percent of those repairs.”
“Realistically, Skye, how long will it be before you can do that?”
She shifted on the bench. “I think we both know it won’t be this fall.”
“Let me do this. It only makes sense, and because I’ll be gone, all of the day-to-day stuff falls to you. It seems fair.”
Skye’s mouth flattened. “I don’t—”
“Like to be beholden?”
“There’s that.”
“And the fact that you don’t much like your business partner.”
“How am I supposed to answer that, Tyler?”
“Let’s try the truth.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Debated. “All right...how comfortable do you think I am being partners with a guy I accused of...” She made a gesture instead of finishing the sentence. He knew what she’d accused him of. “A guy I never got along with all that well in the first place.”
“Why is that, Skye?”
She couldn’t help the incredulous stare. “You’re really asking that?”
“Yeah. I am. Because I never understood.”
Now who was kidding whom? “Where do I begin?”
He put his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his hand. “Anyplace will do.” His tone was one of casual interest, but there was a hard glint in his eyes.
Skye closed her own eyes briefly. Where could she begin and how could it possibly help things now? It couldn’t help, so she wasn’t opening this particular can of worms. Wasn’t going to risk showing any vulnerabilities to this man—like the fact that she’d been intimidated by him back in the day.
She opened her eyes and found him studying her face, his expression intent, as if her response was important to him. For a brief moment she couldn’t drag her gaze away, and the air between them became increasingly, unexpectedly charged. Skye abruptly pulled her gaze away, clearing her throat as she bought herself a little time. When she felt as if she had something of a grip, she met his gaze again. His expression was cool and businesslike for Tyler, making her half wonder if she’d imagined the crazy edgy vibe between them only seconds before.
“I have an idea,” she said, annoyed that her voice was huskier than normal. “You pay for the repairs and we’ll get them done right now. I’ll manage the day-to-day operations, and I’ll pay you back as I can.”
He nodded his approval. “If we get roofs on those buildings before winter, we won’t lose them, but they’re in bad shape right now, Skye, and we don’t need any more water running down inside of them.”
“I know.” She leaned back, half wondering if she was trying to put more distance between them. Suddenly, the picnic table didn’t seem wide enough anymore. Annoyed at herself, she plopped her forearms on the table and leaned forward.
“As to the cattle—”
“I’ll handle the cattle.”
Tyler’s mouth flattened before he asked in a patient voice, “You have some slick calves. When are you planning to brand?”
“About two weeks.”
“I want to be here.”
“Why? I’ve managed quite well without you in the past.”
“I’m going to do my share.”
“You’re paying for the roofs.” A stubborn expression settled onto his handsome face, but before he could speak, Skye said, “Cliff and his son help me brand in the fall and the spring. I don’t have that many slick calves. We’ll preg-check then and arrange to ship the empty cows. It’ll all be done in one day.” Or maybe two. Cliff didn’t like doing everything in one day, but Tyler didn’t need to know that. She leaned even closer toward him. “I want carte blanche on the cattle.” Something that wasn’t in the agreement. Something, judging from his expression, he wasn’t going to agree to.
“Until the spring.”
“Until the spring,” she echoed. She resisted the urge to ask what happened then. She’d take things one day at a time, just as she’d taken them since Mason’s death.
A gust of wind blasted over them, lifting and tipping the cinnamon roll pan. Both grabbed for it at the same time, and Skye snatched her hands back as Tyler covered them with his own. He righted the pan, meeting Skye’s gaze before she got up and crossed the lawn to pick up the napkins that had blown away. She crumpled them in her hand and headed back to the table, where Tyler was already on his feet.
“You never answered my question,” he said.
Skye tipped her chin up. “What question is that?” she asked, knowing full well what he was referring to.
“The one about why we never got along.”
She gave a careless shrug. “I don’t know...spiders. Snakes. The incessant teasing?” His knack for finding little weaknesses and insecurities and exploiting them. “You were merciless toward me.”
“You mean I was acting like a preadolescent boy who liked a girl?”
She stared at him, stunned, as heat flooded her cheeks, which was ridiculous. But ridiculous or not, her cheeks were hot and she didn’t know what to say.
Tyler gave a little laugh. “You didn’t know?”
“How could I know?”
“I thought I was telegraphing my feelings pretty well back then.”
Skye couldn’t find words. He’d had a crush on her? “If that was how you showed that you liked someone, then I’d hate to see how you treated someone you didn’t like.”
“I ignored them.” She gave him an uncertain sidelong glance, and he explained, “Our dad taught Jess and I not to waste energy on people who treat you poorly or people you don’t particularly like.”
“You didn’t see what you were doing to me was akin to treating me poorly?”
He gave his head a simple shake, somehow looking sexy as hell as he said, “Nope. I was eleven years old and I was a courtin’.”
Skye rolled her eyes as her cheeks warmed, thankful to have something to distract her from the other questions crowding into her head—such as why had he asked her out in high school?
Tyler hooked his thumb in his belt loop. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”
“I see no way that it can be.” Skye spoke truthfully, thankful that he hadn’t cued into the direction of her thoughts. “But—” she had to say it “—I appreciate the fact that you’ve given me a chance to hang on to the ranch.” She owed him for that. She might hate it, but the old cliché about beggars not being choosers came into play here.
“Seemed like the thing to do.” He spoke without any hint of emotion. “You should know, too, that I’m leaving in two days.”
“Will you be back anytime soon?”
“I might squeeze in a day or two—like when you brand—but for the most part, no. I’ll be hitting it hard for the next three months.” One corner of his mouth twisted in a rather grim smile. “So you’ll have your ranch to yourself for the most part. The only person here will be the handyman fixing the roofs and fences.”
“Do you blame me for feeling that way, Ty? I’ve been alone here for a year. Been my own boss forever. It’s not easy having someone come in and take charge.”
“No, I don’t blame you, Skye. But it’s something you have to get used to.” His expression grew serious. “I didn’t make your situation, so I’d kind of appreciate it if I wasn’t on the receiving end of your frustration.”
She had no defense. She couldn’t deny her frustration and anger, and she couldn’t deny that she was taking it out on him, even after determining that he was probably not responsible for Mason’s gambling.
“Then let me continue to run my ranch.”
“Not a problem...for now.”
She tilted her chin up. “When might it be a problem?”
“When I’m living on the ranch full-time and want equal say...just like the agreement says I get.”
She swallowed and gave a curt nod. She’d sold her soul to save her ranch and now she had to live with the decision. “I foresee future discussions.”
“Peaceful ones, I hope.”
“When has anything been peaceful between you and me?” The question sounded bitter, and Skye instantly regretted her tone. “Not to say that we can’t make things peaceful.” There. A save. Kind of.
Tyler’s expression shifted and Skye found herself on the receiving end of a long, speculative look. “Do you think that’s possible?” His tone was low and surprisingly serious. “I mean...will you allow that to happen?”
“Me?”
“Yes, Skye, you.”
She started to speak, although she had no idea what she was about to say, then abruptly stopped. There was nothing worse than your nemesis bringing up a valid point. “I’ll do my best,” she finally said in a flat voice. “Will you?”
He smiled at her in a way that bordered on predatory, causing a small tremor to move through her midsection. “Yeah. I will, Skye. As I see it, that’s the only way we’re going to survive this partnership.”
* * *
TY COULDN’T HELP but wonder if it was a coincidence that Skye worked double shifts at the café for the next two days, leaving early in the morning and coming home just before dark. When she got home, Tyler decided not to be a jerk, since he’d had the place to himself all day, and stayed in his trailer while she fed and cared for her many animals. The first day after completing her feeding chores, she went straight from the barn to the house, but the second day, after shooting a look at his trailer, as if to assure herself that he wasn’t watching her, which he was, she crossed the pasture to the fresh grave there and stood for several minutes first staring down at the dirt, then off across the horizon.
Skye had known a lot of loss.
Tyler turned away from the window and walked down the narrow hall to his bedroom, essentially giving her the privacy she deserved as she mourned her horse. She was never going to like him. He was going to have to get that through his thick skull. Maybe some year she’d loosen up, let him be a friend, but she was never going to be easy with him the way she was easy with his twin.
Just recalling the horrified look on her face when she’d realized that he’d picked on her because of a schoolboy crush hadn’t done his ego one bit of good.
Well, fine, Skye. You may not ever like me, but you’re going to have to learn to deal with me.
Tyler went back to tossing things into his duffel. He was flying out of Butte the next day for Albuquerque, where the tour kicked off its second leg. After that it was three weeks of travel, a week off, three weeks of travel. He’d head back to the ranch for the week off, see how Skye was faring without him. His mouth twisted at the thought.
She would be doing very well without him, but hey...the ranch was half his, and he was going to spend his downtime there.
Skye was going to have to learn to share.
* * *
TYLER LEFT WELL before daybreak—pulling his truck out of the drive just after she’d gotten out of bed for her early morning shift. They’d spoken briefly the night before after he knocked on her door and offered her the extra key to his trailer in case she needed to get in while he was gone. Skye thanked him and wished him luck.
“When you’re good, you don’t need luck.”
“All bull riders need luck,” she’d retorted. No matter how much skill a rider had, there were circumstances beyond his control. He’d simply raised his hand and headed back down the steps toward his trailer.
Now he was gone. And Skye felt like she could breathe again.
She watched the dust from Tyler’s truck die down, then walked down to the barn with Jinx trotting by her side. Her ranch was hers once again...until Tyler came back. She had his schedule tacked to the refrigerator so that she knew exactly where he was and when. If things went well, she wouldn’t see much of him until the summer hiatus. She was hoping that he might try to pick up a few summer events, and then he’d be gone even longer.
Probably not a nice way to think about the guy who’d bailed her out, but she couldn’t help it. Whether it was fair or not, she couldn’t totally shake the idea that Mason would have fared better if he hadn’t had wild friends. And Tyler was a wild one.
Well, she could maybe find comfort in the fact that if she went down, she was no longer going down alone. She’d have someone to discuss the matter with.
Yes. She’d grab on to that. She wasn’t alone. Mason had been dead for over a year. She’d mourned and she’d fought to keep her ranch. Alone.
Maybe she needed to get out. Make a new life now that the financial burden had been eased and she no longer had to pinch every penny and worry about making that next payment. She was in no way in the clear, but she was better off than she’d been in over a year.
Like it or not, she had Tyler to thank for that.
She did not like.
Chapter Seven
“The big question tonight is can Tyler Hayward do it a third time?” The cheer that went up from the crowd in response to the announcer’s question indicated yes, they believed that Tyler could take home the top money three times in a row.
And why not? He’d killed in Albuquerque, having drawn a bull that hadn’t been ridden in over six months and just making the buzzer before going off over his hand. Then in Oklahoma City he’d drawn another rank bull and gave a crowd-pleasing eighty-eight-point performance. He’d landed on his feet that time. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, there was nothing better.
His draw that day, Bad Carl, a Brahman-Charolais cross, was a big, seemingly sluggish bull with a spotty record. Sometimes he bucked like a dynamo, sometimes he didn’t.
“You’d better give it your all today, because I need a score,” Ty muttered to the bull, who rolled a dark eye and flicked a buttercream-colored ear at him in response. “Yeah. Right back at you.”
Tyler carefully adjusted his grip, then pounded his glove. He shifted his weight, pushi
ng down through his legs and feet, his free hand on the top gate rail as he found the middle. One quick nod and the gate flew open. Bad Carl quivered for a moment, then lunged out of the chute, kicking so high that he was inches away from doing a somersault, and then rearing up to throw Tyler forward and smack him square in the face with the top of his head.
Sparks, brighter than the LED headlights he hated so much, obliterated Tyler’s vision. His free hand hit the bull’s shoulder, and somewhere in the deep recesses of his brain, he registered that he’d just disqualified himself. But, that didn’t matter, because the ground came crashing up at him, then he tasted dirt. The stars disappeared, but with his ear pressed hard against the ground, he could still hear the thunder of hooves hitting all around him. He automatically rolled into a ball as one came close to his back, then tried to get to his feet as the bull moved away, staggering a little. The bullfighter took hold of his left arm and helped him to his feet. He was wobbly, but the crowd cheered and he lifted his hand, only to wince as pain ripped through his right side.
The bullfighter steadied him, and together they walked a few steps, then the bullfighter fell back, allowing Tyler the last several yards under his own steam. As soon as he made it through the man gate, a paramedic escorted him to the medical station.
“Bad Carl lived up to his name tonight,” the paramedic said in a cheerful voice as he sat Tyler down.
“From your tone of voice, I gather that I’m not going to die.” His head was starting to clear.
“No. But you’re going to hurt. You just ripped the hell out of this shoulder.”
Tyler squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the wall. “Ripped. How badly ripped?”
“You did some damage.”
Tyler’s head throbbed. He’d gone for so long without a debilitating injury that he’d started to feel bulletproof. Never a good thing in bull riding.
“The good news is that you didn’t break your nose.”
