by Jeannie Watt
Tyler nodded at Cody and moved to the far side of the arena, where Jasper Hennessey and his brother, Bill, were talking to a couple of high school kids. They asked Tyler his opinion on the mandatory use of helmets, which he fully supported. After this last ride, he was going to become a helmet wearer, himself.
Angie continued her flirt-fest with Cody, so Tyler ambled over to where Trace Delaney and Grady Owen were standing near a gate, deep in conversation. He slowed his steps as he approached, not wanting to interrupt, but Grady waved him over.
“It looked like you guys were discussing important matters.”
“Actually, we were discussing logistics,” Grady said. “Annie wants to travel with Trace for a week, so Lex is going to watch the twins instead of coming with me. It’s a matter of who stays where.”
“Life seems to get complicated when you marry,” Tyler said. It wasn’t that long ago that both Trace and Grady were single and their only worry was staying healthy and getting to the next event.
Trace nodded. “Throw in twins and, yeah, it can get...interesting.” But he smiled in a way which clearly indicated that he liked his new role as a husband and father. Tyler had to admit that Annie Owen was a sweetheart and her eight-year-old twin girls always made him smile.
“Even without twins, it gets interesting,” Grady said.
Tyler snorted. “Yeah, but you married Lex.”
Grady grinned. “Point taken.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the time. “Speaking of which, I need to get going. We’re painting the upstairs bedrooms, and I promised I’d be back in time for paint consultation.”
“Yeah,” Trace agreed. “Annie and I are taking the girls shopping for winter coats as soon as I get back. I’m better at coats than dresses.”
“Not me,” Grady said. “I’m a party dress shopping fool.”
The guys laughed and Tyler smiled, feeling as if he’d just wandered into a new, strange land where he wasn’t familiar with the customs and mores.
“Are things going okay on the ranch?” Trace asked.
“As well as can be expected. As you can imagine, Skye and I are working out a few things, but...you know. It’s always that way when you start something new.”
Trace and Grady exchanged a quick look, telling Tyler that his arrangement with Skye had most probably been a topic of discussion in the Delaney-Owen households. He expected no less. Bull riders kept track of their own.
“Let us know if you need any help around the place,” Grady offered.
“We have it covered for now, but thanks.” He emphasized the word we, as if he needed to let these family men know that he wasn’t alone in the world. He had a twin on the other side of Montana and a business partner who wanted him anywhere but on her ranch.
After Trace and Grady left, Tyler drifted back to the rails and watched a few more rides, then said his goodbyes and headed to his home that wasn’t really a home.
Meanwhile, Trace and Grady were going home to women who wanted to see them.
What would it be like?
* * *
“I HAVE TO admit that I didn’t believe you when you said you were helping with the roof,” Angie admitted as she loaded glasses onto a tray. It was her last day of work before she left for cosmetology school in Missoula for the next six months, and she was moving with tortoise-like speed—not that Skye blamed her. Angie had wanted to get out of the café forever, and Tiffani Crenshaw had already offered her a position in her salon when she’d finished her course of study, which meant that the gossip capacity of the beauty shop would be doubled by next spring.
Skye gave a small snort. “Why would I lie about helping with the roof?”
Angie tossed her head. “To mess with me?”
There had been occasions when people had told Angie a false story just to watch it spread. It was a lot like putting a dye marker in a lake.
“If I decide to mess with you, it’d be with a better story than that.”
“Is roofing hard work?”
“Easy to do, but tedious and time-consuming.” Especially when they kept having to break for weather. But if all went well, they would be done that afternoon.
“I’d spend a day on the roof with Tyler Hayward,” Angie volunteered, still slowly transferring the glassware. “But Cody’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”
“Very.” It was hard not to be with a bull rider’s build, green eyes and longish blond hair. “Just...be aware of what you’re getting into if you date a bull rider.”
Angie set down the tray. “What?”
Skye held up a finger, indicating that Angie should hold her thought, before heading around her tables, checking on her customers. When she got back, she said, “It’s hard to explain until you experience it, but a serious bull rider can’t help himself. He lives for the ride. Most other things take second place.”
“Like girlfriends?”
Skye didn’t know how to answer that, because it depended on the bull rider and the relationship.
“Their careers are generally fairly short,” she offered as a positive.
“And if they aren’t?”
“Be prepared to pray and worry and leave things to a higher power for eight seconds several times a week during the season.” Skye leaned her hip against the counter. “What I’m trying to say is that these guys are focused. If you can’t live with their career, then don’t date a bull rider.”
“Thanks for the warning...I think.”
“It’s something you need to know.” Skye reached out and touched Angie’s arm. “Forewarned is forearmed and all that.”
Angie blew out a breath. “Guess I’ll find out what I’m capable of.”
“Guess so. And, yes, Cody is adorable.”
Angie smiled. “I know! And guess what he told me about Trace and Annie? They’re thinking of trying for a baby.”
“How does he...?” Skye shook her head as she held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. And maybe Trace and Annie want this kept quiet?”
Angie looked surprised at the concept. “Huh. Maybe.”
The door opened, and a group of six teens headed for the booth in the back. “Better start the fries,” Skye called back to the kitchen. “The after-school crowd is here.”
Angie sauntered over to the table as Skye wiped the counter again. Angie was twenty-five and meant no harm...but her mouth was practically a lethal weapon at times. It’d certainly gotten Skye in trouble when Angie had mentioned that Skye thought Tyler was trying to buy a clear conscience by investing in the ranch. There was no way she wanted the same thing to happen to Annie Owen.
* * *
BABE’S HEAD WAS hanging over the fence, his long ears tipped forward, when Skye parked her car close to the house. As soon as she opened the car door, he gave a long, plaintive call. Chester was on the move again.
She grabbed her tote bag and crossed the driveway to the mule, stroking the side of his face as she told him that she’d find his little friend and bring him back as soon as she changed her clothes. Babe was not mollified by her response, and as soon as she turned to go to the house he let out another loud, creaky call for his little buddy.
Skye changed into jeans and flannel shirt, shoved her feet into running shoes and barely took time to tie them. Stepping out onto the porch, she stood for a moment surveying the immediate vicinity, looking for a furry gray bundle of trouble. Nothing. Tyler’s truck was not in its usual spot, and all the roofs were completely finished. Maybe he was out looking for Chester, or maybe he’d left before the little guy had escaped. One thing she was certain of—now that the roofing disaster was over, they were going to work on securing the fence so that the donkey stayed put.
Skye trotted down the porch steps and started looking in all the usual donkey-hiding places—the
barn where the hay was stored, the compost pile out back, the garden. No sign of a mini-donkey. Skye stood in the driveway with her hands on her hips. He’d never left the property, and she was certain he wouldn’t leave it now, unless he’d been chased off. He had no fear of coyotes, but maybe a larger animal had passed through...
Her stomach was starting to knot, and for the first time since he’d arrived, Skye wished that Tyler was there. She could use the help scouring the property.
She started toward the large pasture, thinking he might be on the other side in the trees, then abruptly shifted course.
The orchard.
The apples were down due to the wind and frost, and there was nothing Chester liked more than old apples. However, he’d never before gotten through the fence to help himself to any. Today, however, proved different...not only had he finagled his way through the fence, he was lying on his side at the edge of the orchard.
Skye started running when she saw the small gray heap lying just inside the fence. Her thoughts jumbled as she dashed the last few yards—he’d eaten too many apples, colicked, rolled, twisted his gut...her beloved donkey was dead or dying. Only he wasn’t dead. Skye could hear his raspy, labored breath as she skidded to a stop at his side. If he was colicked, she needed to get him to his feet.
Within seconds she realized he wasn’t colicked. Instead he was wrapped—tightly wrapped—in old barbed wire that was cutting into the skin of his neck and legs. Skye tried to loosen the wire, find the end. It was too tight, too tangled.
The sound of a motor brought her head up, and she jumped to her feet. Chester struggled, and she instantly sank back down next to him, stroking his neck and telling him it would be okay.
“I have to get tools,” she murmured, hoping the little animal would understand her tone of voice. Rising to her feet, she started across the pasture toward the house. Tyler was on the way to his trailer when she shouted his name. She shouted again, and he stopped, then turned. As soon as he saw her, he started toward her with long, purposeful strides. She broke into a jog, and they met at the fence.
“What’s wrong?” He was already climbing through the rails.
“We need nippers. Chester is rolled up in wire.” She pointed to where she’d left him. “In the old orchard.”
“I’ll get the tools.”
Tyler climbed back through the fence, and Skye started back toward where the donkey lay. The poor little guy was ripped and cut, and she needed to get him free. Tyler must have had his tools at the ready, because she’d barely reached Chester’s side when she heard him running through the grass toward them. A few seconds later he was beside her. He knelt and began testing the wire wrapped around the little donkey’s legs and neck. Chester took a painful breath, and Skye ran her hand over his wiry coat.
“Here, I think.” Tyler struggled to get the nippers in between the wire and skin, then snipped. The wire loosened an iota, allowing him better access to the next strand. Skye continued to pet Chester, murmuring words of encouragement as Tyler moved around the little donkey, snipping wire and tossing pieces aside. When he got the last bit free, he sank down next to Skye and ran his big hand over the donkey.
“He has thick skin. Amazing that he’s not cut up more than he is.”
Indeed, a horse in the same circumstances would have had larger, more gaping wounds. “Small blessings,” Skye murmured. “We need to get him up. If we can’t, then I guess we’ll get the tractor.”
They didn’t need the tractor. After a few more seconds lying on his side, Chester seemed to understand that he was totally free and lifted his head. With help from Tyler and Skye, he got to his feet, then stood, shaking, his head hanging down.
“Maybe I should try to carry him.”
“He weighs more than two hundred pounds.”
Before Tyler could argue the point, or sacrifice his shoulder, Chester took a shaky step forward and then another. With Skye on one side and Tyler on the other, they maneuvered the donkey back to the ranch proper. Skye opened the man gate, and Tyler urged the little guy through. After that he headed straight for his distraught mule buddy. Tyler nudged him toward the barn, and Babe trotted into his stall to keep an eye on his friend while Tyler and Skye doctored him.
Together they cleaned the cuts, gave the donkey a tetanus shot and big dose of penicillin, then turned him loose in a small pen in the barn where he was knee-deep in clean straw. Babe crowded as close to the dividing fence as he could get, nudging his buddy with his nose.
“I thought I’d lost him,” Skye said. “When I found him lying still under that tree...I thought he’d colicked and died.” She felt the sting of tears and swallowed hard. Reaction, pure and simple, but she wasn’t giving in. The donkey was alive. She’d been terrified of losing yet another thing in her life, but hey—hadn’t happened. A tear rolled down her face anyway, and Skye swiped at it with her sleeve.
“Are you okay?” Tyler asked.
“Fine. All’s well...” Her voice thickened, and she let the words hang. Then, in a move that seemed ridiculously right, Tyler put an arm around her without taking his eyes off the donkey, who was thinking about bedding down, and pulled her close to his side. Skye didn’t fight him. Not even a little. She leaned into his comforting warmth, closed her eyes, drew in his scent. Felt the need stir inside her.
Step away.
She did not. She was tired of fighting, tired of worrying. Tired of everything being a battle. Tyler didn’t move, but his grip had tightened on her shoulder as she relaxed against him. He smelled good, he felt safe—which only proved how stressed and tired she was. And when he did move—when he looked down at her and then lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger—she did not allow herself to think. Thinking would ruin everything.
Her eyes drifted closed again, and a second later his lips lightly touched hers, just as she’d known they would. She let out a soft breath, felt it move across his skin. Tyler hesitated, as if he were afraid of doing too much, too soon. A wise man, Tyler, because this was too much, too soon. Skye did not care. Her lips parted against his as she slid a hand up around his neck, felt the hair beneath her palm, the solidness of his chest beneath her other hand. The kiss deepened, and Skye lost herself. She hadn’t kissed a man other than her husband in years and years, had forgotten the rush, the taste, the excitement...
She eased back, her lips lingering on his for another long second before she broke contact. Tyler dropped his arm, allowing his hand to slide down to hers before falling away. Skye drew in a breath and decided that the very last thing in the world she wanted to do was to address what had just happened. So instead she gave him a weary half smile.
“Strange day.”
He hesitated, then smiled back at her. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I should get back to the house.” For no reason other than the need to escape while she could. “I’m on shift tomorrow, but when I get off, can we talk about beefing up donkey security?”
“You bet. I don’t want this to happen again.”
“Yeah.” Chester was going to hate total confinement, but he was going to have to give up his Houdini ways for his own health and welfare—as well as Skye’s. She couldn’t take many more afternoons like the one she’d just had.
Chapter Eleven
Mason’s ashes had been scattered on the mountains behind the ranch, so on the occasion of his birthday, two days after Chester’s traumatic wire incident, Skye had no memorial to visit. Instead she walked into the pasture and stood for a long time staring at the gorgeous mountain range that was her husband’s final resting place.
Last year, when she’d stood in this spot, she’d been raw with pain from her loss. This year...she felt differently. She missed him. But she was also angry at him for leaving her in the circumstances she was now in.
I supported you and you betrayed me.<
br />
He’d had a disease. Gambling addiction was like alcoholism. Mason hadn’t been able to help himself because he hadn’t yet admitted he had a problem. Skye believed in her heart that he would have...but she didn’t know what it would have taken for him to make that admission. He’d drained their bank account and hadn’t told her anything.
He thought he’d win the money back.
He was young and wild and with time would have settled.
Maybe.
Looking at the man his father had been, there was always the possibility that he would have maintained his wild ways. His father was a good man, funny and caring, despite the fact that he was less than dependable when push came to shove. He meant well...and he was married to a woman who managed his life for him.
Mason had been similar to his father in temperament, as she was very similar to Mason’s mother. No relationship was perfect, and for the most part they had done well together, her and Mason. She loved him. She missed him. And she regretted that she never got the chance to discover what Mason might have been capable of after his bull-riding career was over. He was good on the ranch, when he had the time to do the work, finish his projects. He partied hard, he worked hard. He rode hard.
He’d lied to her and left her with nothing.
The conflict between anger and love was killing her. Would next year be any better? Would she have a firmer grip on things? Understand more than she did now...be able to fully and totally forgive?
And damn it, would Tyler still be on the ranch, tempting her and taunting her?
She left the pasture, because it seemed wrong to have thoughts of another man crowd her on the day she was contemplating her husband’s day of birth, and walked to the grave of Mr. Joe.
Another loss. Devastating, but expected. Losing Mason—devastating beyond words. The discoveries that followed...also devastating. And then came Tyler—unexpected white knight. He’d had a crush on her way back when, and judging what had happened between them two days before, he still had feelings for her. Or felt sorry for her. Poor Skye. Another near-loss.
