Claire McEwen - His Last Rodeo

“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.”