Claire McEwen - His Last Rodeo

Of course, that was before he’d been fired. Now he and the open sky were spending a lot of time together, and Kit suspected the relationship was no longer healthy.

She knocked, faded bits of green paint raining down on the porch. The afternoon winds were fierce out here. They were sandblasting the place. She had to add “find a painter” to her to-do list.

Her dad was watching TV. Kit could hear the perky cadence of some talk show host when she put her ear to the door. She knocked again and was finally rewarded by a shuffling sound. Her dad still wore his blue flannel pajamas and slippers at 11:00 a.m. His gray eyebrows scrunched together, as if he was puzzled at her arrival.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

The old endearment had Kit smiling through her worry. It was a ridiculous name and they both knew it. With her black hair, heavy makeup and tattoos, Kit didn’t look like anyone’s sunshine. “Did you forget I was coming by? Remember we talked about it on Sunday?”

The frown cleared. “I guess I forgot which day we said.” Her dad gestured for Kit to enter. “You want some coffee?”

Kit nodded and her dad shuffled toward the kitchen. Kit stayed by the door, taking in the clutter strewn around the living room. A few dirty dishes teetered on the arm of the couch. Laundry sat in a heap waiting to be folded and a pile of newspapers was stacked haphazardly on an end table. Her dad used to be a neatnik.

Thank you, Ken Ellis. Owner of Sierra Canyon Ranch, where Garth Hayes had worked his entire life. Where his hard work had been rewarded with two words. You’re fired.

Because the Ellis family took what they wanted and ran right over smaller people, like Kit and her dad, in the process.

Like father, like son.

Guilt twinged. Tyler hadn’t taken anything from her. He’d bought what was for sale. Bought what Kit couldn’t afford. Still, she felt run over.

Automatically, Kit reached for the jacket draped over the rocking chair and hung it up in the small hall closet. Then she went into the kitchen, wincing at the dirty counters and piled dishes. “Dad, things are getting pretty messy here.” The words were out before she’d realized she was saying them. But hell, they needed to be said.

He sighed. “I was going to clean up today.”

“You told me the same thing on Sunday. But I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the same dirty dishes.” Kit took a deep breath, forcing herself to say what had been on her mind. “You aren’t dressed. You’re watching TV. This isn’t like you at all. I think you might be depressed.”

He looked out the window to the desert he loved. “I’ve just been busy lately.”

“Doing what, Dad?” Kit couldn’t hide the worry that sharpened her voice. “I never see you in town. Jed Watkins asked about you the other day. Said he was concerned because you’ve been missing poker night. And you told him you didn’t want to judge the Benson Rodeo this year. You always judge the rodeo.”

He looked weary. It seemed like the past four months since he’d been let go, as Ken Ellis had called it, had aged him twenty years. “I didn’t much feel like it this year.”

“Because you’re depressed. Have you seen Dr. Miller?”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just having a little trouble figuring out what to do with myself all day long. Retirement is an adjustment, right? Isn’t that what they say? So I’m adjusting.”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re adjusting very well.” She knew she was nagging, but worry wouldn’t let her quit. “What about those boards I got for the steps? They’ve been on the porch a month now. They’re cut to size, Dad. All you have to do is yank out the old ones and nail the new ones down.” An idea hit. Manual labor wasn’t her cup of tea but maybe it would wake her dad up a bit. “What if I grab the tools right now and we do it together?”

Her dad glanced at her suspiciously. “You hate building stuff. You hate it if you so much as break a fingernail.”

Kit glanced at her new manicure, the purple polish so dark it was almost black. Twenty bucks and her favorite color, too. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” she lied. “Get dressed. Let’s take our coffee out on the porch and build some steps.”

“If you’re sure.”

“We can pretend each nail is Ken Ellis’s head.” Or Tyler’s.

“Kit Hayes, I didn’t raise you to be vindictive.” He sounded a little like the tough dad she’d known, before he’d lost everything.

“It may be vindictive, but I bet it’s also therapeutic,” she retorted. Pushing. Wanting him to come back to her. “Maybe it will help you with all that adjusting you’re doing.”

He glared at her. But she’d rather see him mad than beaten down.

“Fine. I’ll get changed. You get the tools out of the shed.”

“Sure,” she said, trying to keep the triumph out of her voice and the hope out of her heart. But she shouldn’t hope. Nothing she’d tried for her dad had worked so far.

On the porch, she left her coffee mug on the railing and jumped the steps to the ground. She found a couple crowbars in the shed and brought them to the stairs, using hers to rip out the first board. It felt good. Actually, it felt great to see the old boards come off. For months it felt like things had been happening to her. Arch not loving her. Ken Ellis firing her dad. Tyler Ellis buying the bar she’d been scraping and saving for.

At least in this moment she, Kit Hayes, was ripping up boards. Making something happen. Maybe this could be a turning point for her, too. Because she sure as hell needed one.

The next board splintered, she went at it so hard. Her dad might have lost his way, but she wasn’t letting an Ellis, or anyone, bring her down. She’d already let Arch throw her for a loop when he showed up. It was taking her a while to recover from that, but she was recovering. So with this new setback she’d keep in mind how far she’d come. She’d keep pushing forward. She’d find a new dream. One that Tyler Ellis couldn’t buy out from under her.

CHAPTER THREE

TYLER LOOKED AT the bar staff he’d inherited, trying to ignore the dismay prickling beneath his skin. His employees sprawled in the circle of chairs he’d set up in the middle of the bar. And none of them looked very happy to be at this meeting.

The Dusty Saddle didn’t look great, either. It was even more drab than usual in the bright morning light. The stained, scuffed plank floor probably hadn’t been refinished since the bar was built in the early 1900s. Stuffing poked out of ripped brown vinyl booths. Tabletops were covered in drink rings that couldn’t be scrubbed off anymore.

This Monday-morning staff meeting had seemed like a way better idea when Tyler had planned it. He’d seen it so rosy in his mind’s eye. Everyone chatting happily, excited for his first day as owner of the Dusty Saddle.

But there was no excitement. Quite the opposite. Here he was, trying to give an inspirational speech, but he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard a single word.

One of the bouncers, Ernie, a hefty brick of a guy, was playing some game on his phone. Loomis, his fellow bouncer, had one leg slung over the other and was studying the sole of his steel-toed boot. Lila, one of the bartenders, was sleepily twisting a lock of her long red hair, clearly not excited about being at work this early. Her bartending colleagues didn’t look any more enthusiastic. Maybe they were here just to pick up the fifty bucks Tyler had bribed them with to get them into the bar first thing on a Monday.

Tyler tried not to look at Kit, but his eyes kept straying her way. She barely seemed to see him, her face a mask of studied boredom that did little to hide the anger in her eyes.

She was still pissed at him. Well deserved after his drunken visit a week ago. He’d stopped by a couple times this past week in hopes of catching her alone to apologize. But she’d avoided him each time, disappearing to the stockroom or announcing, suddenly, that it was time for her break. And since it was Chris’s last week, Tyler hadn’t wanted to stop by the bar too often. The guy surely needed time to say goodbye to his business and his staff without the new owner breathing down his neck.