His Last Rodeo

* * *

THE CHESTNUT GELDING Tyler had borrowed nickered low at the sight of the two horses tied to the pasture fence. He picked up the pace, eager to be with his buddies.

At the sound of their approach, Tyler’s brothers looked up from their work. Parker stopped cranking the wire taut and grinned. “You finally out of bed, princess?”

Miles was kneeling, hammering in a staple to hold the wire to the fence post. He finished, then joined the fun. “Oh, look who decided to join us. I thought celebrity bull riders were too important for ranch work.”

Tyler tied his horse near the others and made his way through the thick spring grass. “I doubt I’ll ever get too self-important with you two clowns constantly busting my balls.”

“We’re just glad you got your beauty rest.” Miles grinned, not willing to let the joke go. “In case you have any modeling gigs coming up.” Older than Tyler by two years, Miles took special pleasure in tormenting him. One time he’d shown up at a rodeo in Reno carrying a giant pink sign with the words I Love Tyler written in rainbow letters. That sign had made national TV and the other bull riders had teased Tyler about it that entire season.

“What’s with coming home hammered?” Parker was the oldest and took that role seriously. Maybe losing their mom before any of them were out of junior high had grown him up too fast.

“I went out with Eric and Mitch. They bought shots to celebrate my new bar.”

“You’re a lightweight,” Miles teased. “It’s all that granola and kale you eat.”

“Gotta keep fit.” Tyler’s answer was automatic. Followed by the realization that he didn’t actually have to keep fit anymore. Not in bull-riding shape, at least. The idea left him a little hollow.

“Well, you stumbling in singing was like nails on a chalkboard for Dad. He was ranting about it this morning,” Parker said.

“Yeah, he ranted when I saw him just now.” Tyler grabbed his work gloves out of his pocket. “What can I do to help?”

“Bring a few of those posts over, will you?” Miles jutted his chin to indicate the large pile a few yards away. “And we need that bag of concrete out of the truck.”

Tyler nodded. “You guys think Dad’s going to get over me buying a bar?”

Parker shook his head. “Doubt it. You know Dad. Ranching’s the only job that makes any sense to him.”

“But I got over it,” Miles chimed in. “In case you were worried. I’m looking forward to free beer.”

“Come on by and I’ll start you a tab,” Tyler shot back. “And I’ll bill you for it at the end of each month.”

“No family discount?” Parker added with uncharacteristic humor. “Cheapskate.”

“Not until I’m running in the black. Right now the place is a money pit.”

“So why’d you take it on, then?” Parker asked.

“Because I can make it great.”

“You and your big goals.” Miles grinned. “Isn’t it tiring being so ambitious all the time?” He put a gloved finger to the side of his face, as if he was thinking. “Hmm. I think I’ll join the army. Boot camp sounds fun. No, maybe I’ll become the best bull rider in the world. Now I’m going to buy a dive bar and convince everyone that it’s cool. Yeah, that’ll be relaxing.”

It was such an accurate portrayal that Tyler couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I find it relaxing to try to meet my goals. I like pushing forward. Nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t.” Parker sent Miles a strict glance. “In fact, maybe someone around here could use a few more goals.”

Miles took the chiding with his usual good nature. “What, you don’t think working for you and Dad is the definition of success? Because it sure is fun.”

“Fun until a daddy of one of the girls you chase comes out here with a shotgun.”

“That’s when I hide behind my big brother.” Miles shoved Parker on the shoulder. “Hey, Tyler. Can you grab those posts? Or are you worried you’ll break a nail?”

“Shut up, Miles.” But Tyler walked to the pile and grabbed a couple off the top. “I wanted you guys to help me with something.”

“No beer, no help,” Miles said and grabbed the handles of the posthole digger.

“What do you need?” Parker asked.

“I plan to fix up the barn at my new place. It’s not in such bad shape—should be done in a few weeks. I want to get a few horses. And a couple bulls.”

“Bucking bulls?” Parker eyed him shrewdly. “I thought you were done with rodeo.”

“I want to offer a class or two. Get some local kids started in rodeo.” Tyler set the posts down near Miles.

“I’m sure parents will love you for that. Especially when one of their little darlings breaks a neck.”

“Bull riding’s the fastest-growing sport in the country.”

“Doesn’t make it any less crazy,” Parker said.

“You don’t have to like it. But can you help me get some bulls?” It didn’t matter to Tyler that Parker wasn’t a great fan of bull riding. His brother had a better eye for cattle than anyone Tyler knew.

“I can ask around to see if anyone has the stock for that. Horses will be a lot easier. You thinking about some trail riding?”

Tyler nodded. “Trail riding, light ranch work. Quarter horses would be nice, but I’d consider other breeds.”

“I’ll look into it,” Parker promised.

“Thanks, Park,” Tyler said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help.”

“It’s good to have you home,” Parker said.

“It’s good to have you home and owning a bar,” Miles added.

“Shut up, Miles,” Tyler and Parker said in unison. And they all burst out laughing.

Tyler walked to the pile for a few more posts. It wasn’t fun to clash with his dad again. Or to feel his father’s disappointment seep into the confidence Tyler had finally developed once he left home. Being home wasn’t easy, but it sure was good to be near his brothers again.

* * *

KIT CLIMBED THE rickety steps to her father’s door, clutching the railing as she avoided the rotten boards. She glanced at the pile of new wood, still stacked where she’d left it a month ago. Cut to size, ready to be nailed on. Losing his life’s work had knocked the wind out of her dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was totally depressed.

His cottage was perched on a small rise at the edge of town, where he could look out over the high desert that rolled on in miles of dry desolation. Kit worried that he was lonely out here. But her dad insisted he was happy. That the open sky was the best friend a guy could have.

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.

Tyler tried again to inspire some enthusiasm. “Picture the bar expanded.” He pointed north. “This whole wall will be moved out, doubling our seating capacity. Then we’ll build a second bar in the new addition—an area especially for sports fans. That way, we can give the High Country a run for their money on weekdays.”

Lila’s eyes rolled in Kit’s direction. Kit’s answering shrug was the embodiment of whatever.

Yeah, he was really firing them up. Any more enthusiasm and they’d be asleep.

Ernie raised a beefy hand and Tyler nodded to him, relieved that finally someone cared.

“Does this mean we’ll get more hours?”

Hallelujah for something he could say yes to. “Once we’ve renovated and we’re up and running, you’ll definitely have more hours if you want them.”

Mario, one of the part-time bartenders, yawned. So much for wowing them. Tyler’s gaze went to Kit with a will of its own. She was staring somewhere over his shoulder. He followed the direction of her gaze. She was watching the clock.

This chat wasn’t working, but he didn’t know what else to do except keep going. “We’ll have a lot to offer once the renovations are complete. I’d like to add a restaurant with an outdoor barbecue area. And a stage and a dance floor. I’m going to restore the barn and build a small arena. I’m hoping to start a rodeo school. Any questions?”

Of course not.

Then a hand came up. Not one he wanted to choose. “Kit?”

She gave him a smile laced with ice. “Are you gonna give us a raise?”

Damn it. Trust her to ask what he couldn’t answer. “I’m still going over the figures. I’ll know more after I draw up cost projections, revenue estimates, stuff like that.”

She gave him a cool look. “It just seems like if you have all this money to transform the Dusty Saddle into a one-stop cowboy experience, you must have enough to compensate the people who’ll be doing all the work.”

Ouch. Her cutting summation of his plans stung. She was walking a thin line, but he’d be cool about it, for now. “I’ll work hard, too. And I won’t pay myself until we’re profitable. I’ll certainly consider raises once we start making some money.”

There was a slight stirring among the staff, an exhaled breath of relief. It must have been the right thing to say. Or as close to right as he’d gotten so far. But it was clear he was missing something here. Some chance. He could feel it as sure he knew a bull would shift left or right.

His palms were damp. He wasn’t used to talking like this, trying to inspire others. Put him on a bull and he’d inspire. With actions. With stamina. But with words, he was out of his league. “Look, you all probably know I’ve spent the past few years hitting the rodeos. But I also spent a lot of time with corporate sponsors, doing promotion, stuff like that.”

“‘Me and my Wranglers,’” Lila purred. “Yeah, we saw the commercial.”

Heat crept from his collar to his jaw. In the commercial Lila referred to, the camera had been mainly focused on his ass. “I may not have experience owning a bar. But I learned some stuff about business along the way. I’m no expert, but I have a feeling about this place.”

He paused, gratified to see a few nods from the bouncers and Mario. “I’ve thought my plans through and I know I can make this place profitable. I just need good people around me to do it. I need you, if you’ll give it a try with me.”

“What if we like the Saddle the way it is?” Kit leaned forward, her elbows on the table and, oh boy, her neckline had slid down, treating him to an eyeful of what he should not be looking at. When he raised his glance he saw the fierce emotion in her eyes. She wasn’t giving him a hard time for the heck of it. For some reason, she loved this place, ripped vinyl, filthy floor and all.

“There’s history here. I get that. But let’s be honest, most customers don’t appreciate it. The bar is empty most weeknights.”

“It’s a small town. No one’s out drinking,” Kit shot back.

“It’s a growing town, and the High Country is packed. Look, if we can’t bring more customers in, this place will go under. Chris knew it. He told me himself when he sold it to me. And Kit, weren’t you just asking me about raises?”

She looked at him sharply and he knew he’d hit a nerve.

“You can’t have it both ways,” he said. “You can’t keep the Dusty Saddle the way it’s always been and expect a living wage from it. So we’re going to need to make changes.”

“Don’t get all sentimental, Kit.” Loomis finally looked up from his boot. “More money sounds pretty good to me.”

“Amen,” Ernie added, and Tyler saw several other heads nod around the room.

At least he’d gotten one thing right. He didn’t need everyone on board—and clearly Kit wasn’t signing up for the Tyler Ellis fan club anytime soon—but he needed some of the staff with him. He looked at Kit. “Not all change is bad. It might even be fun.”

“Depends on your idea of fun,” Kit murmured, ostensibly to Lila but loud enough for him to hear, too.

“Any questions?” Tyler deliberately looked over Kit’s head.

“You gonna change the name?” Tim, a bartender, glanced around. “The Dusty Saddle doesn’t really fit what you’re describing.”

“I hadn’t thought about it yet.”

“How about the Last Rodeo?” Kit asked, fluttering her eyelashes innocently when he glared at her. “I mean, since you just had yours, right?”

“Ouch,” Mario murmured.

“Isn’t that a little depressing?” Tim nudged Kit with his elbow. “Not sure we’ll get people in the party spirit with that one.”

“I kind of like it,” Lila countered. “It’s mysterious. Like Tyler’s rodeo days are over and so what comes next?”

“Dance floors and big-screen TVs, apparently,” Kit tossed in. “Not very mysterious, really.”

“Let’s not worry about it now.” A weariness crawled up Tyler’s spine, threatening to bring on the headaches he sometimes got from too many falls in the arena. “Plenty of time to come up with a name. For now, you’ll all pull schedules similar to what you’ve been doing. If you want to change that, let me know.”

He pulled his new business cards—hot off the press—out of his pocket. An old saddle in faded sepia. His name and contact information in bold letters. He handed one to everyone, feeling inexplicably like a tool. “Call me with any questions or concerns. The schedule will be posted Tuesday, like always.”

“We post it on Monday,” Kit corrected.

He glanced her way to see if she was messing with him again. Her slight smile was unreadable. “Chris said Tuesdays.”

“Chris hasn’t done it in five years.”

“Oh.” This was news to him. But there were bound to be surprises. “Okay, so who makes the schedule?”

“Kit,” Lila answered. “She does everything around here.”

Tyler looked at Kit but she regarded him calmly, not offering any confirmation.

“Well, Kit, maybe you and I could meet and you could bring me up to speed.”

“I’m not working today,” she said.

“Okay, so when are you working?”

“I’m not sure, since no one made the schedule.” At Tyler’s exasperated look, she opened her hands in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, I didn’t know. I thought, as the new owner, you might want to take it on.”

Tyler looked around, feeling a twinge of desperation. “So no one knows when they’re working this week?”

Ten heads shook no.

“Right. Call me later today and I’ll have your hours. Anyone want to work today?”

Ten pairs of eyes exchanged furtive you-do-it glances. He got it. Once a day off was promised, it was hard to let it go. Especially since they’d all given up their morning for a staff meeting.

He’d never thought his first day on the job would be so rocky. Maybe his ego was a little too big. In the arenas, on the road, he was someone special. People wanted his autograph, a handshake, a piece of his attention. But this meeting reminded him that here in Benson, he was still the same screw-up he’d always been.

“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Make sure to put this hour on your time card.” The last sentence was lost in the sound of scraping chairs. It was the most enthusiasm he’d seen so far from the employees. And it all centered on getting the hell out of there.

Well, at least today would give him some time here. He could practice making a few drinks. Maybe he should have considered, before he bought a bar, that he had no idea how to bartend.

He walked to the office and stared at the blank wipe-off calendar titled Schedule. How did he figure out who went where? The lines seemed to bend and blur.

“Welcome to the world of bar ownership.” Kit leaned against the door frame, the position accentuating all the curves defined by her tight black dress.

“Your type of welcome sucks, to be honest. If you want to work for me, don’t act like that in a staff meeting again.”

“Or what? You’ll keep up the family tradition and fire me?”

He tried to process her words. “What are you talking about?”

She straightened, her arms crossed, outraged, across her chest. “Oh, didn’t you know? Your dad fired mine. After my father spent his life working on your ranch.”

Tyler knew he should say something, but shock wiped out any response. Kit’s dad had been Tyler’s mentor. Garth had spent countless hours teaching Tyler how to ride bulls. “When did this happen?”

“A few months ago,” Kit bit the words out, and he could see the emotion she was holding back, in her too-bright eyes and the pink flush staining her cheekbones.