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“You mean fiancée,” Kit corrected. “And it’s good that you miss him. It means you like him a lot. Which is great, since you’re marrying him.”
Lila grinned, just like she did every time Kit mentioned Ethan or marriage. “I guess you’re right. It’s just a little weird.”
“You’re not used to being in love yet. You’re still getting used to feeling safe and settled.” Kit gave Lila a light kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you so happy. Go cook him a meal or something wifely like that. Or work on your photographs—the show is only a couple months away.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m so nervous. Which is why I’m probably going to cook. Procrastination is my solace.”
“Your photos are gorgeous.” Lila took photos of ordinary life around Benson. But somehow she made a simple piece of sagebrush look like a feather, or a high mountain ridge look like it was molded from glistening silver. “Trust me. Every tourist in Mammoth is going to buy one when they walk into that gallery.”
“I hope so.” Lila glanced at the stack of books in Kit’s arms. “Want me to take those for you?” She tucked her own book under her arm and held out her hands. “You can stop by tomorrow to pick them up.”
Kit didn’t comment on Lila’s change of subject. She was private—probably uncomfortable even admitting she was nervous. “No, thanks. It’s Monday night. The bar will be empty, just like you said. If I get my work finished, I might have time to read.”
“Call me if you get bored with your self-help. We can chat.”
“Will do,” Kit promised.
They started down the steps. Lila’s white Jeep was parked behind Kit’s red one. When they’d first met, they’d bonded over their almost-identical cars.
Kit shot one last glance at the stoplight, then shook her head. Lila was right. It had been over a year since Arch had gotten out of jail. Over a year since he’d told her he loved another woman. Kit had to move on.
Maybe she’d find the magical words she was looking for in these books. Some insight that would end this endless heartache. But she was getting the feeling that the words she needed to hear hadn’t been written yet.
Or maybe there was no cure for a love like hers. Sometimes she wondered if she’d missed Arch so much, for so long, that missing him had become another part of her. An extra limb she’d grown, like an obsolete tail, crafted from layers of her own stupidity, slowing her down as it dragged along the ground.
Kit climbed into her Jeep and dumped the books on the passenger seat. It was a short drive to the Dusty Saddle. She rolled down her windows, hoping that the rain-tossed breeze would blow some sense of hope in along with it. A promise of something new to help her get over this musty old heartache.
* * *
THE HANDS OF the old Budweiser clock above the bar were moving backward. Kit was sure of it. As she watched, it paused, then the minute hand lurched backward, like it was trying to gather the momentum to go forward. But it never did.
Kind of like her life, Kit thought. She definitely lacked momentum. Arch’s moving on, Lila’s getting married, had made that pretty clear.
She wiped a tiny smudge on the bar. The Dusty Saddle was never busy on Mondays, but tonight it was completely empty. The regulars must be home nursing their weekend hangovers. The younger crowd was probably at the High Country Sports Bar, which offered all the games on its multiple TV screens, and drink promotions to go with them.
She’d hoped to keep busy tonight, but she’d unpacked the order in the first hour of her shift. Finished the inventory in the second hour. Then she’d scrubbed every possible surface during the next three hours. Now she had three hours to go and nothing but silence to keep her company. The Dusty Saddle was located on the edge of town, and since Benson was nestled against the east side of the Sierras, it was eerily quiet. If Kit poked her head out the door, she could probably hear coyotes howl. Or maybe an owl or two.
She went behind the bar to get a glass of ice water. Then she pulled a book off the stack she’d left there. Healing a Broken Heart by someone named Dr. Melinda Mellton. The doctor’s calm, radiant smile on the cover had pulled Kit in. She wanted to look and feel that happy. And even if Dr. Melinda’s contented glow was Photoshopped, the word healing in the title held some promise.
Kit leafed through the first few pages, stopping at the section called “The Broken Heart Questionnaire.” Dr. Melinda wanted to know if she was having trouble eating or sleeping, how long she’d been sad, was she dreaming of the person she’d lost. The questions went on for two pages. Mentally answering yes to almost every one, Kit read the analysis of her results. Melinda informed her that, given the number of times Kit had answered yes, it was clear that she had a broken heart. Duh.
She slammed the book on the counter. She didn’t need a book to tell her that. Pushing away from the bar, she paced the empty room a few times, pausing to throw a few darts at the dartboard. Bull’s-eye. Wandering to the bar, she stared at Dr. Melinda’s photo. Maybe the questionnaire was dumb, but Kit was desperate for something, even a few words of wisdom to give her hope that she’d feel better soon. She sat and opened the book again.
Chapter 2 was titled “Surviving.” That seemed like a good place to start. Surviving was all she’d been doing lately. She was relieved to realize that Dr. Melinda did actually know what it was like to live with a heart made of lead.
“Can’t a guy get a drink around here?”
Kit grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling off her stool. She’d been so engrossed in Dr. Melinda’s sympathetic descriptions of heartache that she hadn’t heard anyone come in.
A man stood a few feet away, his black cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes. But the brim didn’t hide the broad shoulders or the muscular arms bulging out of his tight black T-shirt. She slid off her stool and hurried behind the bar. “Sorry about that. You sneaked up on me.”
“That must be some book you’re reading.” The man took a few steps toward where she’d been sitting and glanced at the cover. “Healing a Broken Heart? Really? You were always the one breaking hearts, if I remember it right.” He tipped up the brim of his hat and she saw the face of an old friend.
“Tyler Ellis! I didn’t recognize you under that grown-up hat of yours.”
His lazy grin could melt an iceberg. “All grown up and ready for a beer.”
Kit reached for a glass to give herself a moment to regroup. Tyler wasn’t just grown up. He was gorgeous. She’d known that, of course. He was a world champion bull rider, and his wide, cocky smile was a common sight in the local paper, which covered his successes religiously.
But the photos hadn’t done him justice. He smiled at her with a confidence that must work magic with rodeo fans, because it was making even her jaded knees feel wobbly.
She straightened her spine. The last guy she’d felt wobbly for was Arch, and look how that turned out. She gestured toward him with the empty glass. “What are you drinking?”
He glanced at the taps. “Pale ale, please.”
Kit poured the local ale. Watching it foam was far more relaxing than watching Tyler. She stole a quick glance. Yup, he was gorgeous. He always had been, even in high school. Back when they’d been best friends.
Back before Kit had fallen head over heels for Arch Hoffman. And gotten herself involved in stuff she shouldn’t have.
Back before Tyler had worried about her, and told her to leave Arch, and they’d had the fight that ended their friendship.
Back before Tyler had quit high school and left town.
Kit had managed to avoid him every time he’d come to Benson since then.
“It’s been a while,” Tyler said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.
“It sure has.” Kit slid the pint across the bar, a small peace offering. “It’s on me.”
“What have you been up to all this time?” He sat heavily on a bar stool and took a gulp of the ale.
“Not too much.” What could she possibly tell him? He’d joined the army. Then joined the rodeo, started winning, become one of the Professional Bull Riders big stars. His looks had gotten him product endorsements and modeling contracts. He’d been in magazines, commercials, on billboards even. And all she could say about the past fifteen years was not much. “I’ve worked here, mostly.”
“You must like this place.” He paused, like he wanted to say something about that. Instead, he picked up her book. “So why are you reading this?”
No way would she tell him she was still hung up on Arch Hoffman. Not when he’d lived this incredible life while she’d stayed stuck right here in Benson. She made a grab for the book, but he held it out of reach. Just like they were kids again, growing up on his family’s ranch, with her daddy working for his.
The warmth she’d felt at seeing him seeped away slowly at that thought, leaving a hollow anxiety behind. Her dad had been so good to Tyler. He’d been a mentor and a friend. He’d taught Tyler how to ride bulls. Did Tyler know that his father had fired Kit’s? Was he complicit in it?
She could feel anger rising. “It’s a library book—don’t mess it up.” She reached for it again, but she was short and he stood, so she didn’t have a chance.
His grin dimpled wide and he took a few steps back from the bar. Wobbly steps.
Kit froze, taking in, for the first time, the slight flush to Tyler’s face, his untucked shirt. “Hey. Are you okay?” She crooked a practiced finger, summoning him closer, in full bossy-bartender mode now. He obeyed, moving unsteadily to the bar.
Studying his green eyes, she noticed a lack of focus there. He’d always had a sharp gaze. Piercing, even. “You’ve drunk a lot already.”
His answering nod was somber, as if they were sharing a profound moment. “Yes. I have.”
“Good to know.” She pulled the pint off the bar and set it on the counter behind her, out of his reach.
“Hey! I was enjoying that.”
“Great. You can enjoy it another night, when you’re not stumbling drunk.”
He shook his head and swayed a little. How had she not seen this before? “I’m not stumbling.”
“That’s because you’re hanging on to the bar stool.”
He glanced at his hand, white-knuckling the stool, and looked puzzled. “I am. Must have been the shots I had right before I came here.”
He set the book on the bar and Kit quickly placed it with her others, safely out of reach. “You need to get home and sleep this off,” she told him.
“You’ll go with me?” The tilt of his eyebrow might have been seductive if he’d been remotely sober.
“If you’re going to be an idiot, don’t talk,” she snapped.
“Right,” he said. “Good advice.”
“Smart boy. Now let me call someone to pick you up.”
“It’s early. And I want to be here.” He slid carefully onto the bar stool and folded his forearms on the bar, looking at her quizzically. “I’m just trying to figure out how in the hell you got more beautiful than you were. How is that even possible?”
She didn’t hide the roll of her eyes. “Beer goggles make anything possible.” She poured a glass of water and set it in front of him. “Drink this. And then let’s get you home before you say any more stuff you’ll regret later.”
“I won’t regret saying it. Should have said it years ago.” He pulled his hat off his head and set it on the stool next to him. She’d forgotten his hair. Kind of a reddish brown, straight as a board, and he still wore it just a little too long. “I came back here a couple times. To host the Benson Rodeo, make some guest appearances, stuff like that. How come I didn’t see you then?”
“Maybe because I don’t watch rodeos. Or maybe because you got your drinks elsewhere. Kind of like you did earlier tonight. Were you at the High Country?”
“Yup.” He nodded. “Great bar.”
“Sure, if you like cocktails and big-screen TVs.”
“And you don’t?”
“I prefer the basics. Good beer. Good customers.” She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What are you doing in town, so messed up on a Monday night, anyway?”
“A few of my buddies threw me a party. A celebration.”
“What are you celebrating?”
He hesitated a fraction. “Moving home.”
She’d been expecting him to say another rodeo win or another endorsement deal. Certainly not this. “You’re moving to Benson? No more rodeo?”
His head moved in one emphatic shake. “Nope.”
He’d lived and breathed bull riding since he was a kid. “Tyler, that’s a big deal. How come you quit?”
“A lot of reasons.” He took a sip of water then swirled the glass, watching as if it was actually interesting.
“Suddenly you don’t want to talk, when we’re talking about you.”
He shrugged. “Not much to say. I had a great run. I won some titles and made a bunch of money. And I was lucky that I did all that and didn’t get hurt much. But I saw a lot of friends get pretty torn up. Figured I’d quit while I was still in one piece.”
“But you’ll miss it.” It was a guess, but she saw the way his eyes widened a little.
Then he hiccuped and blinked a few extra times. “Excuse me. It’s possible that I may have celebrated a little too much.”
“Yeah. Which is why I’m suggesting, again, that you get home to sober up.”
“Don’t really want to do that.” His arms folded across his chest in a three-year-old’s version of stubborn.
“Fine. Have it your way.” She grabbed a clean cloth to start polishing glasses.
Tyler was quiet for a few moments. Unfortunately, his attempt at restraint was no match for the alcohol in his system. “You know those self-help books you’re reading are a con, right?”
She glared at him. “They’re just books. Maybe I’ll learn something, maybe I won’t.”
“They won’t cure what’s hurting you.” He leaned forward, as if he was about to share a secret. “The only cure for heartache is a good beer and a good lay. I’d be happy to help...”
“Stop!” He might be an old friend and a local hero, but she didn’t tolerate harassment. Ever. “You need to get the hell out of my bar if you’re going to be a jerk.” She moved toward him, grabbed his hat and clapped it on his head. And if she was a little rough, well, maybe he deserved it. She yanked him off his stool. He staggered into her, throwing an arm around her shoulders for balance.
She took a few steps to counter his weight and regained her footing. Dealing with drunks came with the territory. But dealing with Tyler felt a little different. Because he’d been a friend, she reminded herself. It was that old familiarity that had her noticing the way his body pressed warm and hard against hers. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here.”
“No car,” he told her. “My buddy took the keys.”
“He’s a good friend. You should thank him tomorrow.” She walked Tyler across the room, then shoved open the door so they both stumbled out into the cool night air. “You can walk home. It will do you good. Or sing really loud and the sheriff will pick you up and give you a ride. Of course, he might cite you for disturbing the peace, but I hear the fines are pretty small.”
“You’re the best, Kit.” He pulled her in closer, leaning down as if to plant a kiss on her mouth. She ducked out from under his arm and instinctively stuck her foot behind his. A quick shove on the shoulder and he was flat on his back in the gravel.
He stared at her, and she almost laughed at the shocked expression on his face. “Don’t kiss me,” she told him. “I’m not part of your celebration.”
His smile returned, slow and wide. He sat up and grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, setting it on his head. Then he shoved himself up and staggered a few steps to get vertical. “You haven’t even asked what I’m celebrating.”
“Your retirement. You told me, remember?”
“Nah... Not sure if I want to celebrate that. There’s more. A new business venture.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” she told him.
“Sure you do.”
“Fine,” she said, packing as much sarcasm as she could into her tone. “What venture would that be? Something on your daddy’s ranch?”
He laughed as if she’d said something truly funny. “Nah, my brothers have that covered.” He took a few uneven steps, grinning at her in the faint glow of the outside lights. “You, Kit Hayes, are looking at the new owner of the Dusty Saddle.”
He took a few more steps, tipped his hat, then turned, stumbling down the street toward the center of town.
