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“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.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
His dad nodded and turned away, striding toward his office. Hurrying away from the one son who made no sense to him. Who never had. Who probably never would.
Tyler watched him go, wondering what it would take for his dad to see him as a success. A long time ago he’d thought it would be all those junior rodeo trophies. When he grew up, he thought it would be winning the world championship or making good money. When he decided to retire from rodeo, he thought it might be buying a business and a big piece of property. But nothing had changed. In Ken Ellis’s eyes, Tyler was just a disappointment. The third son, who didn’t fall in line with the first two. A problem he couldn’t fix. Same as always.
Tyler glanced at the congealed meal and shuddered. He scraped the food into the garbage and rinsed the plate. He needed coffee and lots of it. He wished he could eat at the café in town, where the food was hot and the waitresses flirted with him. Where he could be reminded that for a few sweet, short rodeo years, he’d been a hell of a lot more than the Ellis family loser. But he had work to do. So he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and went to find his brothers.
* * *
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 (#u9fb55c7e-799c-58cf-a126-c04c327f2721)
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.”
