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As soon as she got home, Skye took off her uniform and put it directly into the washer before pulling on worn jeans and a crewneck sweatshirt, dressing in quick jerky movements. She wanted to stop thinking—to turn off her brain and just...be.
As if.
It was going to be another sleepless night. She was certain of that, just as she was certain that Tyler was to blame...although it wasn’t in the way that she usually blamed him. He’d simply uttered a truth that she hadn’t wanted to hear. A truth that had echoed through her brain for the entire trip home.
Mason was a grown man. Mason had made his own choices.
She knew that. But he’d also had an addiction that his friends could have helped him manage. They didn’t. End of story.
She gathered her hair into a ponytail, slapped on a ball cap and headed out the door to take care of her menagerie.
Skye loved animals, as had Mason, which was why she now had so many mouths to feed in addition to the cattle. Cattle she wouldn’t have for much longer if she couldn’t secure a loan to buy the hay she needed to feed them. If she had to sell the cattle at a loss, see all of her hard work go by the wayside, it was going to kill her. She could catch up on the truck payment if she sold, but without that cow money being there when she needed it, she couldn’t afford the ranch. And if she couldn’t afford the ranch, then she was going to have to give up her livestock.
Her animals had been the one thing that had seen her through after Mason had died. How could she even think about giving them up?
Simple. She couldn’t. And she wouldn’t.
Her mini-donkey, Chester, came trotting across the pasture with the old mule, Babe, not too far behind as Skye walked the short distance down the driveway to the barn. Chester ducked under the bottom wire of the fence as if it wasn’t there and continued on to Skye, stopping directly in front of her. Skye reached out to rub his wiry forelock, shaking her head as Babe gave a loud protest from the pasture.
“You know it upsets him when you do this,” Skye chided the little donkey, who rubbed his head on her hip, almost knocking her over. Babe called to his buddy again in his rusty voice, and Skye gave the little donkey a push. “Back to the pasture.”
The donkey showed no signs of minding, so Skye went to the dwindling haystack and tossed several flakes of alfalfa over the fence into the low feeders. Chester shoved his way back under the wire and joined his friend, who was already tossing hay in the air, looking for the good stuff. Vanessa, the Canada goose she’d rescued from the creek when she’d been a hatchling, waddled out of the barn and into the pasture where Skye’s mare, Pepper, and Mason’s gelding, Buzz, grazed near Mr. Joe, the horse who’d raised her. The grass was tall and would feed the three for several weeks. The cows had decent pasture, too, on the remnants of the newly cut alfalfa field. Her closest neighbor, Cliff, had cut her hay twice this year... Thank goodness for good neighbors. But the fields hadn’t produced nearly enough to see her through the winter.
Hay. Money. Problems.
She had one more bank appointment. A smaller bank that was friendly toward ranchers—probably the first place she should have gone, except that it was in a small town thirty miles away from Gavin, and she felt a loyalty to the bank that had given her the mortgage. The bank that was not one bit interested in working with her now that she’d hit a bump in the road.
She understood the concern, but it wasn’t like she wanted the money for a vacation or something. She wanted the money so that she could make money to pay back the bank and thus save them both a lot of headaches and hassle. The bank guy didn’t see it that way.
She felt hopeful about the new bank, though. She’d gone to school with the loan officer and felt certain she could talk to him as a person, explain the run of bad luck and exactly how she planned to work her way through it. One loan. That was all she needed to prove herself.
Jinx the cat came trotting toward her from the direction of the barn and threw his heavy body against her legs. Now that he’d had his night out, he was ready for some TLC, so Skye leaned down and scooped him up.
“Well, Jinxy old boy, I struck out again.”
The cat butted his head against the underside of her chin as if telling her he had total faith in her. She set the cat on the lodge pole fence, and he trotted easily along the top rail to the next post, where he stopped to groom himself.
Ah, to be carefree.
Although, honestly, Skye didn’t need to be carefree. Being a widow had knocked most of the carefree out of her, and she truly doubted that she’d ever get it back. What she wanted was to be secure. Secure enough to not worry about losing her place. Secure enough to provide for her pets and livestock.
Secure enough to not lie awake worrying at night.
Was that too much to ask for?
* * *
SOMETHING WAS UP with Tyler’s cousin, Blaine Hayward. Whenever he shifted his jaw sideways and did the thousand-mile stare instead of making eye contact—or in this case, watching the high school kids practice bull riding in Hennessey’s practice pen—he was dealing with something. And Tyler had a strong suspicion that whatever his cousin was working over in his head involved him. Blaine was dating Angie Salinas from the café, and Skye worked with Angie. Blaine had barely met Tyler’s gaze once that day, which meant that Tyler was probably at the center of whatever.
“Something on your mind?” he finally asked after they’d watched the last practice ride.
Blaine shot him a sideways glance, looking relieved at the question. “I heard you offered Skye a loan.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Because Tyler couldn’t see Skye spreading the word. She had her pride.
“Angie saw the two of you talking yesterday, and asked Skye about it, because...well, you know how things are between you two.”
Yeah. He did.
“And Skye told her about the loan?”
Blaine met his gaze then, dead on. “Skye told Angie that you were trying to buy a clear conscience.”
It took Tyler a couple of seconds to say, “No kidding.” He even managed a fairly reasonable tone, given the circumstances, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to do that. Not with his jaw muscles going tighter every second. Buy a clear conscience? Really, Skye?
Blaine shrugged his big shoulders. “You know she blames you for Mason’s issues.”
“Because Mason was such a saint.”
“She needs to think so.”
Tyler understood that, but still...to accuse him publicly—because anything said to Angie would soon become public—of trying to buy a clear conscience when all he’d wanted to do was to help her?
That grated.
Really grated.
“Don’t do anything to make me regret telling you this,” Blaine muttered. Ty frowned. “I’m serious, man. Angie will kill me.”
Ty gave a nod, somehow keeping himself from pointing out that Angie had probably already filled in half the town, which totally ticked him off. He could deal with being the scapegoat for Skye’s dead husband’s behavior, but he was not going to put up with her spreading blatant rumors about him.
He was going to have a word with Skye. Set the record straight. Most of it, anyway. And he was going to have Skye issue a retraction—via Angie or any other method she chose.
* * *
ANY HOPE SKYE had of negotiating a loan with Marshal Valley Bank was squelched the instant she took a seat at the loan officer’s desk. Dan Peterson wore “the look”—the one that clearly indicated that he’d investigated matters and, even though his bank was smaller and more lenient in their lending practices than most, and even though they’d known each other since high school, Skye didn’t qualify for a second-chance loan.
She gave it a shot anyway after they’d exchanged stiff opening pleasantries. She explained the reason for the mortgage, how she and her husband had accidentally overextended, and because of his gambling addiction had lost the fund that was supposed to see them through rough times. She handed over her figures and explained that there would be no more gambling, that her husband was dead and she was trying desperately to hold on to her ranch.
It was obvious that the guy felt for her, and equally obvious that his answer had to be no.
“For now,” he’d told her when she’d gotten to her feet. She was used to the rubbery-knee, rock-in-her-stomach feelings by now, so she simply smiled when he said, “Come back in six months, when your payments are current, and we’ll talk.”
Six months. Dead of winter. When her cows needed the hay. Right.
“I wish I could do more, Skye, but my bosses—”
“I understand, Dan. Thanks.”
She drove home, racking her brain as to her next move. She could maybe eke out six months. If nothing happened. If the strange sound in the truck’s reverse gear didn’t get more persistent. If the animals all stayed healthy. If she could nail down another part-time job, work eighteen-hour days. It wouldn’t have to be forever. Just long enough to catch up. But it also wouldn’t buy hay for her cattle.
Skye felt tears start to well up, but she blinked them back, suddenly sitting taller in her seat when she saw the truck parked next to her house.
Ty Hayward’s truck.
Unless Jess had borrowed it.
Yeah. That had to be it. But when the man got out of the driver’s seat as she pulled in, she instantly knew it wasn’t Jess. They might be twins, but Ty’s movements were different, smoother, more catlike than Jess’s. More...predatory.
Ty Hayward had come to call, and she hated to think of what that could mean. She was very certain, however, judging from the grim expression he wore, that he wasn’t there to offer her money again.
* * *
SKYE STARTED WALKING toward where Ty stood beside his truck, stony expression firmly in place. Her hair was pulled into a sophisticated-looking bun thing instead of tumbling around her shoulders in dark waves as usual, and she wore a light blue dress with sensible heels.
He instantly surmised that she’d been to another bank and that things had not gone well. Ty told himself he didn’t care.
“Hello, Tyler.” She came to a stop a few feet away from him, just as she had the day before, and adjusted the position of the purse strap on her shoulder, keeping her fingers lightly curled around the black leather.
“Skye.”
“What brings you here today?”
Coolly spoken words, but Ty read uncertainty in her expression. Guilt, perhaps...?
“I’m for sure not here to offer you money.” He took a lazy step forward. “I want you to set the record straight.”
“What record?”
His voice grew hard as he said, “Where do you come off telling people that I’m trying to buy a clear conscience?”
Skye gaped at him. “What?”
He cocked his head. “What part needs repeating?”
“I never told anyone you were trying to buy a clear conscience.”
“Well, that’s the story going around, Skye. I wonder how it started.” He didn’t need any hints as to how it spread. Angie was something. He took another step forward, doing his best to ignore the fact that she looked utterly confused. “I tried to help you, Skye. I wanted to help you. It had nothing—not one thing—to do with my conscience.”
Her chin went up at that. “Nothing?”
He shook his head, realizing then just how deeply ingrained her dislike of him was. She was never going to believe anything but the worst of him, and he wasn’t going to try to convince her otherwise. “I’m wasting my time here.” He turned and started back across the drive toward his truck, cursing his stupidity in driving to her ranch. The damage was done. And realistically, he’d never expected her to be able to make the situation better, but he wanted her to know what she’d done so that she didn’t do it again. Mission accomplished.
He jerked the truck door open, and then, because this could well be the last time they ever spoke, he said, “For the record, I never gambled with your husband.”
An expression of patent disbelief crossed Skye’s face, but before she could speak, he said, “I know it’s really handy to blame me, since you’ve never cared for me. I’m a nice, easy target to make you feel better about things, but here’s the deal—I don’t gamble.”
“Ever?”
“More like never as in...never.”
“You’re saying my husband lied to me.”
Sorry, Mason, but the roosters have come home to roost. “I’m saying he used me as an excuse.”
“You never partied with him.”
“Of course I partied with him. We drank together. A lot. But we never went gambling.”
She looked at him as if he was missing the point. “If Mason had stayed in at night, if he hadn’t drunk too much, then he wouldn’t have gambled. But would you leave him alone? No.”
“He never once said anything about wanting to stay in.” That was the honest truth. “He never acted like he wanted to stay in.” And Tyler hadn’t seen the danger of encouraging him to go out until it was too late. But Mason would have gone out no matter what. Tyler was convinced of that.
“Or you’re not presenting things the way they really were.”
Ty’s eyes narrowed. “Why would I present things any other way?” In other words, why would he lie?
“I don’t know. Guilt, maybe? Public image?”
“I’m not lying, Skye. I know you believe that I’m the reason you’re broke. I’m the reason Mason had hangovers. Yes, you asked me to leave him alone. No, I didn’t do it. But I didn’t encourage him to gamble and lose all of his money—or to gamble some more to try to make it all back. That was fully his thing.”
Tyler’s jaw tightened as he fought the urge to tell Skye the whole truth. To tell her what her husband was like on the road. To tell her that gambling wasn’t the only vice Mason indulged in.
But angry as he was, he couldn’t do that to her.
He also couldn’t handle being in her presence any longer. “You want to hide behind a lie? Fine. Have a good life, Skye.” The words came out bitterly, as if he cared in some way about what she thought, but he didn’t.
“You, too,” Skye said in a stony voice, before walking past him, her heels tilting in the gravel as she made her way around his truck. She was almost directly in front of the vehicle when she stopped dead in her tracks.
Ty followed her line of vision and instantly saw the problem. One of her horses was down, next to the water trough, and from the way it was lying with its neck stretched out and its head at an odd angle, he didn’t think it was napping. He got back out of his truck at the same moment that Skye started running toward the pasture in her heels.
He might be angry. He might have been happy to never see Skye again. But no way was he going to drive away when she had a horse down.
The horse needed help even if Skye didn’t.
Chapter Four (#u9b1a17c3-f462-500b-8da8-c2eea914ba01)
Mr. Joe lay stretched out on the ground next to the water tank, and even as Skye raced toward him, she knew it was too late. She slid to a stop close to his head, dropping to her knees in the dirt and reaching out to stroke his face. His eye came open and rolled up at her. He blinked once and shut his eyes again as he gave a rattling breath.
“No, no, no.” Skye barely registered what she was saying as she stroked his ears and then wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against him, pulling in his scent. This day had been coming. Mr. Joe hadn’t been able to hold weight for the past year, despite her best efforts and bags and bags of senior horse chow, but, dignified gentleman that he was, he’d never shown any sign of weakness or pain. He’d eaten what he could and spent his days ambling around the pasture, hanging with his best buddy, Pepper, or just sleeping in the sun.
Tyler dropped down beside her, checking the horse’s pulse at his throat and then running a gentle hand over the animal’s jowl as his gaze traveled over the horse’s bony frame.
“How old?”
“Twenty-eight.” The words stuck in Skye’s throat. She swallowed and said, “I knew it was coming, but I’m not ready yet.” As if she’d ever be ready.
She jerked her gaze away from Tyler’s before tears could form. Why did he have to be here for this? But he was here and her horse was dying and she had to deal. Again she rested her cheek against her old gentleman’s neck and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out. Denying. She felt the last breath. Felt him go still, but she did not move. Could not move. Mr. Joe had been with her since she was ten. He’d been her 4-H horse, her very slow rodeo horse, her friend, confidant. Companion. After Mason had died, she’d spent hours grooming the old gelding, talking to him, mourning his weight loss and the inevitable, but loving him while he was there to love.
