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?”
“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.
She stared after him, trying to absorb his words. As he walked away, he took her advice and broke into an off-key rendition of “Rhinestone Cowboy.” Then he disappeared around the corner.
Kit closed her gaping mouth and sank onto the cracked cement steps. Tyler had bought the bar? Kit hadn’t even known it was for sale. Chris had never mentioned it. Which stung, since Kit had been bartending for him for the past nine years.
She shoved her head into her hands. For a moment she relished the darkness there, the shutting out of everything. She’d clung to this idea of owning the Dusty Saddle for the past year. Using it as something to focus on besides Arch. Setting it as a goal to keep her satisfied with living in this town and looking after her dad. And now, in a few heartbeats, that goal had vanished.
This sucked. Just like everything had sucked since Arch got out of prison. She shoved off the step, not willing to sit crumpled and defeated. She walked to the edge of the parking lot. When she faced this direction, there were no lights from town to diminish the night sky. The stars exploded across the darkness, layer upon layer of cosmic insanity.
Usually the sky out here took her breath away. Tonight it just made her nervous. Because it reminded her, the way Tyler had, that in the grand scheme of things, she was nothing.
When Arch told her he didn’t want her after all, he’d broken her heart. But at least she’d had her work. A place where she felt she mattered. Now she knew that wasn’t true. The boss she’d worked so hard for had sold the business without a word to her. Under this vastness of stars she was a speck of dust, adrift and floating around this piece of the planet that once felt like home.
Stuck here, belonging nowhere.
Jealousy hit hot despite the cool air. What was it like to be Tyler Ellis? Born and raised in a wealthy ranching family, talented enough to achieve the highest level of his chosen sport. Now sauntering into town with enough money to buy a business that should have been her business.
Ha. Her business in another world, maybe. She was a Hayes. Permanently poor. Born and raised to work for the Ellis family, just like her daddy had.
If she worked for Tyler, would he screw her over, too? Like his father had cheated hers? Probably. Only he’d do it with a sugar coating of cowboy grin and flattering words, because people like Tyler thought the whole world was there just for them.
And why not? Because it was right there for them, waiting at their fingertips. While people like Kit were destined to watch their dreams, slippery as trout in a Sierra stream, wriggle right out of their grasping hands.
CHAPTER TWO
KIT PARKED HER Jeep in the lot in front of the Dusty Saddle. It was early on Tuesday morning, but Chris usually came in about now. She walked to the bar door, shoving it open. “Anybody here?” she called out in the quiet bar.
“We’re closed!” Her boss’s voice came from the small office to her left.
“It’s Kit,” she replied.
“Kitto! What’s up?” Chris appeared, his sweatpants and I’d Rather Be Fishing T-shirt advertising his readiness for retirement. “You’re not on today, right? Did I misread the schedule?”
“It’s my day off, but I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk.”
“Sure. Grab a seat.” He indicated the empty tables she’d polished last night.
Kit picked the c
losest one and sat, trying to ignore the way her heart seemed to rise and stick like a lump of dough in her throat. They’d worked together for almost a decade, and it hit her that she wasn’t just losing the chance to own the Dusty Saddle. She was losing a boss she’d loved. She cleared her throat. “I heard the news. About you selling the bar.”
Chris plopped down heavily, his bulky frame dwarfing the chair. “How? I meant to tell you myself.”
“Tyler came in last night. Drunk. He told me.”
Chris folded his worn hands on the table and huffed out a sigh. “I’m sorry you found out that way. I figured he’d have the sense to check with me before talking to any of my employees.”
“Well, he was beyond sense last night. Celebrating his purchase, I guess. I threw him out.”
That gave Chris pause. “You threw out the new owner?”
“He hadn’t told me he was the new owner yet. And he was giving me a hard time.” Seeing the look of alarm on Chris’s face, she tried to reassure him. “We knew each other really well growing up. I don’t think he’ll be too upset about it. Plus, he deserved it.”
The relief on his ruddy face showed how much Chris wanted this deal to go through. But maybe it hadn’t gone through yet, which meant there might still be hope for her. Kit remembered the opening she’d practiced earlier. “So you’re retiring?”
His shy smile was a surprise. “Yup. I’m finally doing it. Gonna spend my days fishing and my nights watching the stars. I’ve had a good run here—owned this bar for over twenty years. I’ve enjoyed it, but I don’t want to spend another minute of my life behind the bar.”
“Congratulations,” Kit said. And wanted to mean it. He owed her nothing, so why did she feel betrayed? “Is it a done deal? I mean, are the papers signed and all that?”
“Yup, they are,” Chris said. “About a month ago.”
“A month ago,” she repeated. Her disappointment was edged in nausea.
He must have seen her distress because he leaned forward to take her hand. “Hey, it’ll be fine. Tyler will do a great job.”
“But why didn’t you tell me this was going on?” She wouldn’t cry, even though tears were hot under her eyes.
His Last Rodeo Page 2