A Bull Rider to Depend On

by Jeannie Watt

  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 d
amage 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

  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.

  Now the inevitable had happened, and another big hole opened up in her heart.

  Tears now soaked the old horse’s mane, and her cheek felt grimy from the pasture dust sticking to it. She blinked hard again, then pushed back onto her knees, small rocks biting into her flesh as she ran her hand over the gelding’s soft coat one more time.

  She knew Tyler stood a few feet away now, but she kept her eyes on the horse. He’d best not try to touch her, comfort her. She didn’t need other people to help her deal with her loss. She was a master.

  And there was always the fear that she would break down if she had the luxury of human contact as she mourned. When she’d lost Mason, people had gathered near, helping in any way they could, while she was still numb, still going through the motions. It wasn’t until she was once again alone that the pain had ripped through her, burning in its intensity as she faced an empty ranch, empty house, empty bed.

  Tyler moved a few steps toward her, then stopped as she shot him a look.

  He let out a breath, pressed his lips together. There were lines of strain on his face, as if he wasn’t certain what to say or do. There was nothing he could say or do. Her horse was gone, and he was there when she didn’t want him to be.

  “Do you want me to call Jess?”

  “Why?”

  “He’s better with the backhoe than I am.”

  The backhoe. He was going to help her bury Mr. Joe. “I...uh...” She wiped the back of her hand across her damp, sticky cheeks, then lifted her chin as new tears threatened. “I’ll call Cliff.” Her five-mile-down-the-road neighbor.

  Tyler’s expression hardened. “Or Jess and I could bury your gelding.”

  “I’m not trying to be ungrateful.” But it was her right at the moment as grief once again wrapped around her.

  “You just want me off the property. I get it. Wish granted.” He turned and headed toward his truck.

  * * *

  TYLER SMACKED THE steering wheel with the heel of his hand as he waited at the crossroad for a slow-moving cattle truck. Always the bad guy. He was getting pretty sick of being the bad guy—especially when he hadn’t done anything. Okay, he’d purposely defied Skye, but not in a way meant to do her harm. Everybody partied while on the road, and Mason would have been as likely to stay in his hotel room when everyone else was having a grand old time as he would have been likely to quit bull riding to become an accountant.

  Tyler pulled out onto the gravel road, debating about whether to call Jess and tell him to go bury the old horse, or whether to let Skye handle it on her own. He’d hated leaving her alone, but it seemed as if staying would have made her even more unhappy.

  He’d tried to be nice. Twice. He was done.

  Jess wasn’t there when he got home aft
er a quick stop at the grocery store.

  He let himself into the unlocked trailer, set down the bags and opened the tiny cupboard next to the stove. There was a reason he was eating out more than he should. It was hard to cook in the camp trailer, and even harder to keep enough food on hand. He had to step over his gear as he made his way to the kitchen, so he stopped and pushed it out of his way with his foot as best he could. He wasn’t crazy neat, like his brother, but even he was getting tired of stepping over and around everything in order to move through their living space.

  He had to get out of there while he and his brother were still on speaking terms—that was a given. His first event was in two weeks, but sometimes he had his doubts as to whether they would last that long. Jess was a peaceful guy, but even he had his limits, and living in close contact with his twin was pushing them. Tyler opened the cupboard, then closed it again and leaned his forehead against the fake wood.

  When a guy was a winner, he shouldn’t feel so much like a loser. What was he doing here in this tiny trailer, making his brother feel cramped and uncomfortable?

  Ty shoved the full bag of perishables into the fridge and then left the trailer. He needed to move, try to shake this thing that kept bothering him...whatever that thing was.

  It took him only a few miles of road to pinpoint the thing.

  Being wrongly accused. He hadn’t tried to keep Mason on the straight and narrow, but he hadn’t encouraged him to stray either. Not in gambling, nor in any other way. He’d just been a friend. Someone to party with. If it hadn’t been him, then it would have been someone else. Mason rode hard and played hard. As far as he knew, he was a good husband to Skye—except for when he wasn’t.

  The parking lot at the Shamrock was full. Tyler parked close to his usual spot in the wide gravel parking lot behind the building but didn’t get out of the truck immediately. Did he want to socialize?

  The fact that he was questioning the matter told him no. He did not. Rare, but it happened, especially when something was eating at him.