by Jeannie Watt
“But we’re making a plan before we act. Right?”
“Oh, no way. Why make plans when you can shoot from the hip and compound your mistakes? I’m all about the impulse.”
She shot him a dry look. “I figured.”
“Here’s the thing, Skye—we need to fix the roofs before the weather starts. I say we buy enough stuff to start now and plan later.”
“Any idea what we need?”
“Tar paper. Shingles. Nails.” A bunch of money. “I’ll put it on my credit card until I can access my savings account.”
“I don’t know...”
“I do. We need to roof those buildings soon.”
She put her hand on the edge of the door, narrowing her eyes at him. “Just so we’re straight on this, when I eventually pay off the mortgage—” and he could see by her expression that she had every intention of doing that “—I reimburse you for the repairs. Are you keeping track? Or am I?”
“Half the repairs.”
“Is that what the contract says?”
“That’s what I say.”
“That would give you a continued stake in the ranch.”
“Don’t worry, Skye—you’ll eventually get the place free and clear.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue, then seemed to think better of it...as in, she’d fight this battle at a better time than while sitting in a truck in the parking lot of the expensive lumberyard.
“I’ll keep track,” she said. “And maybe you’d better also keep track, to keep me honest.”
“I’m not exactly worried about your honesty, Skye.”
She shrugged nonchalantly as they walked toward the door. “You never know. I may be an accomplished liar.”
Tyler managed a small smile, but his mouth hardened as soon as she looked away. No. She was not the accomplished liar. Mason had been.
Chapter Eight
Skye did some online research as Tyler spoke with a sales associate at the lumberyard. He was right—they had to deal with this mini-disaster as soon as possible, and if the prices here were close to those at the big-box stores in Bozeman, then they’d buy today. If not, then she voted for taking their chances with the weather. Years of frugality were not easily set aside—especially when her business partner was out of a job for at least a month—probably more if he insisted on hammering. Maybe he wouldn’t do that. Bull riders lived to ride—although they had an unrealistic sense of what they were capable of. Ride with a broken leg? Why not? Two broken feet? Go for it.
Hammering shingles on a roof? Child’s play.
Tyler and Mason were so very similar in that regard that it made her wonder if Tyler would finish the roofs before deciding he was well enough to go back on tour. Mason had started several projects—fence repairs, flooring repairs, corral cleanups—only to abandon them out of necessity and lack of time when he headed back out on tour to earn his living. But roofs were different. Roofs were necessary.
Tyler appeared at the end of the aisle and motioned with his head for her to join him. She’d almost reached him when someone from behind her called his name, and she turned to see Paige Andrews approaching, looking as poised and confident as she had every day of high school, where she’d been student body president and the top scorer on the basketball team. She had a few debating and track honors, too. Paige was an achiever and she liked to be in charge, which worked out well, because she was very good at being in charge.
She came to a stop and smiled at Skye before getting a good look at Tyler’s face and wincing.
“Been practicing your craft, I see,” she said. Tyler’s bruises were blooming, the black turning to blue and the blue to yellow. He looked like a Technicolor raccoon. And, interestingly, Skye noticed color rising in the nonbruised parts of his face as Paige studied him, a faint frown drawing her perfect eyebrows closer together.
“Some days are better than others,” Tyler muttered.
“Bull riding is a crazy occupation.” Paige gave her head a small shake.
“Pays the bills.”
Skye noted that Tyler, who had the social thing down pat, didn’t sound all that friendly. Who wasn’t friendly to Paige?
The woman cast a glance in Skye’s direction. “So you guys are out shopping together?” The unspoken question was obvious. Were they together?
“We’re partners,” Tyler said before Skye could answer.
“Partners?” Now Paige’s eyebrows went up. “In the business sense?”
“Yes.” Skye wanted to get that straight immediately, before the rumors started.
“What kind of business?” Paige seemed truly interested, and not in a gossipy sort of way.
“Ranching,” Skye said simply.
“Ah.” She eased her expensive leather bag off from her shoulder. “I just moved back from Dillon and I’m opening an accounting firm here in Gavin. If you need a ranch accountant—” she pulled a card out of a side pocket of her bag and held it out to Skye “—give me a call.”
“Will do.”
Tyler gave a curt nod, and Skye began to wonder just what the history was between these two. He might not be Paige’s type—she’d always gone for the clean-cut-jock types—but he was gorgeous when he wasn’t all beat up.
Although...yeah...Skye had to admit that he had a strong physical appeal even when he was beat up. He was a beautiful man, but she found wolves and cougars beautiful, too—that didn’t mean she wanted to get close to them. Skye knew trouble when she saw it, and she had recognized Tyler as trouble from the tender age of eleven.
“I need to run,” Paige said with an apologetic smile. “I hope to see you again sometime.”
Paige walked toward the exit, and Skye felt a brief moment of envy as she watched her go. What would it be like to have things so together? When she looked at Tyler, she found him studying her with an odd expression, and she had no idea why. “What?” she asked, figuring if she challenged him, he wouldn’t ask any questions. She was right.
“Nothing.” He frowned and headed toward the counter, where the guy manning the register did a double take when he saw Tyler’s black eyes and stitches.
“I ran into a door,” Tyler muttered. “And I need to price shingles.”
* * *
ONCE THEY GOT HOME, Skye helped Tyler unload the heavy bundles of shingles, dragging them off the bed of the truck into a stack, Tyler doing as much with one arm as she was doing with two. And while Skye knew better than to point out that he was pushing himself too much, she could think it...then remind herself that it was none of her business. She wasn’t married to Tyler. She didn’t need to keep him from hurting himself. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have questions.
“How are we going to get these onto the roof?” Because there was no way either of them could carry a bundle of the heavy, unwieldy shingles up a ladder. “A few at a time?” Which meant trip after trip after trip.
“I called Jess while you were in the house. He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“That’s a relief. We’ll pay him, right?”
“He’s my brother. He’ll get paid—it just may not be in cash.”
Skye decided to let that one go, even though it meant being beholden to yet another Hayward. She pulled the tape measure out of her pocket and started measuring the dimensions of the buildings, jotting numbers in a small notebook as she took them, so that she could calculate areas and determine how many more shingles they needed to buy.
She was just starting to measure the granary when she glanced up to see Tyler studying her with an odd frown. “What?”
“You’re making me think that math really can be used in real life.”
“Funny.”
“Want me to hold the other end of the tape?”
She couldn’t help the surprised look on her fa
ce. “I got it.”
“You don’t need to do everything alone, Skye.”
She gave a small sniff as she snaked the tape out. “I’m used to it.”
“The point is that you don’t have to do everything alone.”
She met his eyes then. Intense eyes surrounded by angry black bruising. “I’m not a twin.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’ve always done things together. I’m an only.”
Tyler let out a breath as he propped his hands on his hips. “Did you do everything alone when Mason was home?”
“Of course not.” Not much anyway...
Tyler’s eyes narrowed as if he’d just read something in her response that he hadn’t expected—which meant she needed to work on her game face.
“He had his responsibilities and I had mine.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t judge what you don’t know about, Tyler.”
“I’m not judging.”
“I think you are.”
“Because it’s easiest to think the worst of me?” he asked, his easy tone of voice belying the hard look in his eye.
Do not react. Think first. Skye glanced down, took her time jotting down the final measurement, then pushed the button to rewind the tape into its case. She hooked the tape onto her belt, carefully stowed the notebook in her pocket, then ruined the effect of total self-control by fumbling the pencil. It dropped to the ground and rolled to Tyler’s boot. He bent down with a small grimace, telling her just how sore he was, and picked it up. He solemnly held it out, and Skye just as solemnly took it.
“I’m not trying to think the worst of you.” She squeezed the pencil so hard that she was surprised it didn’t snap.
“It just keeps happening automatically?”
She let out a sigh. “You rescued me. I owe you.”
“That doesn’t help matters, does it?”
She had to be honest. “No.”
The word was barely out of her mouth when a blast of warm wind came out of nowhere, swirling around them. They simultaneously hunched their shoulders, stepping together as the moving air whipped their coats. Seconds later it was gone.
“Storm’s moving fast,” Tyler said, scanning the dark clouds on the south horizon.
“I have tarps.” She started for the barn, not waiting to see if he’d follow, which of course he did. The tarps were old and covered with thick, choking dust. They worked together to drag them out of the barn, ignoring the hissing of her goose, who took exception to Tyler, a stranger, coming close to her sanctuary on the straw stack. Once outside they shook off the dust, both of them coughing as the dust rose around them, then hauled the first tarp to the granary and covered the grain inside, weighting down the old canvas with sledgehammers, bars and picks that Tyler brought from the toolshed nearby.
“I vote for roofing this building first,” Tyler muttered.
“Yeah.”
They went back for the other tarp and arranged it inside the toolshed. Tyler opened the door of the third half-roofed building, the tack shed, and shook his head. Without waiting for him to speak, Skye said, “Yes. We should move them.”
Realizing that she’d just answered a question that hadn’t been asked, Skye felt an odd rush of emotion. The only other person she’d ever done that with was Mason.
It was just a fluke. The question had been an obvious one. Skye stalked into the tack room and started pulling bridles off hooks and hanging them over the horn of the nearest saddle. She threw a couple of pads on top and hefted the saddle, edging past Tyler, who was doing the same, and headed toward the door.
The rain started as she started up the walk. She dumped the saddle in her living room and headed back for the next load. Three saddles later, her living room was full of tack and all that was left in the shed were the ropes and halters and grooming equipment—things that could get wet without major consequences.
Tyler dumped his load onto the floor just as the rain started hammering on the roof. He went to the door and pushed it closed.
“Need some help arranging this?”
Since her instinct was to say no, and she knew Tyler fully expected her to say no, Skye said, “Yes. Thank you.”
Silently they carried the saddles to the edge of the room, tipping them up so the skirts didn’t curl and draping the blankets and pads over them. Skye brought in a laundry basket, and they filled it with bridles and breast collars.
“Lot of tack,” Tyler said when they were done.
“A lot of it was my dad’s,” Skye replied. They stood side by side, studying the basket, because it was too unsettling to focus on one another—on her end anyway. She had no idea what Tyler felt, but an uncomfortable vibe was once again filling the space between them.
“I noticed that your slick calves have brands.”
“They do,” Skye agreed. Because they were her calves.
“I thought we were going to brand when I got back on break.”
“I decided to do it earlier.”
Her stubborn words hung in the air, but Tyler didn’t engage. “Next year we’ll make a schedule.”
And there it was. Another glimpse of that reasonable side of him that kind of reminded her of his brother. She didn’t want him to remind her of anyone she liked. She wanted to continue their safe, adversarial relationship. She gave a small sniff. “That makes sense.”
His lips curved slightly, as if he knew how difficult it was to make that answer when she wanted to argue with him—to drive a nice deep wedge between them—then to her shock and amazement, he reached up and gently brushed his fingers over the side of her face. She went still as shock rippled through her, then she jerked back.
His hand dropped loosely to his side. “Your cheek is covered with dirt from the tarps.”
“Oh.” The word choked out as her hand went to her face. “I can get it.”
“Yeah.” His mouth tightened. “I’d better go.”
Oh, yes. He needed to go. Because she could still feel the sensation of his hand brushing across her face, and worse than that, she felt herself reacting to his touch in a very unexpected way.
* * *
SMOOTH MOVE, HAYWARD.
Tyler shook his head as he walked through the rain to his trailer. What had he been thinking, touching Skye like that when she’d made it so very clear that she wanted no part of it?
He hadn’t been thinking. He’d been acting on instinct. He wouldn’t be doing that again.
The low-lying clouds made his small living room darker than usual, but Tyler didn’t bother with the lights. Gray day, gray mood. He ate some leftover chicken, stared out the window, paced the short length of the hall. Finally, he made a quick call to his brother, then grabbed his hat and headed for the door. A little Shamrock time would lighten his mood, and he could bribe his brother into helping him with the roofs in exchange for...something.
It was almost dark by the time he parked behind the bar, which was nearly empty. Apparently nobody felt like coming out in the rain on a weeknight, but he was glad to be out of his trailer, off the ranch.
“You’re a wreck,” Jess said as he offered Tyler a chair by shoving it away from the table with his foot.
“It looks worse than it is.” And it wasn’t as if it was the first time he’d had a couple of black eyes and stitches, although this was the first time he’d had the two together.
“More like it could have been worse than it is.”
“That, too.” After hitting the ground, there was always that pregnant pause as the fates decided whether or not a bull rider was going to be kicked, crunched, stepped on or rolled.
“How’s ranch life?”
Tyler tried to raise an eyebrow, but it didn’t go too far. “Skye’s not happy to hav
e me back.”
“Did you think she would be?”
Tyler pulled the beer his brother had waiting for him closer, but he didn’t drink. “I got scammed by a roofing company. Now three of her outbuildings have half roofs and I have to finish them.” He met Jess’s gaze. “I could use some help. Will you be around?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Unfortunately?”
“I was supposed to have a job in Billings, putting up a big-ass metal building, but we’re on the verge of losing the contract.”
“Sorry to hear that. Maybe it’s a sign.”
Jess gave him a humorless smile. “You’re not going to be happy until I’m as ugly as you are.”
“I’m not going to be happy until you use your talents before you’re too old to do so.” He wouldn’t encourage his brother to try for the tour if it wasn’t for the fact that he knew that Jess loved the challenge of bull riding as much, if not more, than he did. But that cautious, build-a-stable-life thing always got the better of him. Being a decent brother, he didn’t point out that the build-a-stable-life thing didn’t seem to be working out all that well.
“It’s supposed to rain on and off all week.”
“And then there may be an early snow. I’ve been watching the forecast.” He finally took a drink. “Will you help me?”
“Happy to.” Jess smiled his then-you’ll-owe-me smile.
They fell into silence, then Jess asked him about his shoulder and Tyler gave him the details—finish the season, consult with his doctor about surgery, hope for a full and rapid recovery so he didn’t miss too much of the following season.
Jess soaked it all in, but Tyler had the feeling that he was also gnawing on another matter as he listened. Finally, Tyler said, “What?”
“You said Skye wasn’t happy to see you.”
“Yeah?”
Jess settled his forearms on the table. “Why did you move onto the ranch?”
“Because if either of us had gained an ounce of weight, we wouldn’t have fit into your camp trailer.”
Jess shook his head. He wasn’t buying. Fine. “To keep an eye on my investment. Be a partner.”