CHAPTER FOUR

      TYLER BLINKED AT the inventory list in front of him. The columns of numbers, units, price per unit, net cost, blurred into a gray blob that ached behind his eyes. He glanced around the small office with its battered desk and dusty window. Maybe he needed more light. He’d pick up a desk lamp at the hardware store later on today.

      He stood, rubbing his temples. Who was he kidding? He’d been trying to get his mind around the paperwork all week. It was his third day as owner of the Dusty Saddle, and he’d made almost no progress with any of the files Chris had left behind.

      It had always been like this for him. Textbooks, manuals, graphs...they all made him dizzy. Words and numbers were tricky things that never seemed to hold their meaning. It’s why he’d left school early. Why he’d left the army. Why he’d chosen rodeo. Bull riding might be dangerous, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as that moment when someone realized he could barely read.

      Laughter rippled into the office and he gave in to the temptation, following the sound to its source. Kit. She was behind the bar, laughing at something one of their customers had said. It was a quiet Wednesday afternoon and the guys looked like backpackers, decompressing after a trip in the mountains. Their cargo shorts, hiking boots and back-turned caps were trail-dusted. Their eager eyes, fixed on Kit, were way too eager.

      How could he blame them? He wanted to plunk himself next to them and stare, too. She was all creamy skin, thick black hair and dark eyes made up even darker, so a guy could lose himself trying to see behind her tough facade.

      Or find himself. Because all that confidence surrounding Kit like heady perfume promised that maybe some of that amused poise would infuse you, lift you up and put your demons on the run.

      Tyler joined her behind the bar and she fixed him with the baleful glance he was getting used to. It wasn’t a welcome, more like an amused tolerance of his presence. “You need anything?” she asked.

      “Just wondering if you want me to fill in for a bit,” he offered.

      She shrugged. “I don’t really need a break yet.” She shot a flirtatious smile to the backpackers. “Plus, we’re having fun here.”

      He was jealous and lost in his own bar. His own business, which didn’t yet feel like his.

      “Do you need a job?” Her smile reminded him of the coiled snake tattooed on her arm. “Because I’m sure I can think of something that needs doing.”

      He jerked his gaze away from her smile. “I saw the order is due in tomorrow. I figured I’d go fill it. Is there a list of what we’ve kept in stock?”

      “On the wall in the storeroom,” she said. “I’ll do the ordering if you like. I always did it for Chris.”

      “If I want to learn the business, I figure I’d better do it myself.”

      She shrugged. “Suit yourself. There are blank order forms on a clipboard on the shelf in there.”

      “Okay.” Tyler felt her eyes on him as he pushed through the door behind the bar that led to the cramped storeroom. Enlarging this space was high on his list of improvements. He unlocked the door that led outside and propped it open, grateful for the infusion of pine-scented air. Picking up the clipboard from the shelf, he took a look at the order form. His eyes crossed.

      More rows and columns. Liquor names listed down the left-hand side. The number of bottles they kept in stock listed next to that. All he had to do was fill in the column with the amounts to be ordered. It was simple. He could do this.

      He started at the top. Vodka. They generally kept two dozen bottles around. He jumped up on a stool, grateful to do something active. He counted four bottles, but they’d use a couple in the next few days. He jotted twenty-four on the list. Made his way to triple sec...rye...rows and rows that started to slither like snakes on the page so he traced across with his finger to make sure he was writing on the correct line.

      Half an hour later he was finished and desperate to escape from any more paperwork. Fortunately, he had errands to do. He was still moving into the house he’d rented a few blocks away from the bar. He needed dishes, cleaning supplies, pretty much everything. As much as he hated shopping, it would be better than more forms or schedules. He set down the clipboard and headed out to the bar.

      Kit was still chatting with the hikers. The scruffy bearded guy was telling Kit a story, gesticulating with hands that housed a woven rainbow-colored bracelet and a thick silver ring, while she polished glasses.

      “Sorry to interrupt,” Tyler said, not sorry at all. “I’m gonna head out for some errands. What time do you want a break?”

      “In an hour. Or later is fine, too.”

      “Okay then.” Still, he lingered, glancing toward the guys at the bar and not liking the way the bearded hiker stared at her backside with the rapt expression of a guy in his own personal heaven.

      “You’ve got my cell number,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t hesitate to call if these clowns try anything.”

      One raised eyebrow messaged her utter disbelief. “These college boys? Please.”

      “I don’t like the way they look at you.”

      She laughed at that. “Tyler, I’ve been doing this job for years. I know how to handle a few hikers. Now go do something useful.”

      She still saw a kid when she looked at him and Tyler felt that old high-school need rise up. The need for her to see him as more than just a buddy. It grated. Here he was, fifteen years later, still wanting her to see him differently. Some things never changed.

      He had to get a grip. Kit Hayes wasn’t the reason he was in Benson. He should focus on what really mattered—making a name for himself, right here in his hometown. Showing everyone who’d doubted him that he was more than a bull rider. More than the kid who’d never been anything but trouble in school and regret in his daddy’s eyes.

      He gave the hikers one last stern look before he headed out the door.

      * * *

      KIT WATCHED TYLER stalk out of the bar and glanced at her phone. Still no message from the High Country Sports Bar, though she’d handed in her application a couple days ago. Lance, a bartender there, had said they might be hiring. But so far, no word.

      She resisted the urge to duck into the storeroom to check Tyler’s order. It was tough to let go of control, especially when he was doing all the jobs she’d done. But he owned the place now, and if he wanted to order and inventory and schedule, well, that was his right.

      She should be happy. She was pulling down the same wages Chris had paid her, but doing a lot less work. All she had to do was chat with customers, make drinks and keep the bar clean.

      She leaned against the counter behind the bar. Tapped a restless foot to the nineties mix playing on the speakers. The thing was, she’d never been much good at just hanging