His Last Rodeo. Claire McEwen
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her favorite topic, but she’d take anything over this boredom.
“What can I get you?” she asked. And when the pints were on the counter, “So how’s the research been going lately?” And willed herself to be fascinated by the hunting behavior of the long-nosed leopard lizard. And to ignore the unruly part of her mind that kept wondering when Tyler would walk into the bar again.
Because something was different. In all of her mixed-up feelings around him taking over the bar, there was this awareness of him. Of how he moved with an intense power and grace that was probably what kept him on the back of a bull long enough to be called a champion. Of the way his smile slid sideways to reveal a wry humor, as though he’d seen more ups and downs than most people. Of the creases around his eyes that gave his face a lived-in look and roughed up his beauty enough to keep it manly.
How could she not notice it? Every woman did. Even Lila had been talking about Tyler the other night when Kit went to her friend’s house for dinner. She’d gushed so much that Ethan, her fiancé, had finally said he was coming to the bar to check this Tyler guy out. He’d said it laughingly, because he and Lila had a bond that was unbreakable. But he was definitely curious.
Kit had to remember that Tyler was her boss now. He wasn’t the kid she’d had hay fights with, swam in lakes with and thrown snowballs at. Their past didn’t mean much now that he signed her paychecks. And until she heard from the High Country, she needed those paychecks. So she had to ignore these confusing feelings that had her glancing toward the door.
Lizards, she reminded herself, smiling at the biologist who, thankfully, seemed oblivious to her wandering mind. Focus on the lizards.
* * *
IT WAS TYLER’S first Friday night behind the bar. It didn’t matter how many times he reminded himself that he’d spent the past decade riding bulls whose sole desire was to get him off their backs so they could stomp him to death. After that, nothing should make him nervous. But this did.
So he kept himself busy, slicing lemons at the counter behind the bar. Away from the customers so he’d have a chance to observe a bit before he jumped in.
Kit was on the schedule tonight. Apparently she and Lila usually worked Friday nights together, along with Tim. Ernie and Loomis were by the door ready to bounce anyone who got too rowdy.
He’d understood the books enough to see that most of the bar’s income was generated on weekend nights. But he also knew how busy the High Country got on the weekends. Benson wasn’t a big town, so he was curious to find out who spent so much money at the Dusty Saddle.
The jukebox in the corner was pounding out one country hit after another. It was still light outside, only about six. This time of year, it wouldn’t get dark for another hour. But the door of the bar flung open and the first customer came in, and Tyler couldn’t help but stare.
The guy looked like something out of a history book. His faded canvas pants and flannel shirt weren’t too surprising around Benson, but his beard was down to his belly and the lines in his face spoke of twenty-four hours a day in the elements.
Then the old-timer spotted Kit and his face lit up in a boyish grin. “There’s my angel,” he called as he strode across the room to shake her hand, which turned into a hearty, across-the-bar hug and a fatherly peck on her cheek. He did the same for Lila, and gave Tim a hearty handshake and clap on the shoulder.
“How’s it going, Crater?” Kit pulled a pint glass from the rack above. “Did you have a good week out there?”
“Better than most.” The big man parked himself on a stool that looked impossibly small for his frame. “You know mining. One minute you think you’re striking it rich, the next you’re chipping away at nothing.”
Mining? Tyler had forgotten there were still solitary miners out here. Scraping out silver and gold in high desert claims, burrowing into veins the mining companies had deemed too small when they pulled out of the area years ago.
Kit put the glass under the Guinness tap, poured a perfectly built pint and set it on the counter. “Peanuts?” she asked.
“You betcha.” Crater took a long haul of his pint then sighed, swiping the foam off his mustache with his sleeve. “You all are a sight for sore eyes as usual.”
“We know the weekend’s starting when you show up,” Lila said kindly. “It’s great to see you, Crater.”
The door swung open again and a tall, thin man ambled in. “Evening, Crater,” he said in a quiet tone that still carried in the nearly empty bar.
“Stan.” Crater held out a meaty paw that encompassed the other man’s bony hand. “Good to see you. Good week?”
“Not bad.” Stan nodded gravely, shaking hands with the entire bar staff. “Not bad.”
Kit placed a pint of lager in front of Stan and set a shot glass down. “Bourbon?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Stan said. “Care to join me, Crater?”
“Not for me, my friend. Gonna take it easy tonight.”
“Hard to take it easy when it all goes down so easy,” Stan replied, lifting his shot glass in a somber salute.
Crater let out a guffaw and slapped Stan on the shoulder. The bourbon sloshed in his glass, but Stan managed to gulp it before it spilled.
Tyler moved on to slicing limes, listening as Stan and Crater discussed the price of silver. A couple other older customers, Doug and Marcus, joined them. When Kit came to the sink to wash some glasses, Tyler grabbed a towel to help dry. He kept his voice low. “Are those guys really miners?”
“Yep.” Kit dunked the glasses in the soapy water. “We get all kinds of interesting characters here. Miners, shepherds, rock hounds, UFO hunters.” She grinned at him. “All the wild folks who love this part of the desert show up at the Dusty Saddle.” She glanced at his towel in horror. “Use the lint-free kind.” She handed him a towel from the stack on the shelf over the sink. “Jeez, you are green, aren’t you?”
“Green at this,” he admitted. “But rumor has it I’m a pretty quick study.”
“Well, I guess we’ll find out if the rumors are true,” she teased. “It’s your first Friday night, isn’t it?”
“It sure is.” He tried to smile, but it felt a little weak. “I’m looking forward to it. But I’ve got a few nerves.”
“You should. You have no idea what you’re doing.” Her intoxicating combination of sass and mischief had the glass slipping out of his hand, so he had to hustle to catch it.
“Nice reflexes,” she murmured. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”
“If you help me out tonight, there is. I can pour a pint—”
“Barely.”
“—and measure out a shot. But if I get anything more complicated than that, I’m toast.”
“You don’t know your cocktails?”
“Don’t drink ’em myself. I’ve been reading recipes, but I’m more of a hands-on learner.” A nice way of saying that half the words he read made no sense. He glanced hopefully in her direction. “I just need a good teacher.”
“You want me to train you? You won’t be embarrassed?”
“When you rodeo, you learn by falling on your ass in front of hundreds of people. This can’t be more humiliating than that.”
She studied him from underneath her thick black lashes. “What’s in it for me?”
“A boss who’s not totally incompetent?”
Her slow smile could melt metal. “But that could be kind of fun to watch.”
“No shit-show is fun to watch for long. Plus I saw you with those customers.