His Last Rodeo. Claire McEwen
what, Dad?” Kit couldn’t hide the worry that sharpened her voice. “I never see you in town. Jed Watkins asked about you the other day. Said he was concerned because you’ve been missing poker night. And you told him you didn’t want to judge the Benson Rodeo this year. You always judge the rodeo.”
He looked weary. It seemed like the past four months since he’d been let go, as Ken Ellis had called it, had aged him twenty years. “I didn’t much feel like it this year.”
“Because you’re depressed. Have you seen Dr. Miller?”
“I don’t need a doctor. I’m just having a little trouble figuring out what to do with myself all day long. Retirement is an adjustment, right? Isn’t that what they say? So I’m adjusting.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’re adjusting very well.” She knew she was nagging, but worry wouldn’t let her quit. “What about those boards I got for the steps? They’ve been on the porch a month now. They’re cut to size, Dad. All you have to do is yank out the old ones and nail the new ones down.” An idea hit. Manual labor wasn’t her cup of tea but maybe it would wake her dad up a bit. “What if I grab the tools right now and we do it together?”
Her dad glanced at her suspiciously. “You hate building stuff. You hate it if you so much as break a fingernail.”
Kit glanced at her new manicure, the purple polish so dark it was almost black. Twenty bucks and her favorite color, too. “Nah, it’s no big deal,” she lied. “Get dressed. Let’s take our coffee out on the porch and build some steps.”
“If you’re sure.”
“We can pretend each nail is Ken Ellis’s head.” Or Tyler’s.
“Kit Hayes, I didn’t raise you to be vindictive.” He sounded a little like the tough dad she’d known, before he’d lost everything.
“It may be vindictive, but I bet it’s also therapeutic,” she retorted. Pushing. Wanting him to come back to her. “Maybe it will help you with all that adjusting you’re doing.”
He glared at her. But she’d rather see him mad than beaten down.
“Fine. I’ll get changed. You get the tools out of the shed.”
“Sure,” she said, trying to keep the triumph out of her voice and the hope out of her heart. But she shouldn’t hope. Nothing she’d tried for her dad had worked so far.
On the porch, she left her coffee mug on the railing and jumped the steps to the ground. She found a couple crowbars in the shed and brought them to the stairs, using hers to rip out the first board. It felt good. Actually, it felt great to see the old boards come off. For months it felt like things had been happening to her. Arch not loving her. Ken Ellis firing her dad. Tyler Ellis buying the bar she’d been scraping and saving for.
At least in this moment she, Kit Hayes, was ripping up boards. Making something happen. Maybe this could be a turning point for her, too. Because she sure as hell needed one.
The next board splintered, she went at it so hard. Her dad might have lost his way, but she wasn’t letting an Ellis, or anyone, bring her down. She’d already let Arch throw her for a loop when he showed up. It was taking her a while to recover from that, but she was recovering. So with this new setback she’d keep in mind how far she’d come. She’d keep pushing forward. She’d find a new dream. One that Tyler Ellis couldn’t buy out from under her.
TYLER LOOKED AT the bar staff he’d inherited, trying to ignore the dismay prickling beneath his skin. His employees sprawled in the circle of chairs he’d set up in the middle of the bar. And none of them looked very happy to be at this meeting.
The Dusty Saddle didn’t look great, either. It was even more drab than usual in the bright morning light. The stained, scuffed plank floor probably hadn’t been refinished since the bar was built in the early 1900s. Stuffing poked out of ripped brown vinyl booths. Tabletops were covered in drink rings that couldn’t be scrubbed off anymore.
This Monday-morning staff meeting had seemed like a way better idea when Tyler had planned it. He’d seen it so rosy in his mind’s eye. Everyone chatting happily, excited for his first day as owner of the Dusty Saddle.
But there was no excitement. Quite the opposite. Here he was, trying to give an inspirational speech, but he wasn’t sure if anyone had heard a single word.
One of the bouncers, Ernie, a hefty brick of a guy, was playing some game on his phone. Loomis, his fellow bouncer, had one leg slung over the other and was studying the sole of his steel-toed boot. Lila, one of the bartenders, was sleepily twisting a lock of her long red hair, clearly not excited about being at work this early. Her bartending colleagues didn’t look any more enthusiastic. Maybe they were here just to pick up the fifty bucks Tyler had bribed them with to get them into the bar first thing on a Monday.
Tyler tried not to look at Kit, but his eyes kept straying her way. She barely seemed to see him, her face a mask of studied boredom that did little to hide the anger in her eyes.
She was still pissed at him. Well deserved after his drunken visit a week ago. He’d stopped by a couple times this past week in hopes of catching her alone to apologize. But she’d avoided him each time, disappearing to the stockroom or announcing, suddenly, that it was time for her break. And since it was Chris’s last week, Tyler hadn’t wanted to stop by the bar too often. The guy surely needed time to say goodbye to his business and his staff without the new owner breathing down his neck.
Tyler tried again to inspire some enthusiasm. “Picture the bar expanded.” He pointed north. “This whole wall will be moved out, doubling our seating capacity. Then we’ll build a second bar in the new addition—an area especially for sports fans. That way, we can give the High Country a run for their money on weekdays.”
Lila’s eyes rolled in Kit’s direction. Kit’s answering shrug was the embodiment of whatever.
Yeah, he was really firing them up. Any more enthusiasm and they’d be asleep.
Ernie raised a beefy hand and Tyler nodded to him, relieved that finally someone cared.
“Does this mean we’ll get more hours?”
Hallelujah for something he could say yes to. “Once we’ve renovated and we’re up and running, you’ll definitely have more hours if you want them.”
Mario, one of the part-time bartenders, yawned. So much for wowing them. Tyler’s gaze went to Kit with a will of its own. She was staring somewhere over his shoulder. He followed the direction of her gaze. She was watching the clock.
This chat wasn’t working, but he didn’t know what else to do except keep going. “We’ll have a lot to offer once the renovations are complete. I’d like to add a restaurant with an outdoor barbecue area. And a stage and a dance floor. I’m going to restore the barn and build a small arena. I’m hoping to start a rodeo school. Any questions?”
Of course not.
Then a hand came up. Not one he wanted to choose. “Kit?”
She gave him a smile laced with ice. “Are you gonna give us a raise?”
Damn it. Trust her to ask what he couldn’t answer. “I’m still going over the figures. I’ll know more after I draw up cost projections, revenue estimates, stuff like that.”
She gave him a cool look. “It just seems like if you have all this money to transform the Dusty Saddle into a one-stop cowboy experience, you must have enough to compensate the people who’ll be doing all the work.”
Ouch. Her cutting summation of his plans stung. She was walking a thin line, but he’d be cool about it, for now. “I’ll work hard, too. And I won’t pay myself until we’re profitable. I’ll certainly consider raises once we