wasn’t a tattoo he’d have imagined for her, but then again, what did he know? They’d both changed a lot since they were kids.
Pushing those thoughts aside, he directed his attention to the papers she’d laid out.
“Here are the schedule requests,” she said. “Everyone fills one out each week, or they get what they get and no griping.”
“Okay.” He picked one up and read over it. “Loomis only wants weekends?”
“He’s full-time at Lone Mountain Ranch during the week.”
“Got it.”
“So once you’ve gone through the request sheets and you know what everyone wants, you plug them into the calendar on the office wall.”
“It sounds pretty straightforward.”
“It is, sometimes. Other times, everyone wants the same thing so you have to be diplomatic. This week, for example, everyone wants to work Saturday night. And, for that matter, so do I.”
“Why this Saturday?”
“The Benson Spring Fling. Huge crowd. Good tips.”
Tyler remembered the Fling, with its rummage sale, the art walk downtown, horsemanship demos at the fairgrounds. And he remembered one Spring Fling especially. He and Kit had met up as the day became dusk, and ended the night in the back of a cop car.
She might have remembered it, too, because her pale skin tinged pink. Or maybe she wished he’d hurry up and learn the scheduling so she could get out of here.
“So how do I decide?”
“You’re the boss. Figure it out.”
“But what would you do?”
“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” Her feral-cat smile gave no guarantee she told the truth.
“Right.”
She took a slow slip of her water, regarding him levelly over the glass. “It’s a little surreal, you know, that you’re going to be my boss.”
“So that means you’ll stay and be my employee?” He said it lightly, but it was a real question and they both knew it.
She studied him for a moment, as if considering a serious answer. Then all her sass and attitude were back. “If you’re really, really lucky.” She slid off her stool. “I’ve got to go. Make sure you put me on for Saturday night.”
She gave him the opening. Not his fault if he took it. “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.”
Laughing low, she grabbed her bag. “Story of my damn life. See you around, Tyler.”
He watched her saunter out of the bar, riveted by the way her hips moved, by the fall of her hair when she shook it down her back, by the brittle note he’d heard in her laugh that made him wonder if she was really laughing at all.
* * *
KIT BLINKED, the bright sunlight of the parking lot accosting her after the dim light inside the bar. Round two with Tyler. At least she hadn’t knocked him down this time. That was an improvement.
But not a great one. She hated feeling out of control, but that’s how she’d been in that staff meeting. She knew she was being rude, but somehow she’d been unable to stop. She’d been overcome with a fiery resentment that Tyler could walk in and have the power to change the bar she loved. Just because he had money.
Her thoughts stopped her in her tracks and she fumbled for her keys, absorbing the idea. They’d been friends growing up, but he’d always been the rich kid. The one with the horses they rode, with the truck, as they got older. He’d always had so much to offer, and she’d just tagged along behind.
Is that what all of this fury was really about? Whatever the reason, she had to get it under control. Tyler was right to reprimand her. Her behavior at the meeting was childish and rude. If she wanted to keep working at the Dusty Saddle, she’d have to learn to keep her mouth shut.
She located her keys, but instead of opening the Jeep she leaned against it, looking west toward the immense Sierra peaks, as tumbled and jagged as the jealousy that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in her soul. It had been there ever since Arch came to town and fell in love with Mandy. But now the jealousy encompassed the bar, too. Because once again, something she’d wanted had been scooped up by someone else. Someone who couldn’t appreciate it the way she did.
She shouldn’t keep working here. Not if it ate at her like this. Not if it was going to bring her to this place where she didn’t want to be, wishing so badly for what someone else had.
She’d lied to Tyler about not being able to work today. About having something on her calendar. She had nothing. Just a pile of self-help books and a long afternoon in front of her. Maybe she’d make use of it to fill out an application for a job at the High Country Sports Bar. Because clearly it was time for a change.
* * *
TYLER PULLED HIS truck alongside his father’s cattle barn and cut the engine. A ranch hand had pointed him this way, saying that his father was here looking over a new bull. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the spring sunshine on his face. The warmth felt good after all the tension this morning. He still couldn’t decide what was worse. His challenging staff meeting, or learning that his dad had fired Garth.
There was also the way he kept thinking about Kit. That wasn’t great, either. Because she was beautiful and sexy as hell, and he had no business noticing that. Maybe it was a little twisted, but he’d kind of liked the way she stood up to him. He wasn’t used to it. The women he met on the road were drawn to him because they liked rodeo cowboys. They’d flirted with him and fawned on him more with each victory. Kit, on the other hand, seemed totally unimpressed. It was strangely refreshing.
Tyler shoved his shoulder into the door of his truck when he opened it, not because it was stuck shut but because he needed the impact to jar him out of his reverie. Kit was his employee, and hopefully, still his friend. He should just be grateful for her help with the schedule today.
He should be focused on the injustice his dad had done to hers.
“Dad,” he called as he stepped into the barn. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the shadows and spotted his dad at the end of the center aisle. He walked toward him, trying to assemble the words he needed to say into some kind of coherent order.
“Tyler.” His dad nodded at his approach. “Check out Red Letter.”
The Hereford bull was knee-deep in straw, chewing on alfalfa hay. He eyed Tyler balefully, so much calmer than the bulls he’d faced in the arena. “Looks too mellow to get much done with the heifers.”
Talking cattle was about the only time Tyler saw his dad smile. “Don’t underestimate him. Give him his own herd and no tough Angus bulls to compete with, and he’ll do just fine.”
“You’re cross-breeding. Doesn’t that reduce the price when you sell?”
“A little,” his dad said. “But it strengthens the herd in the long run.” He turned away from the bull and fixed his piercing gaze on
