the next three hours. Now she had three hours to go and nothing but silence to keep her company. The Dusty Saddle was located on the edge of town, and since Benson was nestled against the east side of the Sierras, it was eerily quiet. If Kit poked her head out the door, she could probably hear coyotes howl. Or maybe an owl or two.
She went behind the bar to get a glass of ice water. Then she pulled a book off the stack she’d left there. Healing a Broken Heart by someone named Dr. Melinda Mellton. The doctor’s calm, radiant smile on the cover had pulled Kit in. She wanted to look and feel that happy. And even if Dr. Melinda’s contented glow was Photoshopped, the word healing in the title held some promise.
Kit leafed through the first few pages, stopping at the section called “The Broken Heart Questionnaire.” Dr. Melinda wanted to know if she was having trouble eating or sleeping, how long she’d been sad, was she dreaming of the person she’d lost. The questions went on for two pages. Mentally answering yes to almost every one, Kit read the analysis of her results. Melinda informed her that, given the number of times Kit had answered yes, it was clear that she had a broken heart. Duh.
She slammed the book on the counter. She didn’t need a book to tell her that. Pushing away from the bar, she paced the empty room a few times, pausing to throw a few darts at the dartboard. Bull’s-eye. Wandering to the bar, she stared at Dr. Melinda’s photo. Maybe the questionnaire was dumb, but Kit was desperate for something, even a few words of wisdom to give her hope that she’d feel better soon. She sat and opened the book again.
Chapter 2 was titled “Surviving.” That seemed like a good place to start. Surviving was all she’d been doing lately. She was relieved to realize that Dr. Melinda did actually know what it was like to live with a heart made of lead.
“Can’t a guy get a drink around here?”
Kit grabbed the edge of the bar to keep from falling off her stool. She’d been so engrossed in Dr. Melinda’s sympathetic descriptions of heartache that she hadn’t heard anyone come in.
A man stood a few feet away, his black cowboy hat tilted low over his eyes. But the brim didn’t hide the broad shoulders or the muscular arms bulging out of his tight black T-shirt. She slid off her stool and hurried behind the bar. “Sorry about that. You sneaked up on me.”
“That must be some book you’re reading.” The man took a few steps toward where she’d been sitting and glanced at the cover. “Healing a Broken Heart? Really? You were always the one breaking hearts, if I remember it right.” He tipped up the brim of his hat and she saw the face of an old friend.
“Tyler Ellis! I didn’t recognize you under that grown-up hat of yours.”
His lazy grin could melt an iceberg. “All grown up and ready for a beer.”
Kit reached for a glass to give herself a moment to regroup. Tyler wasn’t just grown up. He was gorgeous. She’d known that, of course. He was a world champion bull rider, and his wide, cocky smile was a common sight in the local paper, which covered his successes religiously.
But the photos hadn’t done him justice. He smiled at her with a confidence that must work magic with rodeo fans, because it was making even her jaded knees feel wobbly.
She straightened her spine. The last guy she’d felt wobbly for was Arch, and look how that turned out. She gestured toward him with the empty glass. “What are you drinking?”
He glanced at the taps. “Pale ale, please.”
Kit poured the local ale. Watching it foam was far more relaxing than watching Tyler. She stole a quick glance. Yup, he was gorgeous. He always had been, even in high school. Back when they’d been best friends.
Back before Kit had fallen head over heels for Arch Hoffman. And gotten herself involved in stuff she shouldn’t have.
Back before Tyler had worried about her, and told her to leave Arch, and they’d had the fight that ended their friendship.
Back before Tyler had quit high school and left town.
Kit had managed to avoid him every time he’d come to Benson since then.
“It’s been a while,” Tyler said quietly, as if reading her thoughts.
“It sure has.” Kit slid the pint across the bar, a small peace offering. “It’s on me.”
“What have you been up to all this time?” He sat heavily on a bar stool and took a gulp of the ale.
“Not too much.” What could she possibly tell him? He’d joined the army. Then joined the rodeo, started winning, become one of the Professional Bull Riders big stars. His looks had gotten him product endorsements and modeling contracts. He’d been in magazines, commercials, on billboards even. And all she could say about the past fifteen years was not much. “I’ve worked here, mostly.”
“You must like this place.” He paused, like he wanted to say something about that. Instead, he picked up her book. “So why are you reading this?”
No way would she tell him she was still hung up on Arch Hoffman. Not when he’d lived this incredible life while she’d stayed stuck right here in Benson. She made a grab for the book, but he held it out of reach. Just like they were kids again, growing up on his family’s ranch, with her daddy working for his.
The warmth she’d felt at seeing him seeped away slowly at that thought, leaving a hollow anxiety behind. Her dad had been so good to Tyler. He’d been a mentor and a friend. He’d taught Tyler how to ride bulls. Did Tyler know that his father had fired Kit’s? Was he complicit in it?
She could feel anger rising. “It’s a library book—don’t mess it up.” She reached for it again, but she was short and he stood, so she didn’t have a chance.
His grin dimpled wide and he took a few steps back from the bar. Wobbly steps.
Kit froze, taking in, for the first time, the slight flush to Tyler’s face, his untucked shirt. “Hey. Are you okay?” She crooked a practiced finger, summoning him closer, in full bossy-bartender mode now. He obeyed, moving unsteadily to the bar.
Studying his green eyes, she noticed a lack of focus there. He’d always had a sharp gaze. Piercing, even. “You’ve drunk a lot already.”
His answering nod was somber, as if they were sharing a profound moment. “Yes. I have.”
“Good to know.” She pulled the pint off the bar and set it on the counter behind her, out of his reach.
“Hey! I was enjoying that.”
“Great. You can enjoy it another night, when you’re not stumbling drunk.”
He shook his head and swayed a little. How had she not seen this before? “I’m not stumbling.”
“That’s because you’re hanging on to the bar stool.”
He glanced at his hand, white-knuckling the stool, and looked puzzled. “I am. Must have been the shots I had right before I came here.”
He set the book on the bar and Kit quickly placed it with her others, safely out of reach. “You need to get home and sleep this off,” she told him.
“You’ll go
