His Last Rodeo. Claire McEwen

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СКАЧАТЬ 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. You pretend to be all tough, but you have a soft spot for the lost and lonely. I’m part of that club right now.”

      “You?” She laughed, soft and bitter. He’d give a lot to know what put that resentment in her soul. “Not the words I’d ever use to describe someone like you.”

      “Someone like me will pay you a training stipend. A hundred extra bucks each night.”

      “Now you’re trying to buy my help?” She scrubbed the pint glass in her hand with extra vigor. “Not everything can be bought, you know. Loyalty, for example.”

      “I’m not asking for your loyalty, though that would be nice,” Tyler said. “I’m trying to treat you like a professional. You have years of experience. I have none and I need to learn. So I pay you extra to share your expertise with me. It’s only right.”

      “Fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it. But you have to be willing to move fast and do what I say.”

      “I’m yours to command,” he said, liking the flush creeping up her cheeks at the tiny innuendo. “And I appreciate the help.”

      She grabbed a stack of dry glasses. “Well, let’s get going then. It’s getting loud out there, which means it’s getting busy.”

      They rounded the corner and Tyler was amazed to see a crowd that stretched almost to the door. A quick scan revealed a collection of some of the most rugged-looking folks he’d ever seen in one place. Bikers in leather, ranch hands in hats, jeans and bowlegs. Women in tight T-shirts and big hair. Kit glanced over her shoulder, her smile a combination of excitement and derision. “Welcome to the Dusty Saddle. Hope you’re ready to earn your spurs.”

      * * *

      KIT HATED TO admit it, but Tyler was a born bartender—naturally quick, outgoing, throwing friendly insults back at the regulars who were determined to give the new owner a hard time. After an hour or two he was pouring pints almost as fast as she did, leaving the tap on while he switched glasses with a blur of motion.

      She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she measured a couple rum and Cokes. He was laughing at one of Crater’s lame jokes. She appreciated his interest in the regulars. Some of them lived such lonely lives, on their own out in the high desert that rolled east of the Sierras, eking out a simple and unpredictable living.

      They came to the Dusty Saddle for a drink, but they were after much more. A sense of belonging. A chat and the comfort of knowing that someone would miss them if they didn’t show up each weekend. And now Tyler wanted to change all that with his clichéd cowboy ideas. Where would Crater and Stan and the rest of them fit into his fancy new bar?

      The old resentment had her slamming the drinks in front of two cute twentysomething girls a little too hard. No matter. They were too busy watching Tyler to notice. Kit didn’t recognize them. They were obviously here for Tyler’s star power, not the ambiance of a dive bar. She’d bet anything that when word got out that hunky Tyler Ellis owned the Dusty Saddle, the clientele would become much younger, much more female and would show up wearing a whole lot more Daisy Dukes and cowboy boots.

      Another girl, blond curls cascading from under a pink cowgirl hat, said something to Tyler and he leaned over the bar to listen. She brought her mouth close to speak into his ear, giving him a close-up of her ample cleavage.

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