His Last Rodeo. Claire McEwen

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СКАЧАТЬ beer, no help,” Miles said and grabbed the handles of the posthole digger.

      “What do you need?” Parker asked.

      “I plan to fix up the barn at my new place. It’s not in such bad shape—should be done in a few weeks. I want to get a few horses. And a couple bulls.”

      “Bucking bulls?” Parker eyed him shrewdly. “I thought you were done with rodeo.”

      “I want to offer a class or two. Get some local kids started in rodeo.” Tyler set the posts down near Miles.

      “I’m sure parents will love you for that. Especially when one of their little darlings breaks a neck.”

      “Bull riding’s the fastest-growing sport in the country.”

      “Doesn’t make it any less crazy,” Parker said.

      “You don’t have to like it. But can you help me get some bulls?” It didn’t matter to Tyler that Parker wasn’t a great fan of bull riding. His brother had a better eye for cattle than anyone Tyler knew.

      “I can ask around to see if anyone has the stock for that. Horses will be a lot easier. You thinking about some trail riding?”

      Tyler nodded. “Trail riding, light ranch work. Quarter horses would be nice, but I’d consider other breeds.”

      “I’ll look into it,” Parker promised.

      “Thanks, Park,” Tyler said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate your help.”

      “It’s good to have you home,” Parker said.

      “It’s good to have you home and owning a bar,” Miles added.

      “Shut up, Miles,” Tyler and Parker said in unison. And they all burst out laughing.

      Tyler walked to the pile for a few more posts. It wasn’t fun to clash with his dad again. Or to feel his father’s disappointment seep into the confidence Tyler had finally developed once he left home. Being home wasn’t easy, but it sure was good to be near his brothers again.

      * * *

      KIT CLIMBED THE rickety steps to her father’s door, clutching the railing as she avoided the rotten boards. She glanced at the pile of new wood, still stacked where she’d left it a month ago. Cut to size, ready to be nailed on. Losing his life’s work had knocked the wind out of her dad. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was totally depressed.

      His cottage was perched on a small rise at the edge of town, where he could look out over the high desert that rolled on in miles of dry desolation. Kit worried that he was lonely out here. But her dad insisted he was happy. That the open sky was the best friend a guy could have.

      Of course, that was before he’d been fired. Now he and the open sky were spending a lot of time together, and Kit suspected the relationship was no longer healthy.

      She knocked, faded bits of green paint raining down on the porch. The afternoon winds were fierce out here. They were sandblasting the place. She had to add “find a painter” to her to-do list.

      Her dad was watching TV. Kit could hear the perky cadence of some talk show host when she put her ear to the door. She knocked again and was finally rewarded by a shuffling sound. Her dad still wore his blue flannel pajamas and slippers at 11:00 a.m. His gray eyebrows scrunched together, as if he was puzzled at her arrival.

      “Hey, Sunshine.”

      The old endearment had Kit smiling through her worry. It was a ridiculous name and they both knew it. With her black hair, heavy makeup and tattoos, Kit didn’t look like anyone’s sunshine. “Did you forget I was coming by? Remember we talked about it on Sunday?”

      The frown cleared. “I guess I forgot which day we said.” Her dad gestured for Kit to enter. “You want some coffee?”

      Kit nodded and her dad shuffled toward the kitchen. Kit stayed by the door, taking in the clutter strewn around the living room. A few dirty dishes teetered on the arm of the couch. Laundry sat in a heap waiting to be folded and a pile of newspapers was stacked haphazardly on an end table. Her dad used to be a neatnik.

      Thank you, Ken Ellis. Owner of Sierra Canyon Ranch, where Garth Hayes had worked his entire life. Where his hard work had been rewarded with two words. You’re fired.

      Because the Ellis family took what they wanted and ran right over smaller people, like Kit and her dad, in the process.

      Like father, like son.

      Guilt twinged. Tyler hadn’t taken anything from her. He’d bought what was for sale. Bought what Kit couldn’t afford. Still, she felt run over.

      Automatically, Kit reached for the jacket draped over the rocking chair and hung it up in the small hall closet. Then she went into the kitchen, wincing at the dirty counters and piled dishes. “Dad, things are getting pretty messy here.” The words were out before she’d realized she was saying them. But hell, they needed to be said.

      He sighed. “I was going to clean up today.”

      “You told me the same thing on Sunday. But I’m pretty sure I’m staring at the same dirty dishes.” Kit took a deep breath, forcing herself to say what had been on her mind. “You aren’t dressed. You’re watching TV. This isn’t like you at all. I think you might be depressed.”

      He looked out the window to the desert he loved. “I’ve just been busy lately.”

      “Doing 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.”

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