His Last Rodeo

“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 with me?” The tilt of his eyebrow might have been seductive if he’d been remotely sober.

“If you’re going to be an idiot, don’t talk,” she snapped.

“Right,” he said. “Good advice.”

“Smart boy. Now let me call someone to pick you up.”

“It’s early. And I want to be here.” He slid carefully onto the bar stool and folded his forearms on the bar, looking at her quizzically. “I’m just trying to figure out how in the hell you got more beautiful than you were. How is that even possible?”

She didn’t hide the roll of her eyes. “Beer goggles make anything possible.” She poured a glass of water and set it in front of him. “Drink this. And then let’s get you home before you say any more stuff you’ll regret later.”

“I won’t regret saying it. Should have said it years ago.” He pulled his hat off his head and set it on the stool next to him. She’d forgotten his hair. Kind of a reddish brown, straight as a board, and he still wore it just a little too long. “I came back here a couple times. To host the Benson Rodeo, make some guest appearances, stuff like that. How come I didn’t see you then?”

“Maybe because I don’t watch rodeos. Or maybe because you got your drinks elsewhere. Kind of like you did earlier tonight. Were you at the High Country?”

“Yup.” He nodded. “Great bar.”

“Sure, if you like cocktails and big-screen TVs.”

“And you don’t?”

“I prefer the basics. Good beer. Good customers.” She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “What are you doing in town, so messed up on a Monday night, anyway?”

“A few of my buddies threw me a party. A celebration.”

“What are you celebrating?”

He hesitated a fraction. “Moving home.”

She’d been expecting him to say another rodeo win or another endorsement deal. Certainly not this. “You’re moving to Benson? No more rodeo?”

His head moved in one emphatic shake. “Nope.”

He’d lived and breathed bull riding since he was a kid. “Tyler, that’s a big deal. How come you quit?”

“A lot of reasons.” He took a sip of water then swirled the glass, watching as if it was actually interesting.

“Suddenly you don’t want to talk, when we’re talking about you.”

He shrugged. “Not much to say. I had a great run. I won some titles and made a bunch of money. And I was lucky that I did all that and didn’t get hurt much. But I saw a lot of friends get pretty torn up. Figured I’d quit while I was still in one piece.”

“But you’ll miss it.” It was a guess, but she saw the way his eyes widened a little.

Then he hiccuped and blinked a few extra times. “Excuse me. It’s possible that I may have celebrated a little too much.”

“Yeah. Which is why I’m suggesting, again, that you get home to sober up.”

“Don’t really want to do that.” His arms folded across his chest in a three-year-old’s version of stubborn.

“Fine. Have it your way.” She grabbed a clean cloth to start polishing glasses.

Tyler was quiet for a few moments. Unfortunately, his attempt at restraint was no match for the alcohol in his system. “You know those self-help books you’re reading are a con, right?”

She glared at him. “They’re just books. Maybe I’ll learn something, maybe I won’t.”

“They won’t cure what’s hurting you.” He leaned forward, as if he was about to share a secret. “The only cure for heartache is a good beer and a good lay. I’d be happy to help...”

“Stop!” He might be an old friend and a local hero, but she didn’t tolerate harassment. Ever. “You need to get the hell out of my bar if you’re going to be a jerk.” She moved toward him, grabbed his hat and clapped it on his head. And if she was a little rough, well, maybe he deserved it. She yanked him off his stool. He staggered into her, throwing an arm around her shoulders for balance.

She took a few steps to counter his weight and regained her footing. Dealing with drunks came with the territory. But dealing with Tyler felt a little different. Because he’d been a friend, she reminded herself. It was that old familiarity that had her noticing the way his body pressed warm and hard against hers. “Please tell me you didn’t drive here.”

“No car,” he told her. “My buddy took the keys.”

“He’s a good friend. You should thank him tomorrow.” She walked Tyler across the room, then shoved open the door so they both stumbled out into the cool night air. “You can walk home. It will do you good. Or sing really loud and the sheriff will pick you up and give you a ride. Of course, he might cite you for disturbing the peace, but I hear the fines are pretty small.”

“You’re the best, Kit.” He pulled her in closer, leaning down as if to plant a kiss on her mouth. She ducked out from under his arm and instinctively stuck her foot behind his. A quick shove on the shoulder and he was flat on his back in the gravel.

He stared at her, and she almost laughed at the shocked expression on his face. “Don’t kiss me,” she told him. “I’m not part of your celebration.”

His smile returned, slow and wide. He sat up and grabbed his hat from where it had fallen, setting it on his head. Then he shoved himself up and staggered a few steps to get vertical. “You haven’t even asked what I’m celebrating.”

“Your retirement. You told me, remember?”

“Nah... Not sure if I want to celebrate that. There’s more. A new business venture.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I don’t care,” she told him.

“Sure you do.”

“Fine,” she said, packing as much sarcasm as she could into her tone. “What venture would that be? Something on your daddy’s ranch?”

He laughed as if she’d said something truly funny. “Nah, my brothers have that covered.” He took a few uneven steps, grinning at her in the faint glow of the outside lights. “You, Kit Hayes, are looking at the new owner of the Dusty Saddle.”

He took a few more steps, tipped his hat, then turned, stumbling down the street toward the center of town.