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.
He straightened, nodded and walked to the counter behind the bar to start pulling down bottles. He glanced Kit’s way, caught her looking and mouthed the word help.
Kit set three pints in front of the burly ranch hand who’d ordered them, flashing him a smile when he handed her a twenty-dollar bill and told her to “Keep the change.” At the cash register, she kept an eye on Tyler, who was furtively looking something up on his phone. For a second, the resentful part of her considered letting him sweat out whatever order he was trying to fill. But her promise to him earlier wouldn’t let her stay away.
She tapped Tim on the shoulder and tipped her head toward a redhead who was waving her money at them. “Card her? If she’s twenty-one, I’ll buy you a scotch after closing.”
Tim glanced the girl’s way and grinned. “Another Tyler groupie? They start young.”
“Evidently.” Kit joined Tyler. “What’s up? Besides blondie practically pulling your face into her breasts?”
He grinned. “Yeah, how ’bout that? I think I’m going to like this job.”
“I’ll bet.”
His smile dimmed a little. “They want cosmopolitans. I looked up the recipe, but I don’t know how to do this.”
“Piece of cake.” Then his words sank in. Cosmopolitans? Kit hadn’t had an order for a cosmo here in pretty much ever. Change had come to the Dusty Saddle and Tyler hadn’t even torn down a wall yet. Glancing at his phone, she reminded herself of the recipe. Then she grabbed three martini glasses and slicked the rims with lime. She showed him how to dip the rims in sugar and add the cherry and lime to each toothpick as garnish.
“You think you’re ready for the shaker?” She elbowed him like it was something naughty, trying to inject some humor into the lesson.
“I’m ready for anything,” he said with a wink that should not make her skin warm the way it did.
“Since you’re making three, use the biggest shaker and make them all at once.”
It was getting busier and louder in the bar. Tyler tipped his head close to hers to hear her. “How am I supposed to measure it all out?”
She pulled away to avoid his spicy scent, which ran soft fingers over her nerves. Rummaging in a drawer to her left, she grabbed a jigger and showed him the marks on it. “Pour into here to measure the alcohol first.”
He blinked at the small metal cup. “We’re not baking.”
“How else are you going to measure it? Have you practiced your pours?”
He looked confused.
“You have to practice pouring water from a liquor bottle before you can go by instinct.”
“I’ve got good instincts,” he protested.
“For bull riding, maybe,” she countered. “Make your drinks too strong and you’ll waste money and have those girls puking in the bathroom. Tomorrow I’ll show you how to practice. Tonight, use the jigger.”
He nodded. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Kit.”
She headed to the bar, surprised to see Tyler’s red-haired groupie with a drink in her hand. Maybe as Kit was getting older, customers were looking younger. Maybe she just wasn’t used to all these sweet young things in her bar. Tyler’s bar, she corrected herself.
She glanced back as Tyler carefully measured the vodka into the shaker. It was kind of cute, how seriously he was taking this.
What was she doing, thinking he was cute? She wasn’t even sure she liked him. He was cocky. He was overly confident. He wanted to change her bar. And he’d shown up on the busiest night to practice his nonexistent bartending skills. No, she didn’t like him much. Not even the tiniest bit.
Tyler had said she had a soft spot for the lost and lonely. Well, he was neither of those things, and she needed to keep that in mind when her heart went soft on her, like it was doing now.
* * *
TYLER’S BARTENDING CONFIDENCE was rising with every drink he made. So when Crater asked Kit for another pint of Guinness while she was busy with another order, Tyler offered to get it for him.
“No!” Kit and Crater both yelled at the same time. He must have looked surprised because Kit laughed. “Sorry about that,” she said through her giggles. “It’s just that pouring Guinness is tricky.”
“Only Kit pours my pints, usually.” Crater eyed Tyler suspiciously.
“We’ll do it together,” Kit assured him. “And if it’s no good, I’ll pour you another. Tyler needs the chance to learn.”
“Okay then,” Crater said, and turned to Stan. “Sure are a lot of changes happening around