heavy makeup she wore—had flashed at him. How her long black hair gleamed as it swirled to her elbows. How her sweater slipped off her shoulder and revealed a fraction of a tattoo that left him wanting to see the whole picture. Then there was the way she’d felt, pressed against him, when she’d walked him so sternly out of the bar.
And her surprising strength when she sent him sprawling to the ground.
A thumping on the kitchen steps had him turning in time to see his dad come through the door, tall, iron-haired, with shoulders broad from years of work and upright responsibility. He had a binder under his arm and moved like a man in a hurry, but he stopped when he saw Tyler.
“You’re up.” Tyler could hear the subtext: The rest of us were up hours ago.
“Yes, I am.” He resorted to the good manners that had been drilled into them. “I appreciate you saving me some breakfast.”
“It might be spoiled now. Didn’t know it would sit out for so long.”
“Right.” Not much of an answer but all he could think of in the face of the loud and clear message. He was slacking off.
“You were out drinking last night?”
“Yes, I was.”
“I don’t appreciate you stumbling in drunk, you hear me?”
“Yes, I do.” He was a kid again. Being chastised for his bad grades, his lack of brains, his inability to be what his dad felt he should be. A dull pounding kicked up a rhythm at the base of his skull. Last night was too much to drink, but all this was too much to come home to. What the hell had he been thinking? He could have bought a bar anywhere. Why’d he choose his hometown?
“Your brothers are down on the southern end of the ranch. We’re redoing that old border fence. Why don’t you go help them out?”
Tyler braced himself for more disapproval. “I was hoping to work on my business plan today.”
“Your plan for what?”
“Remember the bar I told you about? That I bought?”
“You don’t start working there for a few days. You can help around here until then.”
Tyler tried to summon patience through the fog of his hangover. “I can help out today. But I also have my own work to do. I need to be ready when I take the reins.”
“You need to be ready? To pour beer?” His dad let out a breath of disgust. “I still can’t figure out why you bought that thing, anyway.”
“It’s a business, Dad.”
“This ranch is good business.”
Tyler laughed out loud before he could stop himself. He and his father working together would be a disaster resulting in fists or worse. “My brothers have that covered. You don’t need me on the ranch.”
“You have enough money, you could get your own place.”
“I did get my own place.” He’d explained it all a few times now, but he tried again. “There’s a lot of land behind the bar. Maybe I’ll raise bulls on it, eventually. But ranching isn’t all I want.” Tyler cast around for the words to explain. The restless feeling. The need to connect with others after years of hotel rooms and training. “I think ranching’s a little too solitary for me. I like being around people.”
“Suit yourself.” His dad shrugged, looking as mystified as he always had when it came to all things Tyler.
“Trust me, Dad, it’s gonna be good.”
His dad squinted, as if by changing his vision he could somehow change his son as well. “Well, we aren’t a hotel, son. We expect you to earn your keep around here.”
Tyler felt his dreams shrink so small they’d fit in his jeans pocket. “Which is why I’m looking for a new place to live. I appreciate you letting me stay a few days, but we both know that won’t work out so well in the long run. I’ve got a few leads on some rentals in town.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
His dad nodded and turned away, striding toward his office. Hurrying away from the one son who made no sense to him. Who never had. Who probably never would.
Tyler watched him go, wondering what it would take for his dad to see him as a success. A long time ago he’d thought it would be all those junior rodeo trophies. When he grew up, he thought it would be winning the world championship or making good money. When he decided to retire from rodeo, he thought it might be buying a business and a big piece of property. But nothing had changed. In Ken Ellis’s eyes, Tyler was just a disappointment. The third son, who didn’t fall in line with the first two. A problem he couldn’t fix. Same as always.
Tyler glanced at the congealed meal and shuddered. He scraped the food into the garbage and rinsed the plate. He needed coffee and lots of it. He wished he could eat at the café in town, where the food was hot and the waitresses flirted with him. Where he could be reminded that for a few sweet, short rodeo years, he’d been a hell of a lot more than the Ellis family loser. But he had work to do. So he grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and went to find his brothers.
* * *
THE CHESTNUT GELDING Tyler had borrowed nickered low at the sight of the two horses tied to the pasture fence. He picked up the pace, eager to be with his buddies.
At the sound of their approach, Tyler’s brothers looked up from their work. Parker stopped cranking the wire taut and grinned. “You finally out of bed, princess?”
Miles was kneeling, hammering in a staple to hold the wire to the fence post. He finished, then joined the fun. “Oh, look who decided to join us. I thought celebrity bull riders were too important for ranch work.”
Tyler tied his horse near the others and made his way through the thick spring grass. “I doubt I’ll ever get too self-important with you two clowns constantly busting my balls.”
“We’re just glad you got your beauty rest.” Miles grinned, not willing to let the joke go. “In case you have any modeling gigs coming up.” Older than Tyler by two years, Miles took special pleasure in tormenting him. One time he’d shown up at a rodeo in Reno carrying a giant pink sign with the words I Love Tyler written in rainbow letters. That sign had made national TV and the other bull riders had teased Tyler about it that entire season.
“What’s with coming home hammered?” Parker was the oldest and took that role seriously. Maybe losing their mom before any of them were out of junior high had grown him up too fast.
“I went out with Eric and Mitch. They bought shots to celebrate my new bar.”
“You’re a lightweight,” Miles teased. “It’s all that granola and kale you eat.”
“Gotta keep fit.” Tyler’s answer was automatic. Followed by the realization that he didn’t actually have to keep fit anymore. Not in bull-riding shape, at least. The idea left him a little hollow.
“Well, you stumbling in singing was like nails on a chalkboard for Dad. He was ranting about it this morning,” Parker said.
“Yeah, he ranted when I saw him just now.” Tyler grabbed his work gloves out of his pocket. “What can I do to help?”
“Bring a few of those posts over, will you?” Miles jutted his chin to indicate the large pile a few yards away. “And we need that bag of concrete out of the truck.”
Tyler nodded. “You guys think Dad’s going to get over me buying a bar?”
Parker shook his head. “Doubt it. You know Dad. Ranching’s the only job that makes any sense to him.”
“But I got over it,” Miles chimed in. “In case you were worried. I’m looking forward to free beer.”
“Come on by and I’ll