LITMIR.BIZ

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on your mind?” he finally asked after they’d watched the last practice ride.

      Blaine shot him a sideways glance, looking relieved at the question. “I heard you offered Skye a loan.”

      “Where’d you hear that?” Because Tyler couldn’t see Skye spreading the word. She had her pride.

      “Angie saw the two of you talking yesterday, and asked Skye about it, because...well, you know how things are between you two.”

      Yeah. He did.

      “And Skye told her about the loan?”

      Blaine met his gaze then, dead on. “Skye told Angie that you were trying to buy a clear conscience.”

      It took Tyler a couple of seconds to say, “No kidding.” He even managed a fairly reasonable tone, given the circumstances, but he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to do that. Not with his jaw muscles going tighter every second. Buy a clear conscience? Really, Skye?

      Blaine shrugged his big shoulders. “You know she blames you for Mason’s issues.”

      “Because Mason was such a saint.”

      “She needs to think so.”

      Tyler understood that, but still...to accuse him publicly—because anything said to Angie would soon become public—of trying to buy a clear conscience when all he’d wanted to do was to help her?

      That grated.

      Really grated.

      “Don’t do anything to make me regret telling you this,” Blaine muttered. Ty frowned. “I’m serious, man. Angie will kill me.”

      Ty gave a nod, somehow keeping himself from pointing out that Angie had probably already filled in half the town, which totally ticked him off. He could deal with being the scapegoat for Skye’s dead husband’s behavior, but he was not going to put up with her spreading blatant rumors about him.

      He was going to have a word with Skye. Set the record straight. Most of it, anyway. And he was going to have Skye issue a retraction—via Angie or any other method she chose.

      * * *

      ANY HOPE SKYE had of negotiating a loan with Marshal Valley Bank was squelched the instant she took a seat at the loan officer’s desk. Dan Peterson wore “the look”—the one that clearly indicated that he’d investigated matters and, even though his bank was smaller and more lenient in their lending practices than most, and even though they’d known each other since high school, Skye didn’t qualify for a second-chance loan.

      She gave it a shot anyway after they’d exchanged stiff opening pleasantries. She explained the reason for the mortgage, how she and her husband had accidentally overextended, and because of his gambling addiction had lost the fund that was supposed to see them through rough times. She handed over her figures and explained that there would be no more gambling, that her husband was dead and she was trying desperately to hold on to her ranch.

      It was obvious that the guy felt for her, and equally obvious that his answer had to be no.

      “For now,” he’d told her when she’d gotten to her feet. She was used to the rubbery-knee, rock-in-her-stomach feelings by now, so she simply smiled when he said, “Come back in six months, when your payments are current, and we’ll talk.”

      Six months. Dead of winter. When her cows needed the hay. Right.

      “I wish I could do more, Skye, but my bosses—”

      “I understand, Dan. Thanks.”

      She drove home, racking her brain as to her next move. She could maybe eke out six months. If nothing happened. If the strange sound in the truck’s reverse gear didn’t get more persistent. If the animals all stayed healthy. If she could nail down another part-time job, work eighteen-hour days. It wouldn’t have to be forever. Just long enough to catch up. But it also wouldn’t buy hay for her cattle.

      Skye felt tears start to well up, but she blinked them back, suddenly sitting taller in her seat when she saw the truck parked next to her house.

      Ty Hayward’s truck.

      Unless Jess had borrowed it.

      Yeah. That had to be it. But when the man got out of the driver’s seat as she pulled in, she instantly knew it wasn’t Jess. They might be twins, but Ty’s movements were different, smoother, more catlike than Jess’s. More...predatory.

      Ty Hayward had come to call, and she hated to think of what that could mean. She was very certain, however, judging from the grim expression he wore, that he wasn’t there to offer her money again.

      * * *

      SKYE STARTED WALKING toward where Ty stood beside his truck, stony expression firmly in place. Her hair was pulled into a sophisticated-looking bun thing instead of tumbling around her shoulders in dark waves as usual, and she wore a light blue dress with sensible heels.

      He instantly surmised that she’d been to another bank and that things had not gone well. Ty told himself he didn’t care.

      “Hello, Tyler.” She came to a stop a few feet away from him, just as she had the day before, and adjusted the position of the purse strap on her shoulder, keeping her fingers lightly curled around the black leather.

      “Skye.”

      “What brings you here today?”

      Coolly spoken words, but Ty read uncertainty in her expression. Guilt, perhaps...?

      “I’m for sure not here to offer you money.” He took a lazy step forward. “I want you to set the record straight.”

      “What record?”

      His voice grew hard as he said, “Where do you come off telling people that I’m trying to buy a clear conscience?”

      Skye gaped at him. “What?”

      He cocked his head. “What part needs repeating?”

      “I never told anyone you were trying to buy a clear conscience.”

      “Well, that’s the story going around, Skye. I wonder how it started.” He didn’t need any hints as to how it spread. Angie was something. He took another step forward, doing his best to ignore the fact that she looked utterly confused. “I tried to help you, Skye. I wanted to help you. It had nothing—not one thing—to do with my conscience.”

      Her chin went up at that. “Nothing?”

      He shook his head, realizing then just how deeply ingrained her dislike of him was. She was never going to believe anything but the worst of him, and he wasn’t going to try to convince her otherwise. “I’m wasting my time here.” He turned and started back across the drive toward his truck, cursing his stupidity in driving to her ranch. The damage was done. And realistically, he’d never expected her to be able to make the situation better, but he wanted her to know what she’d done so that she didn’t do it again. Mission accomplished.

      He jerked the truck door open, and then, because this could well be the last time they ever spoke, he said, “For the record, I never gambled with your husband.”

      An expression of patent disbelief crossed Skye’s face, but before she could speak, he said, “I know it’s really handy to blame me, since you’ve never cared for me. I’m a nice, easy target to make you feel better about things, but here’s the deal—I don’t gamble.”

      “Ever?”

      “More like never as in...never.”

      “You’re saying my husband lied to me.”

      Sorry, Mason, but the roosters have come home to roost. “I’m saying he used me as an excuse.”

      “You never partied with him.”

      “Of course I partied with him. We drank together. A lot.

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