Chapter 18
Eighteen
TWENTY THOUSAND PEOPLE ARE SCREAMING WITH LAUGHTER.
WYATT
Kinsley’s trying to play it cool, but her grip on my hand tightens as we approach the private plane. Her fingers are cold despite the morning sun, and I can feel the tension humming through her like a live wire.
"You sure you're ready for this?" I ask, shifting both our bags to one arm so I can keep hold of her hand.
"It's just a plane," she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
I grin because she's lying, and we both know it.
"Right. Just a plane." My sponsor likes to send their plane to pick up me and a few other rodeo assets to make sure we arrive on time to their events.
Hitching a ride to rodeos is not allowed, though having a private plane sure would make riding the circuit a lot easier on me and Jake than bouncing around in my truck all night long.
When we’re here we’re treated like royalty—which is one of the reasons I wanted to bring Kinsley along this weekend.
She works herself to the bone every day and someone needs to make sure she’s taken care of.
I was just lucky enough to get the job. A steward immediately steps forward to take our bags, and I let him, grateful to keep Kinsley's hand in mine as we board.
A woman in a crisp plum-colored uniform appears at the top of the steps, her dark hair pulled back in a professional chignon.
She looks to be in her thirties, with the kind of polished confidence that comes from years of catering to people who expect perfection.
We aren’t those people, but she still acts like we are.
"Mr. Halloway? I'm Rebecca, your flight attendant today. Welcome aboard." Her attention shifts to Kinsley with seamless professionalism. "And you must be Ms. Rose. We're so pleased to have you flying with us."
I grin to myself. I called the sponsor to tell them I was bringing a guest and that I'd like her to have the VIP treatment.
They were more than happy to oblige—because I rarely ask for anything personal and they're curious.
Relationships—especially new ones—are news and news means free publicity for me and therefore them.
I'm aware that bringing Kinsley along means I'll have to navigate all of that.
I don't think she's aware of it and I'm not sure that warning her is a good idea.
Rebecca gestures to a basket beside her.
"We have complimentary slippers for your comfort during the flight—they're quite soft.
" The slippers are pristine white and look like furry clouds shaped for feet.
"Your boots will be returned to you at the end of the flight, polished and oiled," Rebecca adds with a warm smile.
I watch Kinsley's eyebrows rise slightly at the offer, and I can't help but grin. "Trust me," I murmur close to her ear. "Your boots will thank you."
We both accept the slippers and take off our boots. Rebecca whisks them away and we move deeper into the plane.
The cabin wraps around us like a cocoon—rich leather seats, polished wood panels, and the kind of quiet luxury that whispers rather than shouts. Soft country tunes drift from hidden speakers.
Already seated and looking perfectly at home is Madison Torres, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She's wearing designer jeans and the same slippers we are.
"Wyatt!" She rises to give me the kind of hug that speaks of shared arena dirt and mutual respect. "About time you showed up."
"Traffic," I lie, because the truth is I spent twenty minutes in the truck outside Kinsley's cottage, trying to convince myself this weekend won't change anything between us.
The sponsor plane and fancy events—that's the polished side of what I do, the part that looks good in magazines.
But what happens when she sees the rest of it?
The total exhaustion after eight seconds on a bull.
The nights sleeping in truck stops between venues.
The weeks on the road when your phone becomes your only connection to anything that feels like home.
Part of me is terrified she'll take one look at the reality behind the glamour and decide the cowboy life isn't what she bargained for.
That I'm not worth the uncertainty, the danger, the long stretches of missing someone who might not make it home in one piece.
This feels like a make-it-or-break-it weekend, and I'm not sure I'm ready to find out if what we have is strong enough to survive the truth of who I really am.
"Kinsley Rose, this is Madison Torres. Best barrel racer this side of the Mississippi."
Madison gasps. "Rose—as in Callie Rose?” Kinsley nods and Madison continues, “I admire her so much."
I watch Kinsley's face light up with pride, the way it always does when someone recognizes her mother's accomplishments. It's one of the things I admire about her—how she carries her family's legacy without letting it define her completely.
The cabin door opens again, and Jake grins at me from the doorway, moving with that easy confidence he's always carried.
I push back from the seat I was leaning on and extend my hand.
His grip is firm, callused, and we pull each other into a quick embrace—three solid thumps on the back before we step apart.
"How's the shoulder?" he asks quietly, his voice just low enough that the others can't hear.
"One hundred percent," I tell him, and it's not a lie. The constant ache has faded to nothing.
"Good," he says, then louder, "And the lovely Kinsley Rose." He sweeps his hat off with theatrical gallantry. "You're even prettier than I remembered." He winks at her and then pumps his eyebrows.
"Easy there," I say, stepping slightly closer to Kinsley. "She's with me." Normally I wouldn't care if Jake flirted with my date but for some cave-man reason, I want to keep him away from her.
Kinsley leans into me and pats my chest—the gesture says I have nothing to worry about.
Jake's grin widens, but he backs off with good humor.
As the plane climbs into the Colorado sky, I settle back—which was a mistake.
"So, Kinsley," Jake says once we're airborne and the Rocky Mountains are spreading out below us, "Has Wyatt told you about the time we got talked into doing wild cow milking in Pendleton?"
My groan echoes through the cabin. "Jake, don't—"
"Oh, this is happening." Jake punches my good shoulder and I know this is going South.
Madison giggles and sets her phone aside.
Jake continues, "Picture this—two broke cowboys who need gas money to get to the next rodeo, standing in the arena during the wild cow milking event.
We're stone sober because we can't afford beer, and we figure fifty bucks prize money might get us a hotel room for the night instead of sleeping in the truck again. "
Kinsley leans forward, clearly invested in wherever this story is going.
"So, they turn loose this black cow that's meaner than a rattlesnake and twice as ornery. Thing comes charging out of the chute like her tail's on fire, and Wyatt here—" Jake gestures at me with his drink "—he grabs the rope thinking he's gonna control this beast."
"Bad choice," I admit.
"Terrible choice. This cow takes off across the arena, and Wyatt's holding on for dear life.
I'm supposed to be the milker, so I'm chasing after them with this little bucket, trying to get close enough while Wyatt's getting dragged through every pile of dirt in the place.
Twenty thousand people are screaming with laughter. "
Kinsley's laughing now, her whole face lit up, and I can't stop staring.
She's intoxicating.
"They went from one end of the arena to the other," Jake continues. "By the time that cow finally stopped, they'd raked the whole place smooth as glass. Didn't need to drag the arena for the barrel racers because Wyatt did it for them. And we never got a drop of milk."
"I'd like to have seen that," Kinsley says, grinning at me in a way that makes my chest tight with want.
Her phone buzzes, and she glances at it with a frown.
"I need to take this—it's the Forest Service.
" She moves toward the back of the cabin, her voice dropping to professional tones as she answers.
Jake immediately shifts closer, his expression turning serious. "Okay, what's the deal? You never bring dates to these things."
He’s right—I don't bring women to sponsor events. Don't let them into this part of my life, don't introduce them to the people who matter.
"She's different," I say finally.
"So, this is serious," Jake says, and it's not really a question.
"I don't want to mess this up." Jake's the one person I can be straight with. "So, play it cool this weekend, all right? No smart remarks or any of that wingman garbage."
Jake's grin spreads slow and knowing. "This must be love."
"Shut up," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.
Kinsley returns from her call, sliding back into her seat with a satisfied expression. "Good news. The judge requested a formal review of the controlled burn the Forest Service tried to instigate. That should keep them busy enough not to try to sneak something past us again.”
I grin. “You did good, Kinsley Rose.”
She smiles and then wrinkles her nose at me and it’s all I can do not to lean forward and kiss her in front of Jake. He looks like he’s scrolling his socials but he’s listening to every word.
“I should text Sarah and let her know.” She starts working and I have to tear my eyes off of her.
As the pilot announces our descent into Jackson Hole, she settles back to take in the Teton Range through the window.
This weekend will test what we've got. I can feel it in my bones; the same way I can feel a bull's mood shifting in the chute. Maybe if she can handle the whole mess, we'll be even stronger for it.
The landing is smooth, and before I know it, we're stepping off the plane and riding in the back of an SUV limo down Main Street.
The Hotel Jackson rises from the town center like something out of a Western —rustic timber and stone that manages to whisper luxury without shouting about it.
The lobby soars three stories high, with a stone fireplace you could park a truck in and enough antler chandeliers to outfit half of Wyoming.
"Halloway," I tell the desk clerk, sliding my card across the marble counter. "The Teton Suite and the adjoining Mountain View."
Kinsley's eyebrows go up a notch, but she doesn't say anything.
Just as well, because trying to explain that I got her own room so she wouldn't think I was expecting something would sound awkward no matter how I put it.
And I sure ain't telling her that my sponsor covered one room, but I paid to upgrade us both to suites because I figured she'd want a real bathtub after the flight. That'd come out all wrong too.
“I love cowboy clothes,” a woman squeals. Her voice echoes off the glass and stone and the whole lobby turns to look as a group of buckle bunnies enter the lobby.
A bellhop pushes two racks full of shopping bags behind them. Brittney’s at the front of the crew, scrolling on her phone as they cross the lobby.
I grit my teeth. I’m ticked that Brittney posted that picture and I’m still not sure how she got it. I’m mad that I put myself in a position where she could get that close and seeing her brings that all to the surface. I turn back to the desk clerk.
"Your bags have already been sent up,” he says with the kind of smile that comes standard with four-star service. “And here are your keys.” He slides the keycards across the counter.
Brittney and her friends disappear into the elevator.
Kinsley touches my arm. I glance at her. She had to have seen Brittney. She smiles at me and the fist in my chest loosens. “Ready?” I ask.
She nods.
“We’ll meet up with you later,” I tell Jake and Maddison who are waiting to check into their rooms.
The elevator whisks us to the top floor, and I walk Kinsley to her door, my hand finding the small of her back.
"Dinner's at seven," I tell her, checking my watch. "That gives you about two hours to get ready."
"Two hours?" She looks genuinely puzzled. "How long does it take to put on a dress?"
I grin, thinking about the women I've dated who needed half a day to get ready for lunch. "Well, I had Hailey send over some of that fancy bath stuff women like. Should be waiting in your room."
Her jaw drops. "You did that for me?"
I grab the top of the doorway and lean in, enjoying the way her breath catches as I crowd her space. I’m doing my best to be a gentleman, but her very existence is a temptation to cross that line.
"Sure did. Go soak, do whatever it is you do." I check my watch like I'm timing something important. "I'll be back at six-forty."
My suite is all leather and exposed beams, with windows that frame the Tetons like artwork. I barely notice the view—I'm too busy trying not to think about Kinsley in the room next door.