Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
IT'S ABOUT TIME SOMEONE FOUGHT FOR HER.
WYATT
The Striker Outfitters store in downtown Spokane smells like new leather and money—the kind of place that sells thousand-dollar saddles to people who've never ridden anything wilder than a golf cart.
But they pay well for the use of my name and face, so here I am, wearing their entire spring catalog and smiling for cameras like I was born to model instead of ride.
"Alright, that's a wrap on the photo shoot," the photographer calls, lowering his camera. "Great work, guys. You can change before the meet and greet if you want."
Jake stretches, smoothing down the front of his pearl-snap shirt. "Change? Are you kidding? I look amazing in this. I'm keeping it."
I give him a look. "You're supposed to give it back."
"They can bill me." He grins at his reflection in a nearby mirror. "This is my color."
The marketing director starts moving us to the next area, explaining the setup for the fan event. I check my phone and see a text from Kinsley that came through twenty minutes ago while I was holding a saddle and trying to look rugged for the camera.
Kinsley: Call me when you're done?
A stone lands in my gut. It’s not urgent, not panicked—just purposeful in a way our usual texts aren't. No emoji, no flirty banter.
"You good?" Jake asks, noticing my expression.
"Yeah." I pocket my phone. "Kinsley wants to talk."
"Uh-oh." His grin is teasing. "That's never good."
"Like you know." We’re fine. Better than fine. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.
The meet and greet takes forever—a line of fans that stretches out the door, each one wanting a photo, an autograph, a story about that ride in Jackson Hole. I smile and sign and pose, but my mind's three states away, wondering what Kinsley needs to say that couldn't be texted.
Finally, the last fan leaves with a signed poster, and I'm pulling out my phone before Jake can even suggest grabbing dinner.
She answers on the second ring. "Hey."
"Hey yourself." I step outside into the parking lot where it's quieter. "What's going on?"
There's a pause, and I can picture her choosing her words. "I need to talk to you about something."
"Okay." My stomach tightens. "You alright?"
"I'm fine. It's just—" Another pause. "Have you been checking social media today?"
My sponsors will send me things to post and Jake and I video each other's runs from the chutes so that my followers get that view. Every once in a while, I post about life on the road, but I don’t spend a lot of time on there. "Not since last night. Why?"
"Brittany posted a photo. Of you two together."
There. That’s the stone that’s in my gut. "What photo?"
"From behind the chutes. She's leaning up against you, and the caption says, 'Just can't get enough of him.'"
The rock drops from my stomach to the floor.
She thinks I'm cheating on her.
The evidence is right there on social media for everyone to see—me and another woman, looking cozy behind the chutes. How am I supposed to convince her I'm not that kind of guy when there's literal photographic evidence suggesting otherwise?
"Kinsley, that was—she brought a potential sponsor to meet me. It was a business thing." The words sound weak even to my own ears. "I didn't know she was going to post it like that. I didn't even want the photo, but the guy she brought wanted one and—"
"I know." Her voice is steady, cutting through my panic. "Um, I'll admit, my first reaction wasn't great. But I'm not calling because I'm mad."
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by suspicion. "Then why are you calling?"
"Because I need you to know what else she's been doing."
The tone in her voice makes my jaw tighten. "What else?"
"She's been texting me. Mean girl stuff. Ugh–it’s so petty." She pauses. "And she's been sending photos that make it look like you two are together and telling me what a good time she’s having with you."
“Like how?” I ask. Brittney is a superfan. They can get annoying and invasive, but no one’s ever gone after my girlfriend or anything. Then again, I haven’t had a girlfriend for them to go after. Kinsley’s new.
"Can I just send you the screenshots? It'll be easier than trying to explain."
"Yeah. Send them."
My phone buzzes a few seconds later with a series of images. I scroll through Brittany's texts to Kinsley, and my blood pressure climbs with each one. The messages start subtle—He deserves someone who understands him—and escalate into something uglier. You're just a phase. He'll get tired of you.
I stop pacing. "How long has this been going on?"
"Since Jackson Hole."
"Kinsley,” I growl. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because, it’s stupid and immature and I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of getting to me.”
Okay, I can understand that. I’ve brushed Brittney off more times than I can count.
"Listen to me. I don't want Brittany. I've never wanted Brittany.
She's been showing up at events for years, and yeah, I've been polite because that's what you do with fans.
But that's all she is—a fan who's crossed about fifteen lines. "
"I know that."
"Do you?" I need her to hear this. "Because you're the one I call every night.” I stop myself before I say something I’m just starting to figure out about how much Kinsley means to me.
The silence on her end stretches long enough to make me nervous.
"You still there?"
"Yeah." Her voice sounds different—softer, maybe relieved. "I'm here."
"Good." I take a breath, forcing myself to calm down. "About that sponsor she brought—I was considering it. Money's tight and I thought it might take some pressure off. But if it comes with strings attached to her, I'm not interested."
"Wyatt, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. I'm not giving her any reason to think she has access to my life." The decision feels right as soon as I say it. "I'll find another sponsor. Or I won't. Either way, she's not part of the equation."
"Thank you." The relief in her voice makes my chest tight. "For believing me. For not making me feel crazy about this."
"You're not crazy. She is."
Jake steps out of the building and points at his watch before ducking back inside.
"Listen, I have to let you go. But we'll figure this out, okay?"
"Okay."
"I'm sorry you've been dealing with this alone."
"I'm not alone anymore." Her voice is soft. "Thank you for that."
We say goodbye and I hang up and stand there in the parking lot, staring at my phone.
The protective instinct that flares in my chest surprises me with its intensity.
Kinsley's one of the strongest women I know—she'd probably laugh at me for worrying.
But strong doesn't mean she should have to handle everything alone.
And all I can think about is how she spends her life fighting for other people—my family's ranch, other families' land rights, causes that would crumble without her.
It's about time someone fought for her.
I pull up the airline app and start searching flights.
Jake appears beside me as I'm studying departure times. "You ready to hit the road? Calgary's only a six-hour drive from here."
I'm barely listening, too focused on schedules and connections. There's a red eye out of Spokane that gets me into Denver by morning. I can spend the day with Kinsley, then catch the Thursday morning flight back to Calgary with hours to spare before Friday's competition.
"Change of plans." I hit the purchase button. "I'm going home."
Jake stops walking. "You're what now?"
"I'll be back in time for Calgary."
"You're gonna risk missing your ride?" The disbelief in his voice is thick enough to cut. "Calgary pays fifty grand, man. You can't afford to miss it if you want the world title."
I shrug, pocketing my phone. "It's no risk. The flights all work out."
"Yeah, because no one's ever had a delayed flight before." Jake's looking at me like I've lost my mind. "Weather, mechanical issues, acts of God—any of those ring a bell?"
"I'll figure it out." The confidence in my voice surprises even me, but it's true. I've spent my whole career making split-second decisions on animals that want to throw me away. A little flight juggling doesn't scare me.
What scares me is the thought of Kinsley dealing with threatening texts and a stalker while I'm a thousand miles away, chasing buckles and prize money.
Jake studies my face for a long moment, then shakes his head. "Well." He claps me on the shoulder. "Try not to miss your flight. I'm not explaining to the Calgary organizers why their star bull rider got stranded in Denver because he was too busy playing Romeo."
I grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."
But as I pull out my phone to order an Uber to the airport, all I can think about is the relief in Kinsley's voice when I told her I believed her.
And tomorrow morning, I'm going to prove to her that she’s not alone in this.