Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
LOOK AT YOU COWBOY, ALL CLEANED UP AND DANGEROUS.
WYATT
The black shirt's stiff as a board against my chest. I tug at the collar again, catching my reflection in the truck's side mirror. Black because Mom used to say it made my eyes look like a storm rolling in; and if that yellow-bellied texting coward shows tonight, I want him to see lightning coming.
The charcoal jacket stretches tight across my shoulders the way it should, and these jeans are creased sharp enough to draw blood. The black Stetson sits snug—been boxed up too long. Give it an hour. It'll break in about the same time I do.
This is Kinsley’s big night—heck, it’s everyone’s big night—except for Kit’s, who picked up a case of strep throat yesterday.
I checked on her before I left. I asked if she’d been kissing ranch hands instead of loping horses at Hank’s and she chucked the remote control at my head and told me to mind my own business—so I assume she’ll live.
I’d hoped to drive Kinsley here myself, but she had to be here hours early, getting everything set. I worked the colt to ease my nerves.
My hands are steady when I reach for the flowers on the passenger seat. I told the florist in town I wanted something that reminded me of Kinsley—clean lines, stunning, beautiful. She knew what I meant.
Parking area's packed—ranch trucks next to city cars. The kind of crowd that shows up when money talks. I walk inside and look around. I haven’t been over here since before the painters.
There’s a bar, tables and a kitchen in the back and to the right is a wall of open glass doors leading to the outdoors where a band plays and people are dancing on the huge patio.
I have to hand it to my little sister, she’s good at everything.
Kinsley stands near the entrance in a midnight blue dress, her hair swept up to show my turquoise stones at her throat. She's pointing a photographer toward the displays.
Our eyes meet across the room, and everything else just... stops.
Her smile knocks the wind out of me. The whole crowd slips into silence, like someone drew a curtain over the noise. She's walking toward me, but it's more like floating.
"You brought me flowers?" she says. I hand her the bouquet. I’m knocked speechless by her and she sounds like I just gave her diamonds.
She buries her face in the blooms, breathing deep. When she looks up, her eyes are bright. "They're perfect. You're perfect." Her hand smooths my jacket lapel. "Look at you cowboy, all cleaned up and dangerous. I might have to fight off half the women here tonight."
"Only got eyes for one woman," I tell her. "You look..." Words don't cover what she does to me in that dress. "Like everything I've ever wanted."
Pink spreads across her cheeks, and she melts for me.
I can't help but steal a kiss from her right here. Someone calls her name from across the room, and I know I have to let her go but it’s killing me.
She starts to turn, but I catch her hand.
She looks back at me, reading my face and then asks, "Everything all right? "
I press a kiss to her temple, the urge to confess everything she means to me crashes over me. But now's not the time to pour my heart out. "Everything's perfect. Just can't wait to have you all to myself when this is over."
"Me too," she whispers. I let her go. She’s got things to do and so do I. I got people to greet, plus I need to check this place out.
The venue keeps filling with faces I recognize from TV, ranchers whose names everybody knows, rodeo champions. Brook walks past, smiling and making sure the wait staff has the right instructions. Mom appears beside me looking proud as punch.
"Your girl did something incredible here," she says. "Half these people have never been in the same room together."
She's right. Kinsley made it happen.
"Wyatt!" Hank Ouray’s voice rises above the noise. He walks over with three guys I recognize from YouTube—NCHA champions, every one of them.
"Boys," Hank grins, "meet Wyatt Halloway. Best bull rider to ever come out of Gritstone."
I’m grateful he doesn’t add that I’m the only bull rider to make it out of Gritstone. “Good to see you, Hank.” I shake his hand and pound him on the back and then shake hands all around.
Cutting's not an NFR event, so we don't cross paths on the circuit. But I've seen their training videos online that pop up in my feed. We talk horses and competition.
"Mom's here somewhere," Hank says, looking around. "She's been wanting to meet your political consultant."
I spot Maggie McCreary-Ouray near the bar. Even past fifty, she's the kind of striking that makes men stupid. She's talking to some politician, and from her smile, she's winning whatever argument they're having.
"Your mother's scary," I tell Hank.
"Runs in the family," he laughs. "McCreary women don't back down. Kind of like your girl there."
He's right. Watching Kinsley work the room is something else. She moves from group to group with fluidity, and I keep thinking how lucky I am.
The band Hailey promised turns out to be Cash Thornton.
He’s a country star whose last album went triple platinum.
Smart move—the politicians love rubbing elbows with musicians, and the ranchers respect a guy who sings about their life because he grew up on the back of a horse.
His band is almost set up. Should be a good show.
A photographer from Western Horseman walks over.
He's wearing a press badge that I'm pretty sure Hailey made for him and anyone else with credentials to print what they hear tonight.
"I'd like to ask a few questions if you don't mind.
My editor wants to run a story on government overreach affecting ranch families. "
"Sure thing." I knew this was coming and read the press packet Kinsley made for me.
Everyone in the family got one. I think Grandpa's was pretty short.
She pretty much told him to stick to the current crisis and watch his language.
I got a good laugh out of it, and I think Grandpa appreciated her brevity.
Hank and his friends excuse themselves and move to join Maggie at the bar.
I start telling the story of how all this started, and another guy joins us from Ranch & Reata Magazine. When I finish, he says, "We're doing a series on how regulations are changing western life. Tonight's a big deal."
I end up talking about the ranch, about what it means to work land your great-grandfather carved out of nothing. They take notes like it matters, like our story is important to other ranchers.
Makes me proud. And nervous.
Tonight proves Kinsley's headed for bigger things than our little valley. When we’re done, I work my way back toward her. She's greeting people at the entrance, making everyone feel like they're the most important person in the room.
My phone buzzes. Jake: Good luck tonight, bro. You got this.
Right. I've got this.
Another photographer walks up, this one from Western Lifestyle Magazine. "Mind if I get a shot of you with the organizer? Local rodeo champion supports conservation—good human interest angle."
Before I can answer, Kinsley's hand finds my arm as natural as breathing. We smile for the photo and then he ducks away mumbling about Cash Thornton being up for a Country Music Award as he snaps pics of the guy at the mic.
Kinsley gasps and I glance down at her. “What?”
"Heaven help us all," she murmurs so only I can hear. "Callie Rose is here."
I look toward the entrance. A woman in a red dress steps through the doorway, her straight brown hair hanging loose. She's wearing knee-high dress boots and not much jewelry but she’s real pretty.
I can see where Kinsley gets her looks. Same stubborn chin, same way of sizing up a room before stepping into it. But where Kinsley works a crowd like she was born to it, this woman looks like she'd rather be anywhere else—probably back home with her horses.
Kinsley' draws in a deep breath and squares her shoulders. "I guess you should meet my mother." She turns to me with wide eyes. “Just remember, her bark is worse than her bite.”
I nod. “That’s so very comforting. Thank you,” I say sarcastically.
Kinsley laughs and pulls my arm. Something tells me this is going to be an introduction I won't forget.