Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
ALL LEATHER AND LIES.
WYATT
The fundraiser is alive—boots on hardwood, bourbon in crystal, and every conversation that needs to happen, happening.
Cash's band knows what they're doing—loud enough to keep energy up but not so loud you can't hear yourself think. Couples two-step across the floor while my rodeo buddies swap stories with county commissioners.
I'm leaning against the bar with Dad, Grandpa, and Mom, watching it all come together smooth as a perfect ride.
"I have to hand it to your girl," Grandpa says, his weathered hands wrapped around a glass of bourbon. "She knows how to throw a party."
Dad nods, his eyes following Martinez and Kinsley through the crowd. "She's been working that senator for an hour straight.”
I track Kinsley across the room as she guides the Martinezes from group to group. That blue dress catches the light every time she moves, and I can't look away. She's beautiful and brilliant, and somehow, she's mine.
"Look at Eleanor Whitmore," Dad murmurs with barely contained satisfaction. "Woman looks like she's been sucking lemons."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer family," Mom says behind her glass.
I glance toward the corner where the Whitmores occupy a high-top table, looking about as comfortable as vegetarians at a barbecue. Eleanor's smile is brittle enough to crack under pressure.
"Is it me, or does Maxwell look like he's been through a wringer?" I study the man more closely. His face carries a grayish pallor and when he reaches for his drink, I notice the slight tremor in his hand.
Grandpa's expression sharpens. "Man's lost twenty pounds since spring. That suit's hanging off him."
“I think he’s lost weight since that day Dad and I rode over with the survey flags.” I squint for a better look.
Dad nods. “Maybe his conscience finally caught up with him.”
The music shifts to something slower and couples drift onto the dance floor. Part of me wants to cut across the room and claim Kinsley for a dance, but she's in full political operative mode right now, and I know better than to interrupt when she's working her magic.
"Heads up," Grandpa murmurs. "Here comes your girl with the guest of honor."
I straighten as Kinsley approaches with Senator Martinez and his wife.
This introduction represents everything we've worked toward. I know she was going to make sure she warmed him up with lots of celebrities before bringing him over to us. Technically, I’m one of the prizes he’ll want to collect a picture with tonight, so the intro is supposed to be natural.
"Senator Martinez, Mrs. Martinez," Kinsley says with warm formality, "I'd like you to meet the Halloway family." She proceeds to start with Grandpa and work her way down the family tree, ending with me. “And this is NFR bull rider Wyatt Halloway, I’m sure you’ve seen him ride before.”
When the senator turns to me, his expression shifts to recognition. It takes me off guard and I loosen my grip on his hand a little too soon, but he hangs on. His grip is harder than required for simple courtesy.
"I saw him ride once in Texas. I have to say, it's good to finally meet you, Wyatt." His tone carries an edge that makes the hair on my neck stand up and I can’t help but wonder what I did to offend him. "My daughter's told me so much about you I feel like we're practically family.”
Daughter? Kinsley didn’t mention anything about this. "Is she a rodeo fan?" I glance at Kinsley, but her eyebrows raise in question. Clearly this is news to her too.
"She's your biggest fan," Mrs. Martinez slaps my arm. "And from what I hear you're her fan too."
I am now at a complete loss. "Is she here?" I ask, wanting to tug on my collar. They act like they know a lot more about me than I know about them and it’s making me want to run for the hills.
"She should be here any minute," Mrs. Martinez confirms. She pouts out an overly large bottom lip and says, "She was feeling a little under the weather."
"That's a shame," Mom sympathizes with her.
"There she is," Senator Martinez says, gesturing toward the entrance with theatrical timing.
We all turn to see who he’s pointing to and my heart stops.
Brittney stands at the entry, wearing a soft pink dress that emphasizes her assets, knee high boots and the kind of hopeful smile that makes my stomach clench with dread. She scans the room and her eyes land on our group.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I glance at the senator’s black hair and olive skin.
He’s 5’7” if he’s an inch, with Latino features and a barrel chest. Nothing in that man came through in Brittney.
My eyes move to his wife and suddenly I can see it.
The blonde hair, the big eyes. She’s tall and slender with curves that come from a doctor’s office.
"Baby girl, you made it," the senator says, his voice warming with genuine paternal affection that makes this situation exponentially worse.
I swear under my breath.
It appears that Brittney is Senator Martinez’s daughter.
Kinsley gives me a wide-eyed look that screams disaster. I return it. This is bad. This is so, so bad.
The conversation I overheard at the Cowboy Bar in Jackson Hole crashes back into my memory—her promising her father she'd have a good time with me, the report that I was a good dancer.
The lies she'd spun about the two of us to avoid disappointing the man standing beside me. I feel sick to my stomach.
Mrs. Martinez rushes to embrace her daughter and ushers her back to our circle of doom. She maneuvers Brittney to stand next to me. Brittney grabs my arm as if she needs me to hold her up. I freeze—I have no idea what to do. Kinsley’s media kit didn’t cover this.
"How are you feeling, sweetie? Any better?" She smooths Brittney's hair as she looks her over.
"I'm okay, Mama," Brittney replies, though she won't quite meet anyone's eyes.
“We already met your cowboy.” She looks at me and smiles warmly. “Don’t worry. We’re not offended it took this long to meet you. We understand your rodeo schedule is brutal.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My instincts say to shove Brittney at her parents and tell her never to touch me again—but I can’t do that to the daughter of the man who holds Stonegate Ranch’s survival in his hands, even if she is all leather and lies.
I glance around the circle looking for help.
“I’m glad to see you feeling better and able to join us tonight,” Mom says.
“Thank you,” Brittney grins at her. “I wouldn’t miss the chance to meet all of you. It’s important for our futures.”
Dad gives me a look that could burn grass. “Futures?”
Mrs. Martinez grabs Mom’s arm. “I’m just so excited to be a grandma. Aren’t you?”
Mom blinks and looks at Brittney who is still leaning on me. My brain clicks and I look down at her. She’s pale and her cheeks are slightly sunken in—like she’s been sick for a while. Is she…? She couldn’t be pregnant.
“You’re pregnant?” Dad asks with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.
Brittney’s hand goes to her stomach and she nods.
Grandpa lifts his glass to Brittney and grouses. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She smiles at him and the old man blushes.
I lock eyes with Kinsley and I see her mind working. Brittney’s been posting and following me around, she acts like we’re together. She behaves like she has a claim on me.
I grit my teeth. This is not my baby.
Mrs. Martinez turns to Mom with countenance of women sharing life's fundamental experiences. "We could have the baby shower here. This building is stunning and the pictures would be stunning. You don’t have to worry about a thing. I already have a theme picked out and everything. We want Wyatt to be included too.”
“Why would Wyatt want to be at a baby shower?” Grandpa grouses.
Mrs. Martinez laughs at his grumpiness. “Times have changed. Fathers come to baby showers all the time nowadays.”
The whole group grows quiet.
“Father?” Kinsley whispers.
Mom makes a noise and her eyes find mine. “Are you saying Wyatt is the father of her baby?”
I give the smallest possible shake of my head. The damage is spreading like cracks in ice.
Brittney blushes.
Mrs. Martinez nods. “He didn’t tell you?” She scoffs. “That is so like a man.”
Grandpa slams his glass down on the bar. "Give me another and make it a double," he snaps at the bartender, who starts moving like he was zapped with a hotshot.
Kinsley’s eyebrows shoot up, but she works quickly to school her features.
"Well," Senator Martinez says as he slaps my dad on the shoulder, "I guess we've got a lot to discuss."
"There seems to be some sort of a misunderstanding," I venture. I pull my arm out of Brittney’s clutch and try to step aside. She sways on her feet and I instinctively reach out to steady her.
Kinsley makes a sound like she’s being strangled and I look at her with my hand on Brittney, and I see my world crashing in her eyes. I jerk my hand away from Brittney.
Before I can begin to untangle this mess, a bang echoes from across the room. We all turn to see Maxwell Whitmore on the floor; his dinner scattered around him like confetti.
"Kinsley!" calls Hailey as she rushes over to help.
"I need to—" Kinsley starts to move away.
I don't want her to leave. I don’t want her to walk away with the idea that Brittney is carrying my baby. I don’t want her to create a chasm of space between us because I already feel like she’s moved a million miles away from me.
She moves around the circle in such a way that she won’t walk past me and I feel the snub. She touches Mom's arm as she passes, handing off one problem while she goes to handle another. Watching her walk away feels like I'm losing her.
She looks back at me, hurt and confusion on her face before whipping around and rushing to the other crisis in the room. Our group is now caught up in what’s happening over there—this horrible conversation on hold for a moment.
Senator Martinez grabs my arm just above the elbow, his grip painful. “Don’t even think about running off,” he growls.
I yank my arm out of his grip and tug on my jacket. “I don’t run from anything.”