Chapter 19
Nineteen
I'M DONE SHARING HER WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD.
WYATT
The moment Kinsley opens the door; I stop thinking about sponsors and start wondering how a man’s supposed to keep his distance from temptation so sweet.
She's wearing a navy-blue dress that hits mid-thigh, with silver embroidery that catches the light when she moves. Her hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder, and she's got on heeled boots that make her legs look like they go on for miles.
Her gaze travels over my charcoal suit jacket and the championship buckle at my waist. "You clean up nice, cowboy."
"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" The words come out as a growl. "Looking like that."
Color rises in her cheeks, but her smile turns wicked. "Is it working?"
"We could skip dinner," I hear myself say, stepping closer until I can smell her perfume—something light and clean that makes me think of wildflowers and mountain air.
My hands find her hips, tracing the silver embroidery at her waist. "Spend the evening finding out if I can kiss you until you can't breathe. "
Her pulse jumps at the base of her throat, and her pupils dilate. I lean down, letting my lips barely graze the sensitive spot just below her ear, feeling her shiver against me. Her body sways toward mine, and for a heartbeat, I think she might say yes.
She laughs—breathless but determined—and puts her hand flat against my chest.
"Nice try, Halloway. But I didn't get dressed up to order room service." Her hand slides up to the back of my neck and her nails trail across my skin and my pulse trips over itself.
I don't step back, keeping her trapped between me and the doorframe, my body a whisper away from hers. "Rain check?" I ask, my fingers kneading her hip.
"Maybe." The word carries promise enough to make my blood simmer, especially when she doesn't try to put distance between us.
I move my hands up her sides, pulling her against me. "That's not a no."
"It's not a yes either," she whispers, but her eyes are dark with want.
"Yet," I say, finally stepping back before I do something that'll make us both forget about dinner entirely.
The SUV limo waiting for us outside is pure excess—leather seats, drinks chilling in ice, and enough room for a small party. Jake and Madison are already inside. Kinsley slides in first and I hear Jake whistle.
"Dang, girl. You're gonna put the rest of us to shame," Jake grins at her.
I slide in next to Kinsley and the driver shuts the door.
"Speak for yourself," Madison laughs, but there's admiration in her voice. "You look incredible, Kinsley."
"You too," Kinsley grins.
I put my arm over the back of the seat and Kinsley settles against me like she belongs there. Through the windows, Jackson Hole slides past in a blur of gallery lights and restaurant patios.
"So, what exactly happens at these things?" Kinsley asks, her fingers toying with the button on my jacket.
"They put on quite a show," Jake replies. "Fancy food and usually some pretty decent entertainment."
"Last year they had Riley Green on stage, and Jake was up there singing along like he was part of the band," Madison adds with a laugh.
"Hey, when a man knows the words, he's got to use them," Jake grins, completely unashamed. "Plus, there's an open bar, which means I can afford to buy you ladies drinks all night."
"Such a gentleman," Madison teases.
"I try," Jake says, tipping his hat. "Besides, these sponsor folks treat us real well. Figure the least I can do is enjoy myself and make sure everyone else does too."
The limo pulls up to a restaurant that looks like it was built from the mountain itself—stone and timber rising into the night sky, warm light spilling from windows that stretch floor to ceiling.
Valets in Western hats open our doors, and suddenly we're part of the spectacle that draws cameras and curious stares.
We approach the entrance where photographers wait near the door, their cameras already flashing as other guests arrive.
Jake goes first, all smiles and jokes for the reporters and photographers.
He eats this stuff up. Madison rolls her eyes and moves into the photo op—pushing Jake out of the way and striking a pose of her own.
I reach for Kinsley's hand. She tries to pull away from me, but I hold tight.
“Do you realize what this looks like?” she whispers.
I do and I don’t care what people think. I lean down, my lips brushing her ear as I whisper, "I offered to stay in the room, Sweetheart."
Her cheeks flush pink, and she smacks my arm. "You've got a one-track mind."
I chuckle into her hair. "Yes, and it's all focused on you." I kiss her temple before guiding us toward the cameras.
The flashes start immediately. "Wyatt Halloway! Who's your date tonight?"
I tell them her name and smile at her as if she's my everything.
She doesn't say she wants me, but her body tells me things her lips don't. She leans into me, her free hand coming to rest on my chest as we pose for the obligatory photos.
"Beautiful couple!" one photographer calls out, and I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes mine back.
We finally make it through the doors and into the warmth of the restaurant.
The main dining room is all Western elegance—stone walls lined with original Russell paintings, and enough crystal chandeliers to light up half of Wyoming. If Kinsley notices the way every man’s head turns as she walks by, she doesn’t show it.
There's something about the way she carries herself—confident and approachable but not desperate for attention. I scowl. She’s like catnip for men.
"Wyatt!" A voice booms across the room, and I turn to see Marcus Brennan, CEO of High Country Outfitters, approaching with his wife Helen in tow.
Marcus is old-school rodeo money, the kind of man who started with nothing and built an empire selling gear to cowboys who actually use it instead of just wearing it for show.
"Marcus, good to see you." I shake his hand, noting the way his attention immediately shifts to Kinsley with obvious curiosity. I’m sure he was informed about my special guest the moment I called to get her on the plane.
"This is my date, Kinsley Rose," I say, my hand finding the small of her back as they shake hands. "Kinsley, this is Marcus and Helen Brennan. High Country Outfitters." My largest sponsor and the whole reason we’re in Jackson Hole tonight.
"Hello," Helen gives Kinsley a polite hug. "That dress is stunning—is it custom?"
"Thank you so much," Kinsley replies, touching the silver threading at her waist. "I found it at a little boutique in Denver. The owner said it was made by a local artist who specializes in Western couture. I fell in love with the detail work."
"You have excellent taste," Helen says with obvious approval. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a political consultant, specializing in agricultural and land use policy." Kinsley's tone shifts subtly, becoming more professional without losing its warmth. "I work primarily with western communities to navigate federal regulations."
Marcus's eyebrows rise with interest. "Now that's timely work. These environmental groups have been churning up our grazing permits all across the region."
"Actually," Kinsley says, leaning forward slightly with the kind of attention that makes people feel like the most important person in the room, "I just read about your company's sustainability initiative. The partnership with regenerative grazing operations is brilliant."
Marcus's chest puff with pride. "Not many folks understand the difference between stewardship over land and harvesting land. Most people think you either care about profit or the environment, not both."
I’ve heard this speech many times before. I glance around for Jake. We have a signal that means: I need a rescue, and this is the time to use it. He’s standing at the bar with his back to me, so I settle in for the long haul.
Marcus draws in a breath, ready to start preaching when Kinsley says, "The best ranchers have always been conservationists because their livelihood depends on the health of the land."
"Exactly." Marcus claps his hands together. "I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
My jaw drops and I snap my teeth back together.
As the Brennans move on to greet other guests, I lean down to murmur in Kinsley's ear. "Remind me to thank you properly for making me look good."
Her laugh is soft and wicked. "It’s a big job, but lucky for you, I’m overqualified."
I poke her ribs, and she jumps away, laughing. The sound does something to me, and it’s all I can do to not whisk her away and keep her all to myself for the night.
Unfortunately for me, I brought the most irresistible woman in the room.
Usually at these events, I'm the one making sure everyone feels appreciated so they'll keep writing checks.
Kinsley handles them all with effortless grace.
She compliments Janet Morrison (Jake's aunt) on her recent election to the county commission in Texas, then seamlessly transitions into a conversation about water rights that has Janet hanging on every word.
She asks David Richards about his family's ranch operation, listens intently as he describes the challenges of marketing grass-fed beef, then suggests a specific consumer trend he should be aware of.
With Sarah Whitfield, wife of a major feed manufacturer, Kinsley admires the woman's turquoise jewelry and learns it was made by a Native American artist from New Mexico. Within minutes, Sarah is promising to send Kinsley contact information for other artists she should meet.
I'm struck by something that should have been obvious but somehow surprises me: Kinsley isn't just charming these people. She's genuinely interested in what they do, genuinely knowledgeable about their industries, genuinely supportive of their goals.
This isn't an act. This is who she is.
"Your girlfriend is remarkable," says a voice beside me, and I turn to find Dr. James Harrison, the veterinarian who handles most of the rodeo stock health. "I've been watching her work this room, and I'm impressed."
"She's something else," I agree, watching Kinsley laugh at something Madison said. They went to the ladies’ room together and I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to get my date back.
"She's brilliant. Where did you find her?"
"In my own back yard," I say, which is close enough to the truth.
"You lucky son of a gun." Dr. Harrison says with a chuckle.
He's right. Kinsley elevates my life.
Watching her cross the room with that easy smile and those curves, all I can think is: When can I get her alone? I'm done sharing her with the rest of the world.
The evening winds down with speeches that manage to be both heartfelt and mercifully brief. We clap for the last speaker and Kinsley leans over to whisper something to me. I lean in and touch her back.
"We should do something like this for the ranch. Bring in a bunch of influencers to woo over the politicians." She looks around, drinking in the details and memorizing them. "I think it could work."
"Let me know how I can help." I'm surprised that I mean it. I don't think my offer was for my parents or the ranch but for her specifically. She grins at me and faces the stage as the announcer reveals the schedule for tomorrow. I'm half-listening when I feel a familiar hand clap my shoulder.
"Wyatt." Dr. Mackey's voice carries that tone I know too well—the one that means business. "Got a minute?"
I turn, already knowing what's coming. "Doc."
"I need to clear you for competition before tomorrow's event." His eyes flick to Kinsley, then back to me. "Should have done it earlier, but I got caught up in the social hour."
I'd forgotten all about it, too. "No problem," I say, though part of me wants to tell him to stuff his medical clearance. "When and where?"
"Can you meet me at the arena? My laptop and equipment are in the med tent. How about we head over right after dinner? The junior rodeo should almost be wrapped up by then. Won't take long.”
I glance at Kinsley. "You mind a detour?"
"Of course not." Her smile is genuine, but I catch something in her eyes—concern, maybe, or just the realization that tomorrow I'll be climbing on something that could kill me.
But she’s got nothing to worry about—I got this.
A visit with Doc wasn’t how I saw the night going, but as long as it ends with Kinsley, I’m not complaining.