Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
MUST BE NICE TO HAVE PEOPLE YOU CAN COUNT ON.
KINSLEY
Monday morning arrives and I feel like the weekend in Jackson Hole with Wyatt was a dream.
A fantastic dream.
I’m so grateful that he’s home for a couple of days before he has to hit the road because I’m not quite ready to say goodbye.
I walk up the stairs to the main house and push through the door. Sarah’s expecting me and her text said to come right in. She’s at the table already deep in strategy mode, her coffee growing cold beside a stack of federal documents thick enough to choke a horse.
Kit’s in the kitchen filling up a water bottle. “I’ll be riding at Hank’s after school today, so I won’t be home until dark.”
I wave at her and she smiles. She crosses to her mom and kisses her on the head. “Bye.”
“I’ll put your dinner in the fridge.” Sarah watches her grab her backpack and leave.
“Good morning,” I say, taking a seat at the table.
Sarah grins. “Good morning and welcome back.”
“You seem happy this morning,” I observe.
“My baby has a job that keeps her too busy to get into trouble. I’m ecstatic.”
I chuckle. “It’s the simple things in life.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” She sets a fresh cup of coffee in front of me and takes a sip of her own. "Did you have a good time at the rodeo?"
Heat creeps up my neck at the interest in her tone.
There's no judgment —just the awareness of the woman her son’s pursuing.
I can’t deny something happened between me and Wyatt this weekend in Jackson—this is no longer a situationship, not when my heart decided to get involved.
But an open heart is different from a trusting heart.
On the one hand, I have these growing feelings for him; but, on the other hand, I’m guarded and careful.
Maybe I’m incapable of falling head over heels—like a tumbleweed. "It was…”
My phone dings once, and then three more times in a row.
“You’d better get that.” She nods to my phone. “Sounds important.”
“Sorry,” I apologize and swipe the screen.
An unknown number has sent me a social media link.
I tap on it and see a picture of Brittney dragging Wyatt down the hall of our hotel.
I squint and stare. What in the world? I recognize the clothes he wore to the sponsor event.
This had to be after he kissed me goodnight.
I swipe and see him holding the door to a room open for Brittney.
His hair is mused and his lips swollen from my kisses.
My chest is tight, and I force myself to breathe and think.
I can hear his voice in my head: It’s not what it appears to be.
Well, it appears that Wyatt left my door and met up with Brittney for the rest of the night.
Okay. Okay. Don’t freak out. Brittney is certifiably coocoo and whatever this is, I’m sure there’s an explanation for it.
These aren’t selfies but they’re on Brittney’s account. Which means someone else was there to take photos and send them to Brittney. Okay, so they weren’t alone. That’s good, right?
I don’t know why he’s holding the door open for them—maybe that was him just going into his own room. I never saw the inside of it, so I don’t know.
It’s just … he didn’t say a word about this. You’d think he’d bring it up. If not the next morning then after she showed up at the Cowboy Bar—where he brushed her off.
I glare at my phone. I don’t know how to do this. Trusting Wyatt is hard enough for me. I don’t need random women implying that they’re sleeping with him.
Even if nothing happened, this makes me look bad. The night before these pics were taken, Wyatt and I were splashed all over Western socials. Brittney obviously doesn't care if she’s the other woman—or she’s trying to paint me as the other woman.
These pictures shouldn’t bother me. They do, but I should be more confident in myself. I mean, I may not be able to trust Wyatt, but I should be able to trust my own gut.
It does bother me that Brittney got my number to text the link to me.
I mean, I don’t know that it’s her but I’m pretty sure it is.
It’s a classic mean-girl move and all too cliche.
It shouldn’t surprise me that she found my number.
I’m a consultant and I have a website. She’s targeting me and I do not appreciate it.
I shake my head in an effort to clear it of all this. I’m at work. My personal life shouldn’t take me out of the game. I’m giving Brittney exactly what she wants, and I have to put this aside and deal with it when I’m off the clock.
“Sorry about that.” I set my phone down.
“Everything alright?” Sarah asks politely.
“Everything’s great.” I sit up taller. “In fact, I had an epiphany this weekend.”
Sarah's eyebrows rise with interest. “Oh?”
“Yes. I've been thinking about our strategy, and I believe it’s time we switch gears." I pick up my pen and spin it around my finger, catching it easily. I used to do that in debate class when I was too excited to sit still.
"How so?"
"We've been playing defense—scrambling to meet their deadlines, reacting to their moves, fighting on their terms." My pulse quickens with the recognition of a winning strategy forming.
"This weekend, Wyatt told me that you don't beat a bull by trying to tame it—you conquer it by making the buzzer on your own terms."
"And you think we need to stop riding their bull," Sarah says, grasping the implication.
"Exactly. Instead of responding to bureaucratic pressure, we create political pressure of our own.
" I pull up Senator Martinez's file on my phone.
"At that sponsor event in Jackson Hole, I watched something fascinating happen.
Local politicians, sponsors, businessmen—they all lit up like Christmas trees when they got to meet the cowboys. "
Sarah leans forward. "Personal connection beats policy papers."
"Every time. Senator Martinez chairs the committee that oversees the Forest Service.
I've mentioned him before—he's reasonable, fair, and completely obsessed with rodeo.
" A grin tugs at my lips as I remember how he welcomed me into his office with a question about barrel racing.
"His office walls are covered with commemorative buckles, signed hats, photos of him with cowboys. "
Sarah leans back in her chair, the leather creaking softly. "You're thinking we should use that."
"I know we can. When celebrities he admires look him in the eye and tell him this designation is wrong, he'll move mountains to fix it.
" The idea gains momentum as I speak and I’m getting excited.
This is what I live for—the moment when all the pieces align and the way to win is clear.
"We bring together every rodeo celebrity we can gather and let them tell Senator Martinez exactly what this designation means to people like us. "
"A party? It’s so innocent it's perfect." Sarah's smile turns calculating. "How do we get celebrities to show up?"
I think of all the friends who stopped by our table at the Cowboy Bar. "Lucky for you, your son has made a lot of friends."
Sarah tips her head to the side and considers this. "Wyatt would work his connections for us?"
"He will." He already asked me what he could do to help. I’m sure he’ll be happy to ask his buddies to come to a party. "I could even invite my mother. Callie Rose's name carries serious weight in rodeo circles and barrel racers would come just for the chance to meet her."
It’s strange to think of asking her for a favor though.
Mom raised me to be independent, to never need anyone—what will she do when I need her?
My stomach twists at the thought. Sharing Stonegate Ranch’s purpose feels like belonging in a way I've never experienced and I'm willing to risk my mother's rejection for it. That’s unsettling. This place is changing me in ways I didn’t see coming.
I gulp back my issues and plow ahead. "Let’s talk logistics," I continue, my voice steadier than I feel.
I pull out the checklist I made at breakfast. "We'd need a venue.
Something like what they had in Jackson Hole," I say, thinking out loud, remembering how right it felt to be on Wyatt's arm in that world.
"Not too polished, but definitely sophisticated. "
"Nothing like that exists here, unless we want to use the ski resort and hand Eleanor Whitmore a check." Sarah makes a face. "I'm not giving that woman a dime. Can we host it in Jackson Hole?"
I shake my head. "It’s got to be here.” Of that, I’m certain. “What about other venues in the area?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer won't be good.
"The community center has folding tables and fluorescent lighting. The church fellowship hall seats maybe fifty people. The city conference room looks like a tax seminar." Sarah ticks off the options on her fingers, each one landing like a nail in the coffin of my perfect plan.
"So, we can either surrender our dignity to the Whitmores—"
"Which will never happen," she cuts in.
I nod to acknowledge the line she's drawn in the sand. "Or hold a world-class political event in a room that smells like potluck casseroles." I find myself making a face too.
"Wait," Sarah says suddenly, and something in her voice makes me look up. "Let me call Brook."
"Brook?" I ask, curious. When I got home from my weekend with Wyatt there was a pan of chicken enchiladas waiting in my fridge. The woman has won my heart.
Sarah's pulling out her phone. "Brook has several projects in the works. One of them might be just what we need."
I watch Sarah dial, and I can't help but wonder what it's like to have that kind of faith in family. To know exactly who to call when the impossible needs to happen.
Must be nice to have people you can count on.
"Brook? I'm here with Kinsley." Sarah hits the speaker button and sets the phone between us.