Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
I CHOOSE HOW MUCH OF MY HEART TO RISK.
KINSLEY
Two days without Wyatt, and I'm coming apart at the seams—which is exactly what I swore I wouldn't let happen.
My fingers find the turquoise stones at my throat—again. Two days since Wyatt left for the circuit, and I can't stop touching the reminder that he's real. That we're real.
Jessica's truck turns into the drive like salvation on four wheels. I hurry out to the porch to meet her. I need a sounding board and Jessica is the best.
She climbs out wearing faded jeans and an oversized cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun. "I come bearing gifts," she calls, hauling a canvas tote from the passenger seat. "Chinese food and zero judgment while you’re in crisis mode."
"I'm insulted that you think I would have a crisis,” I call back. I step inside and grab a couple of throw quilts off the back of the couch. I toss them over the porch swing. If we’re out here past dark we’ll be glad to have them.
Knowing our ability to talk a subject–especially a male subject–into the wee hours of the morning, we’re going to be grateful for them later.
"Honey, you've texted me seventeen times since he left." Jess climbs the porch steps. "That's four more than when your mother tried to set you up with that orthopedic surgeon." She sits down and unzips the tote. The scent of meat and veggies wafts out and my mouth waters.
We settle on the porch swing with cartons between us—lo mein, sweet and sour pork, fried rice that smells like comfort.
The air carries woodsmoke from Grandpa's cabin up on the hill. There’s a bunk house where Billy and several of the ranch hands live and an apartment on the second floor of the barn that’s empty right now.
We eat for a minute before Jess settles back and asks, "So how's your cowboy?"
"He's not my—" I start to deny that he’s mine and then stop myself. My cheeks grow warm as I have to say the words out loud for the first time. "We're dating. Officially."
"Finally!" She grins and does a little victory shimmy with her shoulders. “I was ready to lock you two in a barn until you figured it out." She leans forward. "Okay, spill.”
"He planned this whole sunset ride.” I sigh all sappy-like thinking about how amazing it was. “He took me up to the ridge, and when the sky turned gold, he asked." I touch the necklace without thinking, and Jessica catches the movement.
"And that? Please tell me he gave you that gorgeous necklace." She leans closer to look at it in the fading light.
"He had it made for me." The memory of his hands at my neck, the way his voice went quiet when he fastened the clasp, makes my chest tight.
Jessica sets down her chopsticks. "Kinsley."
"I know." I feel the weight of it against my skin.
"That's not a casual gift."
"I know." I drop my hand from the stones. "I'm trying not to think about what it means."
"How's that working out for you?"
“Not great,” I admit.
My phone buzzes and I cringe at the number. I pick it up and swipe to see a photo of Wyatt in the sponsorship tent. Today—I recognize the dark gray Henley he was wearing when he FaceTimed me this morning. He's standing with his arms crossed, that easy smile on his face.
And Brittany’s pressed against his side like she belongs there, one hand on his arm.
Brittney: Don't worry—I'm keeping him company this week.
The fried rice I just swallowed sits in my stomach like gravel. “Ugh!” I set the phone down, but I didn’t close it, and Jessica sees the text. Her eyebrows lift, silently asking me for permission to take a closer look.
“Go ahead,” I motion for her to have at it. “I need carbonation.” I head inside and come back with a couple of sodas. I set one in the cupholder and hand one to Jessica. She looks like she could spit nails.
"How many of these has she sent you?"
"Since Jackson Hole? Maybe six."
"Six." Jessica's voice is flat. "And you haven't blocked her, because…?"
"Evidence. If I'm going to get a restraining order or press charges, I need documentation." I lift a shoulder like it’s not so bad. At least Brittney is just taunting me. My anonymous texter has gotten a little more aggressive and abusive. He or she is quick to point out my lack of status and efforts to pretend I’m more important than I actually am.
At least I know this is Brittney—not knowing the identity of the other stalker makes him or her that much scarier.
Jessica keeps scrolling, her jaw tight. "This woman is unhinged." She looks up at me. "Does Wyatt know?"
"No."
"Why not?"
Because telling him means admitting she's gotten to me—and I don't want to give her that power.
Because it means admitting I'm not as confident as I pretend to be.
Because I should be able to handle this.
"I don't know," I say. Because once I admit those things to Jessica, they become something we have to deal with instead of something I can pretend doesn't matter. “I know that I’m here and he’s there and that she’s somehow gotten compromising pictures of him in the past.”
Jessica studies my face. "That was before you two were together."
"I don’t know,” I repeat because I really do feel like I know nothing. I suspect a lot of things, and I hope a lot of things, but I have no certain knowledge and that’s what’s eating at me. “He's there with women throwing themselves at him, and I'm—"
"You're what?" Jessica's voice is gentle but firm. "Sitting here letting some obsessed fan convince you that your boyfriend is cheating on you?”
I stare at the mountains. "What if she's not wrong?"
"Listen to yourself. You're letting this woman write your story. She sends you a picture, and suddenly Wyatt's guilty. That's not fair to him, and it's not fair to you." She sets my phone down.
The truth of it sits heavy in my chest. "I hate this. I hate that I care this much. I hate that every time my phone buzzes, part of me panics. Is it him? Is it her? Is it the hospital?"
"That's what happens when you let someone in."
"I don't want to let someone in." The confession comes out raw. "I want to do my job and leave and not feel like my heart's going to crawl out of my chest every time he climbs on a bull."
Jessica sets down her food. "Then why are you still here?"
"Because I—" I stop. I reach for the necklace. "I don't know."
"Kinsley." Jessica's voice is patient. "You're dating him. Dating should be fun. Exciting. Not this—" she gestures at me, "—constant state of panic. Unless—" She pauses, studying my face. "Unless you're falling in love with him. Then we need to have a whole other conversation."
"I'm nowhere close to using the L-word,” I assure her. Of that I am certain. "I'm just—adjusting—badly I know—to having someone in my life. To caring about whether he comes home in one piece."
Jessica doesn't look convinced, but she lets it go. "You can leave whenever you want. You can stay here a few weeks, finish your job, and walk away. You're in control of this, Kinsley."
She's right. I'm in control—not Brittany.
I choose when to stay and when to leave. I choose whether to believe some stranger's texts or trust what I see in Wyatt's eyes. I choose how much of my heart to risk. Nobody else gets that power unless I hand it to them.
The sun drops behind the peaks, and the temperature falls with it. We gather the empty cartons and carry them inside. Jessica moves through my kitchen like she belongs there, finding mugs and honey while I put water on to boil.
We settle on the couch with our tea, and Jessica curls her legs under her. "What are you going to do about her?"
"Keep collecting evidence."
"And Wyatt?"
I wrap my hands around the mug, seeking warmth. "I don't know."
"He deserves to know she's harassing you."
"I know."
"So tell him."
Before I can argue or agree, the sound of a truck pulling up the drive interrupts us. I glance at the clock—nearly ten. "That'll be Billy."
We watch through the window as the cowhand climbs out of his truck, hat in his hands. He walks to the porch.
I open the door before he can knock. "Everything okay, Billy?"
“Yes, ma'am. Just checking on you before I turn in." He ducks his head. "Making sure everything's secure."
Something in me softens at his obvious discomfort—doing his job but trying not to intrude. I smile. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
He nods once, settles his hat on his head, and heads back to his truck. The engine rumbles to life, and red taillights disappear down the drive.
I turn to find Jessica watching me with knowing eyes. "Let me guess," she says. "Wyatt's idea?"
I hug myself. "Billy's never said so. But he came by last night too."
Jessica's smile is soft. "That man is showing you who he is, Kinsley. The question is whether you're going to let yourself see it."
My phone buzzes one more time. But this time, it's not Brittany.
Wyatt: Miss you. Finals tomorrow. Wish me luck?
Always, I text back. Come home safe.
The response is immediate: Promise.
I read it out loud to Jessica and we both sigh.
“That is so sweet.” She leans forward. “Are you going to tell him how you feel?”
“Billy? Nah.” I swat the air.
Jessica laughs. “No, Wyatt!”
"I don't know."
But I do know. Because once you say it, you can't take it back.
And I'm not ready to need someone that much.