Chapter 29 #2
"Partly." I consider this, trying to untangle the knot of feelings that's been building all day.
Brook's quiet for a long moment. "You know, when you first left to rodeo, I thought you were the luckiest person alive. Getting to choose your own path instead of having it chosen for you."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe we were both wrong about what paths were available to us." Her smile is soft and a little sad. "This place needs people who love it, Wyatt. Not just people who feel obligated to it." She steps away and then turns back. "I'm glad you came home today."
Why does coming home always have to be so complicated?
I didn't come to haul hay and if I don't hustle, I'll miss my porch swing date.
The sun hangs low and golden as I step out of the shower in the main house.
I pull on clean jeans and a shirt that actually smells like soap, then grab the envelope from my jacket pocket—the one that represents everything complicated about loving someone when your dreams pull you in different directions.
The walk to the cottage feels longer than usual because I’m thinking about Kinsley’s question up on the mountain.
Why do I think I have to pick? Is there a way to have both?
Kinsley seems to have settled in here and I don't know that she'll want to leave it all behind to chase me across the country.
Kinsley's already on the porch swing when I arrive, her hair still damp from her own shower and twisted up in a way that makes my fingers itch to pull it loose.
She's wearing a simple sundress that makes her skin glow in the evening light, and when she sees me approaching, her smile makes every bit of work to get here worth it.
"Feel better?" she asks as I settle beside her, automatically pulling her against my side where she fits just right.
"Much." I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "You?"
"Mmm." She curls into me with a contentment that makes my chest tight with wanting. "This is perfect. Sitting here, watching the sunset—it makes me believe that all is right with the world."
She's just named something I've been feeling all day but couldn't articulate.
"It is," I agree, but my voice carries a weight that makes her pull back to study my face.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
I reach into my pocket for the envelope that's been burning a hole there since I got home. "I have something for you."
Her eyebrows rise with curiosity, but she waits patiently while I struggle to find the words.
"Today reminded me of something I'd forgotten," I start, looking out over the valley that shaped me. "This land is in my blood, Kinsley. This work, this family, this place—it's part of who I am in ways I've been running from for years."
"But?" she prompts gently.
"But I can't let go of the other part either." The admission tastes like failure and truth in equal measure. "I've got three more rodeos before the National Finals. Three more chances to rack up money for the finals. And I—" I stop, frustrated by my inability to explain what's pulling at me.
"You're not ready to give up the dream," she says quietly, and there's understanding in her voice instead of the disappointment I expected.
"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," I admit. "And that's not fair to you. You’ve got your own dreams, your own career, and I can't tear you away."
Kinsley shifts on the swing to face me fully, her hands framing my face. "Wyatt, look at me."
I meet her eyes, expecting to see frustration or hurt or the distance that comes before someone walks away. Instead, I see something that looks like love mixed with determination.
"I'm not asking you to choose," she says firmly. "I'm asking you to let me be part of both versions of your life while you figure it out."
Wait. What? "You mean that?"
"You were a roughie when I met you," she reminds me, her hand laying over mine. "I knew what I was signing up for."
"Did you?" I pull out the ticket voucher. "Pendleton. It's three days of motel rooms and arena dirt and me being gone a lot. You said you'd fly out to see me. So come see me."
She takes the ticket, studying it like she's reading the fine print on a contract, and I watch her face scrunch up. I'm starting to think this was a bad idea.
"What?" I ask, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice.
She sighs, her fingers worrying the edge of the ticket.
"The venue has a stop-work order. The Whitmores threw their weight around in the city office.
" Her jaw tightens. "It feels like there are roadblocks going up in every direction, and your family needs all hands-on deck with the hay and everything. "
Guilt hits me. I want her all to myself and I don't care about any of that stuff. I mean, I care, but not enough to stop me from wanting her to come to Pendleton. "I—"
"I'm going to come anyway," she says, cutting off my attempt to convince her to walk away from all this for a couple of days.
I stare at her; not sure I heard right. "You're what?"
"I'm coming to Pendleton." Her voice grows stronger. "I'm coming because I want to be with you."
The honesty of her answer knocks the wind out of me. "Even with everything that's happening here?"
"Especially with everything that's happening here." She meets my eyes, and there's something fierce and tender there that makes my chest tight. "I can show up for you when it matters."
Something uncomfortable twists in my gut—I'm asking a lot of her. More than I've been willing to give and it sucks.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"I'm choosing you." She laces our fingers together.
The kiss that follows is different from any we've shared before—not desperate or hungry, but deep and sure and full of promises we're both finally brave enough to make.
She settles back against my side, the plane ticket still in her hands, and we watch the sky deepen from gold to rose to the deep purple that comes before stars. The mountains keep their watch around us, and somewhere in the distance a night bird calls to its mate.
"Pendleton's going to be different," I warn her, needing her to understand what she's signing up for. "Not like Jackson Hole with the fancy sponsors and clean hotels. It's grittier, louder, more real."
"I'm okay with that," she says.
I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent that's become as essential as air. "Three days of me being strung up tighter than barbed wire, Jake's terrible jokes, and enough arena dust to choke a horse."
"Sounds perfect," she murmurs against my shoulder, and the contentment in her voice makes me believe, for the first time in my life, that maybe I can have it all.