Chapter 47
Forty-Seven
IF I LOST HER, NONE OF THIS WOULD MEAN A THING.
WYATT
I left Kinsley standing there, barefoot on the porch, and I haven't been able to breathe right since. It doesn't matter how many bulls I ride, I can’t shake her.
My phone buzzes. Brittney's name flashes across the screen for the third time in ten minutes. I’m not making the mistake of answering her again. Last time I did she blathered on about nursery colors and where we are going to live. I can’t do that again.
I silence it and send a text: About to ride. What’s up.
Her response comes through immediately. Our ultrasound is next week. Thursday at 2pm. Thought you'd want to meet our baby.
The words blur on the screen. Meet our baby.
This is getting real. Too real.
A baby. My baby. This would be my kid. My blood. Whatever mess I've made, whatever consequences I'm facing, there's a child coming into the world who didn't ask for any of this—who deserves a father who shows up for him or her.
I type back before I can overthink it: I'll be there.
Her response is almost instant. See you then. <3
“What have I done?” I mumble—not for the first time.
My phone rings again, and this time it's Dad's name on the screen. I almost don't answer—I'm supposed to be getting my head right before this ride. The punishment keeps on coming—but I deserve it.
"Yeah?" I answer.
"When are you coming home?" he snips.
Never. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because I got a heartbroken cowgirl in my cottage and you're out playing bull rider like nothing’s changed."
I close my eyes against the image that brings up. Kinsley, loving me but sending me away. "She told me to go."
"You’re making the biggest mistake of your life."
My grip tightens on the phone. "Oh? I thought bull riding was the biggest mistake of my life.”
"That too," he growls. "Listen, son. I'm made up of three things: this ranch, the horses, and your mother.
My family matters—but your mother..." His voice catches, surprising them both.
"If I lost her, none of this would mean a thing.” There's a pause, the sound of his breathing through the line.
“That's the gospel truth. And if I ever had to choose, it'd be her I'd save. Every time."
"I messed up, Dad. And now I'm dealing with the consequences." A knife twists in my gut. "Losing Kinsley is one of those."
The admission costs me. Because I'm not dealing with anything—I'm running from it. Hiding behind bull riding and distance and the excuse that I'm doing what's right when all I'm doing is breaking both our hearts.
He swears. “I didn’t raise you to be stupid.”
“Naw,” I feign indifference. “You just raised me to be stubborn and difficult.”
"The body can keep going long after the heart stops beating.” Dad's voice gentles slightly. “I've seen it happen to men who lose what matters most. Don't let that be you."
I lean against the fence, suddenly tired. "Dad—"
"Come home, Wyatt." He hangs up before I can argue.
I stand there behind the chutes with my gear bag at my feet and my father's words ringing in my ears.
"Halloway, you're up in chute five," the official tells me.
I grab my rope and head to my spot.
Devil's Backbone.
Two thousand pounds of spite. Black as a moonless night and twice as mean. The kind of bull that sorts the pretenders from the professionals real quick.
I should be feeling that familiar kick in my gut—the one that comes with staring down something that could kill me and betting I'm tougher. My heart should hammer against my ribs like it always does before the gate swings open.
But there's nothing. Just empty space where the fire used to burn.
My hands work the rope without conscious thought, muscle memory from a hundred rides before this one. Leather worn smooth as creek stones, familiar as my own skin. But even this ritual feels like going through the motions of somebody else's life.
Devil's Backbone shifts beneath me, muscles coiled tight as steel springs. He knows what's coming, same as I do.
I used to love this moment. The split second before the gate opens when everything hangs in the balance. It used to make me feel more alive than anything else in the world.
Now I just want it over with.
Dad's words echo in my head as I wrap the rope around my hand. He's right. I curse under my breath. I hate it when Dad’s right.
The flagman raises his arm, ready to signal the gate crew. Time to find that zone where nothing else exists.
But even as two thousand pounds of fury prepare to explode out of this chute like a freight train derailment, all I can think about is Kinsley.
"You ready, cowboy?" The gate man's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I nod.
The gate swings open and Devil's Backbone launches himself into the arena like he's been shot from a cannon. His first jump is straight up, all four hooves leaving the ground. The impact when we come down rattles my teeth and sends shockwaves up my spine.
The bull spins left, then right. The crowd's on their feet—eight hundred people screaming for a good ride. But their cheers sound like they're coming from miles away, like none of it matters anymore.
Because what's the point of any of this without her?
Devil’s Backbone changes tactics, going into a series of high, twisting bucks. Each impact drives the air from my lungs; each spin threatens to tear my arm from its socket. But I stay centered, stay balanced, like my body knows what to do even when my mind is somewhere else entirely.
Five seconds. Three more till the buzzer. The bull’s running out of steam, falling into that fight that means he's done trying to kill me and just wants this over with. On any other night, I'd be ticked off—I paid good money to get on a bull with some fight left in him.
Tonight, he could roll over and play dead for all I care. Because I finally get it. What's been gnawing at my gut for days. Why this whole blasted thing feels more like serving time than breaking free.
I can't marry Brittney Martinez.
I want a woman who wrecks me for anybody else. I want the kind of love that'd make a man bet everything he's got—ranch, family name, all of it—just to keep her.
Kinsley's that and more.
Seven seconds.
Devil's Backbone makes one last desperate attempt and lives up to his reputation, a tight spin that has me grabbing with my spurs. I'm stuck to him like glue.
Eight seconds. The buzzer sounds, shrill and final in the arena air.
I dismount clean. Devil's Backbone trots away, his job done.
The crowd is on its feet, screaming approval at what must have looked like a heck of a ride. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, calling it one of the best rides of the night, talking about heart and determination and cowboy grit. If they only knew I was only half here.
Tonight, the fans might as well be ghosts.
The bullfighters jog over, grinning and clapping me on the back. I'm nodding, saying thanks, doing what I'm supposed to do. But inside, I'm coming apart.
I came here to get my head right, to prove I could still be myself without her.
I was wrong.
I collect my gear and head for the truck, ignoring the other riders who want to buy me a beer and talk about the ride. My mind’s already three hundred miles away, working through what I need to do.
If I can get right with Kinsley, then we can work out a way to get right with the ranch.
Senator Martinez thinks he's got me backed into a corner; thinks he can use my family's land against me. He has no idea how hard I’m willing to fight for it—no idea that the land is in my blood and it’ll fight for me too.
Dad said he’s made up of three things—well, I’m made up of four: Lovin’ Kinsley, Stonegate Ranch, horses, and bulls.
I've been coming apart piece by piece out here. It's time to pull myself together.
Which means I need to do something I swore I wasn’t going to do; I need to go home.