Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
I WANT TO BE DONE WITH WYATT.
KINSLEY
"I can't believe I agreed to this," I say, staring out the passenger window of Brook's truck as downtown Gritstone's lights blur past. It's been four days since Wyatt left and Jess pulled out this morning.
Her PTO ran out and she had to get back to work.
I think she called me five times on her drive home to check in.
Between calls, I've been hunched over my laptop, piecing together Martinez's scheme.
Janet came through with the paperwork—timelines, official filings, even interdepartmental emails that shouldn't have seen the light of day.
My dining table has become a war room, every surface covered with evidence connecting Martinez to the fire hazard designation.
The case is growing stronger by the hour, but I'm triple-checking everything.
One overlooked detail could bring it all crashing down.
I haven't told Sarah or anyone in the family yet.
I can't bear the thought of giving them false hope, watching that spark ignite in their eyes only to have to extinguish it if I've missed something. They've been through enough.
"You have to get out," Brook says from the driver's seat, her tone gentle but firm. "You have to think about something else besides my brother."
I want to argue. Want to tell them that going country dancing while my heart's in pieces feels like the worst idea anyone's ever had. But they showed up at my cottage an hour ago with makeup and determination, and I didn't have the energy to fight them.
I sigh heavily and lean against the door. "I think I'm broken."
Hailey leans forward from the back seat, resting her arms on the console between us. "Is it hard to eat?"
I nod, my throat tight.
"Do you zone out?" Brook adds. "Like you'll be doing something and suddenly realize you've been staring at nothing for ten minutes?"
"Yes." The word comes out rough.
"Totally normal." Brook's voice carries the weight of experience. "We've both been there. Heartbreak club—membership is terrible, but at least we're in it together."
"Good news is," Hailey says, "we're going to help you forget about it for a while."
Brook pulls into the gravel parking lot of The Dusty Boot, a brick building with large windows all across the front that glow warm and inviting. A neon sign in the window flashes "COLD BEER" in blue and red, and I can hear the thump of bass.
Just looking at it exhausts me. All that light and noise and life—it'll want something from me I don't have anymore. I'm hollow. An empty version of who I used to be, going through the motions because my friends won't let me sit in the dark.
"I don't know if I can do this," I admit as Brook kills the engine.
"You can." Hailey opens her door. "We'll be right there with you."
Inside, The Dusty Boot smells like beer and sawdust and cologne. The place is packed—seems like half of Gritstone turned out tonight. A DJ occupies a booth in the corner, playing something upbeat that has couples spinning across the wooden dance floor.
I catch my reflection in the mirror behind the bar and barely recognize myself.
Hailey spent an hour on my hair and makeup, curling and painting until I looked almost human.
Almost. But no amount of mascara can hide the hollow look in my eyes, the sunken quality that comes from four days of not sleeping right, not eating right, not being right.
I'm wearing dark jeans that fit perfectly, my favorite boots, and a fitted burgundy top that usually makes me feel confident. Tonight, I look like someone who came here to have fun even though I feel like I'm barely holding myself together.
Brook and Hailey lead me toward a high-top table near the edge of the dance floor. A waitress takes our drink orders, and the DJ transitions into a two-step. The dance floor fills with couples.
I watch them and ache for Wyatt. We should be out there, his arm around my waist, flirting and saying things that make me blush. Instead, he's three states away, probably getting ready to propose to a woman carrying his child.
The thought closes off my throat.
"Miss Kinsley?" A male voice pulls me back from the edge of tears. I turn to find one of Hank's ranch hands, Cooper I think, standing beside our table with a tentative smile. "Would you want to dance?"
I open my mouth to say no, but Brook kicks me under the table.
"She'd love to," Hailey answers for me.
Cooper offers his arm, and I take it because refusing would make a scene and I'm too tired for scenes.
He leads me onto the dance floor and settles into an easy two-step, keeping respectful distance between us. He's a good dancer, smooth and confident, the kind of partner who makes it easy to follow.
It feels completely wrong.
"So where are you from?" Cooper asks, clearly trying to make conversation. "I know you're working for the Halloways, but you're not from around here, right?"
"Cheyenne." I force myself to focus on him instead of the ache in my chest.
"What brought you to Gritstone?"
"A job." The answer sounds hollow even to me. He’s trying hard enough for both of us and I’m letting down my end of the conversation. "Land management consulting," I add.
"That's cool." He grins. "Way over my head, but cool. You liking it here?"
I almost laugh. Liking it? I fell in love with this place. With the mountains and the horses and the people. With a man who's not mine to love.
"It's complicated," I say instead.
"Fair enough." Cooper doesn't push. "You ride?”
"Yeah. Barrel racing, mostly.” I haven’t been on Rebel in five days.
She’s probably feeling lost and forgotten.
Grandpa’s been feeding her for me. I just …
I just need another day to get my feet under me before I can walk into the barn where Wyatt rescued me from the colt, where he first touched me and woke up a part of me I didn’t know existed.
“You?" I ask to turn the conversation away from me.
"Little bit of everything. Roping, mainly." He spins me under his arm. "My family's got a small place up near the border. Nothing like Stonegate, but it's home."
The conversation is easy, comfortable, the kind of small talk that fills space. Cooper's nice. But his touch doesn't set me on fire. His smile doesn't make my heart race.
I can’t help but compare him to Wyatt and his sandy blonde hair isn’t doing a thing for me. I want to be done with Wyatt. I told him to marry Brittany, gave him permission to walk away and do what he needed to do. But I don't know how I'm ever going to get over this.
The song ends, and Cooper walks me back to the table with a friendly smile and no expectations.
The next dance picks up. Brook’s asked to dance by some guy I don’t know.
She agrees and leaves me and Hailey at the table.
I know they have an agreement to not let me be alone and I appreciate it.
I watch Brook spin around. Everyone's moving on.
Living their lives. Finding joy in Friday nights and cold beer and good music.
Everyone except me.
I'm stuck wondering if I made the right choice. Wondering if there even was a right choice, or if we were both doomed from the start.
The music changes and Hailey asks, "Do you want to line dance?"
I glance at the door wondering how long I have to keep doing this.
It swings open and I could swear Wyatt is standing there. I stare and then shake my head trying to get the image of him out. I’ve got it so bad now I’m imagining him walking in here.
Brook’s back. I look at her, expecting Wyatt’s ghost to disappear when I look back but he’s still there.
He's wearing his riding clothes—dusty jeans, worn boots, a shirt that's seen better days.
His hat's pulled low, but I can see his face in the neon glow.
See the exhaustion in his eyes, the set of his jaw that means he's determined about something.
Hailey puts her arm around me. “Did you know he was coming?” she asks Brook.
Brook shakes her head.
“He’s here,” I whisper.
The bar keeps moving around us—people laughing, the DJ playing, couples spinning across the floor. But my world stops turning.
He scans the crowd, searching. And then his eyes find mine across the packed room, and everything else falls away.
His expression shifts —something raw and desperate and determined all at once. He takes a step forward, then another.
My fingers grip the edge of the table. My heart hammers against my ribs.
"What do we do?" Hailey asks quietly.
I don't hear Brook's response. Wyatt's crossing the dance floor now, his eyes locked on mine, and I have absolutely no idea what to do with him.
His jaw is set hard, shoulders tense under his dark shirt, and the way he moves—purposeful, unstoppable—parts the crowd without effort.
My heart hammers against my ribs, betraying every resolve I'd made.
The evidence against Martinez burns in the back of my mind, but it changes nothing about the baby—that permanent, unbreakable thread binding him to Brittney forever.
My fingers tremble against the table as he closes the distance between us, and I realize with crystal clarity that I've been preparing for every outcome except the one walking straight toward me with fire in his eyes.