Chapter 1
Fastest Girl in Town - Miranda Lambert
Kinsley
I t was love at first sight.
He was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, with his deep and soulful brown eyes, shiny black hair, powerful muscles… I had to have him.
So, I bought him without a second thought.
Mr. Lucky Gambler was an eight-year-old black quarter horse gelding and the fastest horse I had ever ridden. But the honeymoon period was over by the time I had him on the trailer to bring him home.
I, of all people, knew better than to fall that hard and fast for a member of the male species. You’d think I would’ve learned my lesson the first time, but nope.
My frustration mounted as Gambler threw his head up for the umpteenth time, ignoring my cues to slow down. We circled the outdoor arena, kicking up dust under the warm spring Alberta sun. The endless cattle fields of my family’s ranch stretched out around me.
“You overgrown turd!” I grumbled through gritted teeth, trying to rein him in.
Gambler snorted, his black coat glistening with sweat.
The sound of boots crunching on gravel drew my attention.
Dad leaned against the fence, a knowing smile on his sun-weathered face. “How’s it going, Kins?”
I forced a grin. “Oh, he’s being an angel. Just getting him used to the arena.”
Dad raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Looks like he’s giving you a run for your money.”
I shrugged, patting Gambler’s neck. “We’re working out some kinks. He’s got a lot of spirit.”
“Maybe you should give yourselves more time,” Dad suggested. “Get to know each other better before hitting the rodeo circuit.”
I shook my head, determination surging through me. “No way. We’re ready. I can feel it.”
Dad sighed. “Kinsley, I know you’re eager to win, but rushing into things won’t do you any favours. Take it slow; build that trust.”
I met his gaze, my jaw set. “I appreciate the advice, Dad, but I know what I’m doing. Gambler and I are going to take the circuit by storm. Just you wait.”
Dad held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Be careful out there. That’s a lot of horse.”
I grinned, imagining the upcoming competition, excitement already coursing through my veins. “Don’t worry, Dad. We’ve got this.”
Dad shook his head and waved as he strolled back to the big red barn that housed our string of ranch horses, as well as my and my sister’s horses.
I guided Gambler around the barrels, my heart pounding with each mighty stride.
Barrel racing was all about speed, precision, and that unbreakable bond between the horse and the rider. The goal was simple: complete a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels in the fastest time possible. But simple didn’t mean easy. Navigating those tight turns at breakneck speeds required razor-sharp focus and impeccable timing. The slightest miscalculation could mean losing precious seconds or even knocking barrels over, resulting in a loss.
As we approached the first barrel, Gambler overshot the turn, his hooves scrambling in the dirt. I cursed under my breath, pulling him back on course. We completed the pattern, but it was sloppy. I knew we could do better.
I brought Gambler to a stop, patting his neck. “Let’s try that again, buddy. Nice and tight around those barrels, okay?”
We lined up for another run. This time, I kept my cues clear and consistent, guiding Gambler with my body and voice. We hit the first barrel, and though he still overshot, it was an improvement from before. Around the second barrel, we found our rhythm. Gambler responded beautifully to my cues, his athletic body coiled and ready for each turn. By the third barrel, we were flying, dirt kicking up behind us as we raced for the finish line. I let out a whoop as we crossed the line. It hadn’t been a perfect run but still a damn good one. With a little more practice, Gambler and I would be unstoppable.
We ran the pattern again and again, each time smoothing out the rough edges. Gambler’s overshoot at the first barrel became less pronounced, his turns tighter and more controlled. By the end of our session, sweat dampened his coat and my blue long-sleeve Henley clung to my back, but the satisfaction was undeniable.
I dismounted, leading Gambler out of the arena. My muscles ached in that pleasant way that came from a great workout. I unsaddled Gambler and brushed him down, ignoring the nagging in my stomach. Sure, we still had work to do, but we’d be ready for the first rodeo this weekend. Gambler had the speed, and I was the daughter of a rodeo legend.
We have what it takes to win, and nothing is going to stop us.
***
Gambler was kicking firmly and rhythmically into the rubber-coated door of the trailer.
“How did he load?” I asked our longtime ranch hand, Ben, as I approached the truck and threw my bag into the backseat.
“Oh, he knows every trick in the book to get out of loading, but unfortunately for him, so do I.” Ben grinned at me through his salt-and-pepper whiskers. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you and unload him on the other side?”
“Nah, I’ll be fine.” I loved to drive alone, hauling my horses to rodeos with windows down and music blaring. Gambler could kick along to the beat if he wanted to. There wasn’t much damage he could do in that rig.
“I think that’s a good idea!” My mother’s voice called out from inside the barn. She emerged seconds later, frowning in disapproval, followed by my father. “Let him drive so that horse doesn’t kill you.”
“If he’s going to kill me, it will not be by unloading him from the trailer; it’ll be by coming around the third barrel and racing to home.” I smiled sweetly at her, which only made her frown deeper.
My father tried his best to hide his grin but failed. He understood me and my need to win. Before settling into the ranch life, Cal Jackson had been a rodeo cowboy—the best of the best. He’d never backed down from any bucking bull.
Dad and I were so much alike, though my passion was barrel racing, not bulls. I’d given my mother some relief with that, at least.
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Kinsley,” she scolded. “Why can’t you keep riding Cherokee? She ran so well for you last year.”
“She did. And I will keep riding her. But I didn’t finish first last year. Gambler will get me there.”
I’d finished third in points overall last season, which of course was great, but it wasn’t first. I was Cal Jackson’s daughter. While my dad didn’t put the pressure on me to win, the rest of the world did. I was good, even at a young age. I grew up on the rodeo scene with all eyes on me, constantly being told I had my father’s talent, fearlessness, and drive. My bar had been set high right from day one, and I desperately wanted to scale it and be the best, just like he was. Just like everyone expected me to be.
Gambler was a recent impulse purchase. He was so fast, but he also had a reputation—he was kind of mean and unpredictable. If you got a good ride out of him, he was incredible, but he gave just as many bad rides, maybe more.
He’d sent his last owner to the hospital with a slew of injuries. That was why she’d sold him. Lucky me! I needed that speed if I was going to win, and I was positive that I could handle him.
The breeze blew a lock of my long blonde hair into my mouth, and I brushed it away.
“Do you want me to braid your hair for you before you go?” my mother asked, brushing her own blonde strands away from her face.
“How am I supposed to feel the wind in my hair if it’s in a silly braid?” I teased.
“Stop fussin’ over her, Marian.” Dad wrapped his arm around his wife and pulled her into his side. “Kinsley is all grown up and knows what she’s doing.”
I resisted the urge to remind them that, at twenty-four, I’d been grown up for a while now.
Another loud kick sounded from inside the trailer. Such an impatient boy.
I peeked at Gambler through the window. “Hush now. We’re going right away.”
Another kick.
I opened the door of the trailer and let myself in. “Hey, grumpy man,” I cooed at him.
He took my breath away every time I looked at him. Gambler was stunning—well, usually. At the moment, he had bits of hay sticking out of his mouth, and he must’ve rubbed his head on his hay net because hay was stuck in his forelock, making it look more like a bird’s nest.
I laughed at his goofy appearance, pulled the hay out, and smoothed his mane. I ran my hands down his face, breathed in that wonderful sweet and earthy horse scent, and planted a kiss on his nose. “We’re going to win together, aren’t we, boy? You do what you do best and run like the wind.”
He turned away from me and, with his teeth, pulled another mouthful of hay from his net as if to say, I will if I feel like it.
“Alright, Gambler, you’re the boss. We’ll head out.” I peeked over him at my little red mare in the next stall, who was happily munching. “You good, Cher?”
Her ear flicked to me, but she went right on eating. She was a pro at travelling; she was a pro at everything. My sassy girl.
I stepped out of the trailer and secured the door behind me.
“All set?” Dad asked. “You can handle this rig?”
He’d bought me the new trailer for Christmas last year. It was a fifth-wheel trailer with living quarters up front, which included a queen-size bed, bathroom, and kitchenette. In the back, there was room for three horses, with padded walls and non-slip rubber mats. Only the best for his girl, Dad had said.
Yeah, I was a bit spoiled, but I didn’t mind. This trailer was bigger than my last one and I hadn’t driven it yet, but I wasn’t worried. I’d grown up on a cattle ranch, and I had been driving since I was tall enough to see over the dashboard.
“Yep, no problem,” I replied.
“Atta girl.”
“Is Wyatt going to be there?” my mother asked, not looking me in the eye.
Why did she have to bring him up?
I balled up my fists. It would be so much easier if my mother didn’t like my ex-boyfriend so much. But even I had to admit he was easy to like; he was always respectful, caring, and just had a simple charm to him.
“No idea.” I lied, abruptly turning and heading for the truck to avoid further questions.
She got the hint.
To be honest, I’d finally given in and checked the rodeo website last night, to see if he was registered. He was. My heart had sunk then fluttered back up, then sunk again. It’d gone back and forth all night, and I’d barely slept.
My parents followed me to the driver’s side door, and I hugged them both goodbye.
“Good luck, sweetie.” My mother had tears in her eyes, as she always did when I left.
“It’s a few months,” I reminded her. “There should be a few opportunities for me to come back and visit when there’s a break in the schedule.”
The more rodeos you competed in, the more points you could earn. These points contributed to our overall standing in the rodeo circuit, and high standings could lead to qualifying for major events, like the Canadian Finals Rodeo.
When I was younger, she had come with me on the rodeo circuit, but now she stayed home with Dad to help run the ranch. They would come out to cheer me on whenever they could.
“Say goodbye to Abby for me.” I told them. My younger sister was away at a riding clinic.
“We will,” my mother answered.
“Keep your eyes up and always be looking where you want your horse to go, not down at his feet.”
“Got it, Dad.” I rolled my eyes and climbed into the truck.
I shoved the key into the ignition and started it up with a loud rumble, then I rolled down the window because what was even the point of driving with the window up?
Mom and Dad waved as I pulled away, the tires crunching on the long gravel driveway. Every acre of home was perfect, from the green pastures on either side of me to the cows grazing in the distance. But it was also quiet and still—two things I was not.
I needed to feel the adrenaline and the pure exhilaration every time I sat on a horse as I waited to burst across that start line and towards that first barrel. I loved my time at home with my family, but I also needed the thrill of the rodeo.
And the thrill that came with kissing Wyatt Collins.
I reminded myself that I couldn’t think about him. I. Will. Not. Think. About. Wyatt.
So what if I could never resist him before? I would this time. Every time we’d gotten together over the last two years, it had ended in disaster and me broken-hearted.
I loved him, of that I had no doubt, but we were like fire and gasoline—we burned too fast. We weren’t right for each other.
Love shouldn’t be that hard, right?
I had to focus on my horses and my rides. That cowboy would not distract me from my goal. Winning mattered; it was all that mattered.
I turned up the volume on my stereo, blasting a Miranda Lambert album. With my right hand on the steering wheel, I put my left hand out the window and let it ride the waves on the wind. Up and down, up and down.
I let out a deep breath. This was all I needed. And Wyatt Collins? Never again.