Chapter 3
Wranglers - Miranda Lambert
Kinsley
G ambler’s kicking did not cease. It wasn’t scared or even angry kicking. It was I’m-going-to-annoy-the-hell-out-of-Kinsley kicking. Thank goodness for rubber-coated walls, I thought for the billionth time that trip, saving both my horse’s legs and my trailer.
As I pulled into the rodeo grounds, I couldn’t wait to get that horse off the trailer and into a stall, then get out of earshot of him.
“You’re a pain in the ass, Gambler!” I yelled back at him.
I put the truck into park in the lot outside the barns. Gambler let out one last kick for good measure. I hopped out, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots a familiar welcome. The scent of hay, horses, and a hint of manure filled my nostrils, and I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.
This was where I belonged. This was my world, the place where I felt the most alive. The place where I could let everything else fall away and focus on my horses and my rides.
I took a deep breath, savouring the moment.
“It’s about time you got here!” Maisey jogged over.
We hugged each other.
“How was the drive?” She tucked her straight shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears.
Maisey was a barrel racer, like me, so we were competitors in the arena but also best friends outside of it. We had an unspoken agreement to never let the sport come between us; no matter who won or lost, we’d always be there cheering each other on. Our friendship meant more to us than any buckle or title.
We’d grown up together on the rodeo circuit, spending long days training our horses side by side and pushing each other to be better riders. Sure, things got heated sometimes when we were neck and neck in a competition, with both of us competitive by nature. But at the end of the day, we left the rivalry in the arena. Win or lose, we’d crack open a couple of cold ones at the bar later, toasting to each other’s success.
“Long,” I said. “I need to get on a horse and run .”
“Well, let’s get you unloaded and saddle up!”
The kicking in the trailer grew louder and impatient. “Oh, enough already! I’ll get you out.”
“Is that him?” Maisey asked, her eyes round. She went up on her toes, trying to see through the small window of the trailer.
“Yep, letting the whole world know he’s here.” I rolled my eyes and walked to the back of the trailer.
“Geezus, Kinsley, what have you got in there, a dinosaur?” one of the rodeo regulars called from across the yard.
“Close enough!” I called back.
“She bought the demon horse!” Maisey shouted over to him.
“What? No way!” He strolled over. “Are you crazy?”
“I think demon is a bit of stretch.” I unlocked the trailer.
Thanks to Maisey’s announcement, more people wandered over to catch a glimpse of my monster.
Behave, I willed him as I opened the door.
His kicking stopped. He looked at me as if to say, Finally.
Gambler stood calmly, so I relaxed and unlatched his divider and secured it on the wall. I ran my hand down his neck and gave him a little scratch on his withers. It was his favourite spot.
“See, there’s no reason to make a fuss; you’re not new at this.”
Originally, he’d trained for roping events and even did well for the cowboy who owned him, but then his speed caught the attention of the man’s barrel racer wife, who retrained the horse. Gambler excelled at that too, but only when he wanted to. She got fed up with his moods and sold him. Sherry bought him and he really started getting a reputation, but we all knew how that had ended.
A lot of people would call me crazy for buying him, but I didn’t care. I hadn’t been able to resist him. Tall, dark, and handsome was just my type.
I tugged on the worn nylon lead rope, freeing it from the metal hook on the trailer wall, and urged Gambler to turn and follow me down the ramp. He suddenly leapt forward, charging out of the trailer in a blur, and pulled me along with him.
I barely had time to gasp before a large, calloused hand wrapped firmly around my bicep, halting what would have been an epic face-plant in the dirt. Gambler’s lead rope was yanked from my grasp as I got pushed aside.
I stumbled, regaining my balance just in time to see Gambler’s front hooves shoot upwards as he reared.
“Oh gawd, he is not rearing right now,” I said under my breath, my heart pounding.
It couldn’t get any worse than this, but one look at Wyatt Collins’ hardened face as he held tight to Gambler’s lead told me I was very wrong. His jaw was set, eyes blazing, and the muscles in his forearms corded from the effort of controlling my wild horse.
Yeah, this was definitely worse. Way worse. Wyatt Collins was pissed.
Here we go again , I thought. Not even a word to each other, and we were already in a fight.
“Hey, hey.” His voice was deep, low, and soothing. But he was talking to the horse, not me.
I was staring like an idiot because no one had ever looked as good in a pair of Wrangler jeans as that man.
Wyatt was tall and tanned from the countless hours he spent outside on the back of a horse., He kept His thick dark brown hair—windswept from riding—pushed back off his forehead, the unruly locks held in place by his cowboy hat.
Wyatt’s face bore a serious, intense expression, his deep brown eyes shadowed under a furrowed brow that never seemed to fully relax. His angular features and defined jawline gave him an edgy, grave look that was almost dangerous in its intensity.
He intimidated most people with his silent, brooding manner, but I always felt safe and grounded in his presence, reassured by his solid strength. With Wyatt, I was always cared for and protected. No matter how chaotic the world, he was my shelter from the storm. But right now, he looked like he was the storm.
Gambler came down and stood quietly, whatever he had flipped out about forgotten.
Pain-in-the-ass horse.
A small crowd had gathered around to take in the show.
I stalked over and tried to grab the lead from Wyatt, but he pulled it away.
“Give me my horse, Wyatt.”
“I’ve got him.”
“Wyatt,” I warned.
“Get Cher off the trailer. Or have you forgotten about her now that you have a shiny, new horse?”
“Of course not,” I seethed. What an arrogant asshat.
“What barn are you in?”
I hesitated a moment and glanced around at the people watching and whispering to each other. I pointed at the barn closest to us. Wyatt nodded and started leading Gambler towards it.
I looked for Maisey and found her, brow furrowed in concern.
Are you okay? she mouthed to me.
I nodded, then sighed and went back into the trailer to grab Cherokee. When I got into the barn, Wyatt already had Gambler in his stall and was filling his water bucket.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, leading Cher into the stall next to him and taking off her halter.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he almost yelled.
“What are you talking about?” Startled, I looked up at him.
His face was hard and cold. “What would possess you to buy this horse?” He stepped closer to me, the muscles in his neck tense as he glared at me.
“Some of us like winning,” I snapped.
It was a low blow. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I sighed heavily, waving off my comment.
Wyatt was an incredible cowboy, but the last couple of years—basically, since we met—he’d been inconsistent in the arena. He’d been through a lot during that time, though, mostly with his dad. It was just bad luck, not a reflection of his skill.
“Yeah, you did.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he spoke again. “He’s dangerous, Kins,” he said almost too softly.
I toed at the wood shavings around my feet. “He’s a good horse. I can handle him.” I bit the inside of my cheek.
Wyatt took off his hat and dragged his hand through his dark hair, blowing out a breath of air. He paced back and forth in front of the stall a few times.
I exited Cher’s stall, hanging her halter on the hook beside the door.
Wyatt continued his pacing. He’d wear a trench in the dirt by the time he worked out whatever was going through his head.
I leaned against the door, crossing my arms over my chest. Apparently, I wasn’t done waiting for Wyatt Collins to get his shit together.
He stopped and looked at me for a few seconds, then went back to pacing, tenser than a freshly tightened wire fence. He stopped, lifted his hat, and dragged his fingers through his hair yet again before placing the hat back on his head. “I don’t like this.”
“What? This?” I gestured to me and him. “Or this?” This time, I gestured to me and Gambler.
“The horse!” He threw up his hands, clearly exasperated with me, which was nothing new.
“Well then, it’s a good thing we’re not dating anymore, so it’s none of your damn business!”
“Fuck, Kinsley!” He put his hands behind his neck and closed his eyes, his mouth drawn into a hard line.
“I appreciate your concern, Wyatt, but this isn’t your problem. There is no problem. I’m going to ride Gambler, and I’m going to win.”
We spent a few agonizing moments standing there, staring at each other. These moments allowed me to remember what it was like when those deep brown eyes looked at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered. The way his gaze bore into mine made my breath catch in my throat.
I couldn’t tear my eyes from his. My heart raced for him once again, pounding against my ribcage as if it wanted to escape and close the distance between us. I ached to go to him, feel his strong arms wrap around me once more, and breathe in his familiar leather-and-pine scent. It had been months since I’d felt the comfort of his embrace, the safety and warmth only he provided.
My feet itched to move and take that step towards him. I wanted to tell him I missed him, that I still wanted him, that maybe we could make it work this time.
But before I gathered the courage to move, Wyatt shifted, his boots scraping against the barn’s dirt floor. He took a step back, then another, his eyes never leaving mine. “Good luck out there.” His voice was low. “Be careful with that horse.” With that, he turned and walked away, his broad shoulders disappearing through the barn door.
I sank to the ground, my back sliding down the rough wooden wall of Gambler’s stall. My knees pulled up to my chest as I wrapped my arms around them, trying to hold myself together.
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks—I wasn’t over Wyatt. Not even close.