Chapter 27
Home - Dierks Bentley
Wyatt
A s Kinsley rounded the third barrel and raced towards the finish line, her arms stretched out over Cher’s neck, giving the mare all the rein she needed to soar.
My fists clenched in anticipation. I was ready to leap into the air in victory.
But as soon as she crossed the line, my eyes darted to the clock. Damn. She didn’t post the fastest time; Maisey and three other competitors had beaten her. There was a flash of frustration on Kinsley’s face as she glanced back to see her time.
“Good ride,” Grady commented from beside me.
“Not good enough,” Finn muttered under his breath from my other side.
I elbowed him in the ribs before walking off to meet my girl. I caught up with Kinsley as she headed back to the barn.
Throwing my arm around her shoulder, I pulled her into me. “So close,” I murmured into her ear and kissed her temple.
She shot me a dirty look. “Close isn’t going to cut it. With the time off I had to take, I’m behind in points. If I’m going to make it to the finals, I have to do better.” Her fingers trailed through Cher’s red mane, and her scrutinizing gaze fixed on her horse.
My stomach tied up in knots. The thought crossed my mind: give her back Gambler. But I remained silent. Gambler had made it clear he wasn’t a fan of barrel racing, and I couldn’t bear the thought of Kinsley getting hurt again. If she was considering riding him again, she’d bring it up in her own time.
“You’re still getting your groove back after your accident. It’ll get better,” I assured her, trying to sound confident though I wasn’t sure I conveyed it convincingly.
We fell into a rhythm, getting our horses settled for the night, but my eyes were on Kinsley. Her gaze kept flickering over to Gambler, her brow furrowed in thought.
My stomach twisted as if in a vise. “All done?” I asked once we had finished.
She nodded, and we entwined our fingers, walking back to her trailer in silence.
Since we returned from her parents’ place, I’d been sleeping in Kinsley’s trailer instead of camping out with the guys. It was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the bedroll in my tent. Also, she was in it.
She was stomping around the trailer, doing nothing in particular, except maybe making a mess.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ventured.
“Nope.” She plopped down on the couch, grabbed a magazine, and started flipping through it, not pausing long enough on any page to actually read anything.
“If you’re trying to start a new interior design trend, I think ‘post-rodeo chaos chic’ could catch on.”
Her lips twitched.
Kneeling in front of her, I ran my hands up her thighs. She resisted at first, her body tense, but I pressed my face into her stomach, and she slowly melted around me. I wanted to peel off her clothes and taste her, but I fought the urge to take things further. At that moment, I just needed to be there for her.
My phone’s loud ring shattered the moment. Annoyed, I stood, pulled the phone from my pocket, and checked the caller ID. Unknown number . I pressed ignore and slipped the phone back into my pocket, only for it to ring again.
“Who is it?” Kinsley asked.
“No idea. Hang on.” I answered the call. “Hello?”
“I’m looking for Wyatt Collins. Is that who I’m speaking with?” a female voice inquired through the phone.
“Yes, who is this?”
“Hello, my name is Emily Thompson from Maple Trust Bank. I’m calling about a farm property, 5768 Prairie Road in Cedar Valley, Alberta.”
“Yeah, my dad sold that farm last year.”
“No. A sale was initiated but never finalised. We still have Jake Collins listed as legal owner. Is that your father?”
My heart stopped.
Dad hadn’t sold the farm? It was still ours?
Kinsley’s concerned gaze met mine, her eyes asking silently, What’s going on? I shook my head, as much in confusion as to clear it.
“Mr. Collins?” Emily’s voice pulled me back from my daze.
“What?” My response was barely audible, even to my own ears.
“Is your father Jake Collins?” she repeated, more clearly this time.
“Yes, but I haven’t seen him since he sold the farm, or I thought he did. I’m sorry, I’m confused. He still owns the farm?”
“For now, yes. But the property taxes haven’t been paid in several years, interest has already accumulated, and foreclosure is an imminent possibility.”
“Okay. How much does he owe?”
“The total amount is $17, 659.”
I dragged a hand down my face. Almost eighteen thousand dollars was a steep hill to climb. I’d been doing well lately, but not that well.
“How much time do I have?”
“If you can find your father and pay the taxes by the end of the year, you might avoid a lien against the property. But I wouldn’t put it off any longer than that.”
Kinsley’s expression was full of concern and questions, but at that moment, I was too stunned to provide any answers. The prospect of reclaiming the family farm, intertwined with the confusion about my father’s actions, left me grappling with what to do next.
“Okay, thanks.” I jotted down Emily’s number from the bank and promised to be in touch before hanging up.
My mind raced. Where the hell was my dad?
Turning to Kinsley, who was watching me with an expectant look, I explained, “My dad never sold the farm. The sale fell through.” I relayed the rest of what Emily had told me.
“Wow.” Kinsley looked as shocked as I felt. “What are you going to do?”
“I guess I need to find my dad.”
“Where would you even start?”
“Home. I mean, he’s probably not there, otherwise somebody would’ve found him, but I need to see it. I can’t believe we still own it. Maybe he left behind some clue about where he went. Or maybe he goes back from time to time. That’s where I’m starting.”
My interest in finding my dad was secondary to the pull I felt towards home—the farm. My home . There was an ache in my chest that would only be eased by returning there.
“I’ll go with you,” Kinsley stated.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, we have time till we need to be at the next rodeo.”
I nodded slowly.
Kinsley had never seen our farm, and truthfully, I felt uneasy about her being anywhere near my dad if he did show up. I couldn’t help wondering what kind of shape the place was in after being abandoned for so long. Even when we lived there, when Dad could barely scrape by, the farm was rundown and shabby compared to Kinsley’s family’s huge, pristine ranch.
Still, her willingness to come along and face this mess with me was reassuring.
She gave my hand a little squeeze, letting me know she’d be by my side no matter what awaited us back home. Her supportive presence was oddly comforting. I realized I didn’t have to tackle this on my own, like I’d grown used to doing.
I wanted her with me.