Chapter 33
Bless the Broken Road - Rascal Flatts
Kinsley
W e spent the next few days lying low at Wyatt’s farm, caught in a tense waiting game for any word from the police. While Wyatt and the guys busied themselves with outdoor and barn work, I took it upon myself to give the house a thorough cleaning since Wyatt had managed to get the power turned back on. Thanks to Alice’s efforts, the place wasn’t in terrible shape, but it still required a good dusting. I also laundered all the bedding and linens, eager for us to enjoy the simple comfort of sleeping in an actual bed.
The house was quaint—three bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a kitchen with laughably limited counter space. The furniture, outdated as it was, hinted at cosiness with a bit of effort and updating.
As I moved through the kitchen, my fingers brushed over the worn wooden table, my mind wandering to what life might be like living here. Through the window, I watched Wyatt repair the barn door, his brow furrowed in concentration and his white t-shirt clinging to him with sweat.
Was this my future? Watching Wyatt work from the sidelines, raising a family in this little home, isolated from my own family and the life I knew? The thought of Wyatt’s high school sweetheart dropping by added an unwelcome twist to my musings. This wasn’t the life I had envisioned for us. I cherished the rodeo’s vibrancy, being close to our friends, and the warmth of returning to my family afterward.
Yet the man outside, diligently fixing what was broken, held my heart. If he hoped to stay here, to root himself in this soil...
A tear broke free and ran down my cheek. I brushed it away, scolding myself for my selfishness. Wyatt was grappling with the uncertainty of his father’s life, and here I was, lost in my head over stupid little things.
Distracting myself, I turned to the groceries we had purchased the day before, trying to plan dinner despite my limited culinary skills. Cooking had never been my forte; I had always been more inclined to follow my dad around the ranch than stay in the house and learn from my mother, who was an exceptional cook.
I picked up a chicken, turning it over in my hands, clueless. The oven, an ancient relic in this old kitchen, offered no inspiration. I set the chicken back down, a nagging thought surfacing.
I bet Grace knew her way around a kitchen.
“Need help with that?” Grady’s amused voice caught me off guard as he leaned against the kitchen’s doorway.
“I don’t cook,” I admitted, a bit embarrassed.
“No shit.” He chuckled, making his way to the sink to wash his hands. “Move aside.”
“You cook?” I asked, surprised.
“Of course. Nobody else ever did it for me.”
I averted my eyes, not wanting him to catch the flicker of sympathy that I feared might show. But it was too late.
“I don’t need your pity,” he said.
“No pity here. Tell me what to do, chef.” I tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters, though I couldn’t help being curious about his past.
I only knew that he’d been raised in foster care and had no family to speak off. He didn’t talk about it much.
Grady’s mood lightened as he directed me. “Grab a knife and start chopping vegetables.”
Following his instructions, I laid out the knife, vegetables, and cutting board. However, I hesitated, unsure of how to proceed.
Grady, noticing my uncertainty, chuckled. “Like this.” He demonstrated how to dice the vegetables.
“This is what I need. Housewife 101,” I joked.
“Housewife? You?” Grady looked at me, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“Maybe? I don’t know. It sounds kind of awful, doesn’t it?” I said, the concept foreign to me.
“Not really. There’s nothing wrong with a woman taking care of her home and family,” he reasoned, his voice carrying a hint of respect.
“No, of course not. That’s my mom—the perfect rancher’s wife, the perfect mom. I respect the hell out of her,” I confessed.
“It’s just not you,” Grady observed.
“No. At least, not yet. Maybe one day.” My gaze drifted back to the window, to Wyatt engrossed in his work. “Do you think he wants to stay here?”
Grady followed my gaze and frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. Even if he gets ownership, it won’t be easy to get the farm up and running again.”
“No, it won’t be,” I agreed.
“But it’s Wyatt.”
“Right. The most stubborn man alive.” A smile tugged at my lips.
“Exactly.”
“Exactly,” I repeated and returned to my chopping.
Dinner was delicious—thanks to Grady because I was about as helpful as a burr under a saddle pad. We had just started on dessert, diving into some oversized cinnamon buns we’d picked up from a local bakery, when the sudden ring of Wyatt’s phone sliced through the chewing sounds.
By the fourth ring, I reached out, lightly touching his arm. “Do you want me to answer it?”
Wyatt seemed to ground himself with a deep breath before shaking his head. “No, I got it.” He stood, distancing himself from the table to take the call in private.
The urge to follow him was strong, mirrored by Finn’s tense expression, but we held back, understanding Wyatt’s need for space in this moment.
The room fell into an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Grady gathering dishes. Finn and I helped with the cleanup, our actions automatic, but my thoughts lingered on Wyatt.
An hour passed, and my patience ran out. The need to check on Wyatt overrode my earlier resolve to give him space.
I found him outside on the front steps, the phone still clutched in his hands, his fingers white from the grip. I settled beside him, and the door creaked as Finn and Grady joined us, forming a silent, supportive wall behind him.
“He’s dead.” Wyatt’s voice was a whisper. He didn’t turn to look at me, his gaze fixed on the horizon as if searching for answers in the fading light.
Words failed me. How did you comfort someone over a loss that was as complicated as their relationship had been? Instead, I slid my arm through his, resting my head against his shoulder. When he leaned into the gesture, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Finn and Grady settled onto the nearby porch swing, its gentle creaking soothing.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, we sat together, collectively marking the end of a chapter in Wyatt’s life.
Though I’d never met Jake Collins, his existence had irrevocably changed mine by bringing Wyatt into my life. Amidst the tangled feelings, there was a deep-seated gratitude for that.