"Not like that," Billy protests. "I mean, she makes me feel like I should be doing more, being more. Scary kind of woman."
"The best kind," Grandpa says with satisfaction.
Looking at Billy—kid's barely nineteen and still wet behind the ears—I can see he's being straight with me. That's what Kinsley does to folks. Makes you want to be better than you are.
Maybe the real question isn't whether she can handle the danger. Maybe it's whether I can handle watching her face it.
We turn our attention back to the cattle as the auction begins in earnest, the auctioneer's voice rising and falling in the hypnotic cadence that turns livestock into dollars.
Standing there, with the sights, the sounds, and the smells of my childhood, my mind drifts back to my life growing up on the ranch, then to the last several years on the rodeo circuit.
The people I’ve met. The connections I’ve made. All those cowboys who will show up to Kinsley’s event because they trust me—because I’ve proved myself in their world. Not my father’s world. Mine. I watch a buyer run his hand down the flank of one of our steers, nodding like he knows the story behind the brand. Maybe rodeo wasn’t me running away after all. Maybe it was just preparing me for this.
"You're thinking so loud it's drowning out the auction," Grandpa observes.
"True," I admit.
"About?"
I watch another of our steers sell, calculating prices and profits automatically while my mind works through thoughts I've never put into words before.
"Such as?"
I shrug, eyes still on the ring. “Just figuring maybe all that time on the road wasn’t wasted. Sure, seemed to help Kinsley and Mom with the guest list."
Grandpa nods slowly, and there's something in his expression I haven't seen before—not approval, exactly, but understanding.
"Could be you're right," he says. "Takes a man time to figure out what he's made of before he knows what he wants to build."
“Life’s busier now, splitting time between rodeo and the ranch,” I say, surprised at how true it feels. "It's better."
"Busy's good for a man," Grandpa says with something that might be pride. "Keeps him honest."
Billy’s been quiet, soaking it all in the way he does, and then he speaks, voice low. “World don’t hand you much.”
"No, it doesn't," I agree until Kinlsey’s face appears in my mind. “But somehow, I’ve got more than I deserve.”
Thirty-Four
LOOK AT YOU COWBOY, ALL CLEANED UP AND DANGEROUS.
WYATT
The black shirt's stiff as a board against my chest. I tug at the collar again, catching my reflection in the truck's side mirror. Black because Mom used to say it made my eyes look like a storm rolling in; and if that yellow-bellied texting coward shows tonight, I want him to see lightning coming.
The charcoal jacket stretches tight across my shoulders the way it should, and these jeans are creased sharp enough to draw blood. The black Stetson sits snug—been boxed up too long. Give it an hour. It'll break in about the same time I do.
This is Kinsley’s big night—heck, it’s everyone’s big night—except for Kit’s, who picked up a case of strep throat yesterday. I checked on her before I left. I asked if she’d been kissing ranch hands instead of loping horses at Hank’s andshe chucked the remote control at my head and told me to mind my own business—so I assume she’ll live.
I’d hoped to drive Kinsley here myself, but she had to be here hours early, getting everything set. I worked the colt to ease my nerves.
My hands are steady when I reach for the flowers on the passenger seat. I told the florist in town I wanted something that reminded me of Kinsley—clean lines, stunning, beautiful. She knew what I meant.
Parking area's packed—ranch trucks next to city cars. The kind of crowd that shows up when money talks. I walk inside and look around. I haven’t been over here since before the painters. There’s a bar, tables and a kitchen in the back and to the right is a wall of open glass doors leading to the outdoors where a band plays and people are dancing on the huge patio. I have to hand it to my little sister, she’s good at everything.
Kinsley stands near the entrance in a midnight blue dress, her hair swept up to show my turquoise stones at her throat. She's pointing a photographer toward the displays.
Our eyes meet across the room, and everything else just... stops.
