Ford's polished and confident in his tailored suit jacket and silver belly cowboy hat, radiating authority like heat from asphalt.
The cosmic unfairness that my parents arrived within moments of each other, neither knowing the other would be here, isn't lost on me.
I have no one to blame for the coming disaster but myself.
Before I can process the full horror of what's about to unfold, Hank Ourey appears at Wyatt's elbow with the kind of timing that suggests he's been watching for an opportunity.
"Wyatt, " Hank says. "A few fellow cutters from the Lone Star State have some questions. Would you mind joining us?" He gestures to the bar.
Wyatt glances at me, reading the panic I'm trying to hide. "Go," I tell him quickly, grateful he has an escape route even as I dread being left alone for what's coming. Besides, Hank brought us an Ace—Texas tax-paying celebrities who support our cause. One of us needs to greet them properly.
"You sure?" His eyes search my face—he knows this moment matters.
"I'm sure." I manage a smile.
Wyatt believes me, bless him, and squeezes my hand once before following Hank, leaving me standing beside my mother just as Ford's gaze lands on her. I watch his expression shift—subtle, the slight widening of his eyes, the barely perceptible straightening of his shoulders.
Mom turns as if she felt his gaze and her breath catches.
The air between them crackles with decades of unresolved history, love and betrayal and bitter disappointment all compressed into a single moment. I've never seen them in the same space. My feet feel rooted to the floor as Ford pushes between Maxwell and Elanore as if he can’t help but be drawn to her.
Mom smooths her dress. I have to hand it to her, she looks incredible. If I ever meet an ex, I hope I look half as good as she does tonight. A red dress. Dang it, Mom, you have no mercy for the man.
Mom grips her clutch like she's considering using it as a weapon, or maybe she just needs something to hold on to.
Ford reaches us and takes my mother's free hand before she can pull away, lifting it to his lips with the kind of old-world gallantry that once swept a young ranch girl off her feet. He's all charm and a devastating smile.
"Callie." His voice is warm honey. I want to gag, it's so sweet. "You're as stunning as the day you left me."
It’s a compliment wrapped around a blade, designed to remind her that she was the one who walked away, that she was the one who broke their family apart. It's masterful andcruel and so perfectly Ford that I want to step between them and demand he take it back.
My mother has had twenty-five years to build armor against exactly this kind of warfare, and she replies, "And you're as handsome as the devil himself."
My head is moving back and forth like I'm sitting front row at a cutting. My mouth's hanging open and I snap it shut. There are words for this moment, but heaven help me I don’t know what they are.
Our guest of honor arrives, and I quickly excuse myself, seizing the opportunity to make my escape. Not that either of them noticed. They’re too busy staring into one another’s eyes.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Ford says as I walk away.
"Why? Did you think I was scared to face you?"
I don’t hear his reply, though a part of me is dying to listen in.
"Senator Martinez," I extend my hand as I approach him. "It’s been a while. I'm so glad you could make it."
"Kinsley Rose." His weathered face creases into a smile that reaches his dark brown eyes. "Wouldn't miss it. Juliana and I were just saying how impressed we are with this little town." He cups my hand with both of his as if we’re long-lost friends.
“It’s wonderful to have you both.” Their RSVP said that their daughter was coming but I don’t see her. I don’t ask where she is because it’s none of my business.
"Let me introduce the two of you to some of our cutter friends from Texas," I offer, already leading them toward the group of trainers and riders Wyatt was speaking to only moments ago. He's since moved on, mingling with a groupof local cattle ranchers. "I think you'll appreciate their stories.”
“From Texas?” he clarifies.
I nod. This is my game—knowing who matters to whom, understanding the web of relationships.
I catch the sound of my father's voice drifting across the room. "...always did have more pride than sense, didn't you, darling?"
I cringe feeling horrible for my mom. I wish he'd put a sock in it for the night. This isn't the time to drag our dirty laundry out of the back room.
