I make a decision in that moment. I won't tell them about Senator Martinez's ultimatum. I don't explain that marriage isn't just about doing right by a child—it's about keeping the land that's been in our blood for five generations.
Stonegate Ranch isn't just everything to them. It's everything to me too.
I didn't know how much until this moment, didn't understand how deeply the land runs in my blood until I faced losing it. Running off to chase rodeo glory was one thing—the ranch did fine without me, thrived even. But having it taken away, dismantled piece by piece by bureaucrats and watching my parents crumble with it? Or worse, watching them sell to the Whitmore's who would gladly step in and take it off their hands?
I can't let that happen.
This kitchen, this table, this house—they're not just built on Halloway land. They're built from it, carved from trees that grew in our soil, constructed with stone quarried from our hills.
The living room beyond the kitchen doorway holds furniture Dad's grandfather made during the Depression. The stone fireplace was built with rocks collected from the Blue River, every stone chosen and placed by Halloway hands. The mantle displays photos of Halloway children born in the upstairs bedrooms, Halloway weddings celebrated in the south pasture, Halloway funerals held in the family cemetery on the hill overlooking the river.
This isn't just where we live. This is who we are.
And if I have to sacrifice my chance at happiness with Kinsley to preserve it for future generations, if I have to marry a woman I don't love to protect the legacy my ancestors died to build, then maybe that's just the price of being a Halloway.
It's the simple, brutal truth that some responsibilities run deeper than personal happiness. That blood and soil and heritage create debts that can only be paid in full.
"I'm going to do the right thing," I say, the words coming out steady and sure despite my heart shriveling inside my chest.
Mom's eyebrows rise with something that might be hope or might be fear. "Which is...?"
I stand up. "Marry Brittney."
Mom's face goes white as fresh snow, and Dad's coffee mug hits the table with a crack that makes us all flinch.
"Wyatt—" Mom starts, but I hold up a hand to stop her.
"I've made up my mind." I almost gag on the lies I'm spitting. "It's the responsible thing to do."
Dad pushes back from the table. "Son, you can't build a marriage on responsibility alone. Trust me on that."
"You should talk to Kinsley," Mom adds, her voice thick. "Before you make any permanent decisions, you should tell her what's happening."
I stride to the door and grab my hat off the hat rack. "I'm already on my way."
But as I step out into the pre-dawn darkness, I know the truth that I can't speak aloud.
I'm not going to tell Kinsley about the choice I have to make.
I'm going to tell her goodbye.
As I walk across the yard toward her dark, silent cottage, I wonder if doing the right thing is supposed to feel like dying inside.
Forty-Three
I’M A HOT MESS WITH A SIDE OF CRAZY.
KINSLEY
“This is private property," I inform the twenty-plus Halloway cattle surrounding my cottage. My voice cuts through the dawn air with the same authority I use on stubborn politicians. "Move."
Naturally, after everything fell apart last night, I'm not surprised to find livestock laying siege to my cottage. The largest heifer—brown with white spots—stares back impassively, sunflower stems hanging from her mouth.
My phone buzzes again. Fifteenth call since sunrise. The rodeo world moves fast, and news of Martinez's split lip is already making rounds. Everyone wants an angle, and no one's waiting for business hours.
I step onto the porch, still in last night's dress, as anothercow tramples what's left of the herb garden. The sunrise highlights the chaos with perfect clarity.
"I negotiate for a living," I tell the heifer blocking my door, waving my hands in the air. "You're just another obstacle."