I can't marry Brittney Martinez.
I want a woman who wrecks me for anybody else. I want the kind of love that'd make a man bet everything he's got—ranch, family name, all of it—just to keep her.
Kinsley's that and more.
Seven seconds.
Devil's Backbone makes one last desperate attempt and lives up to his reputation, a tight spin that has me grabbing with my spurs. I'm stuck to him like glue.
Eight seconds. The buzzer sounds, shrill and final in the arena air.
I dismount clean. Devil's Backbone trots away, his job done.
The crowd is on its feet, screaming approval at what must have looked like a heck of a ride. The announcer's voice booms over the speakers, calling it one of the best rides of the night, talking about heart and determination and cowboy grit. If they only knew I was only half here.
Tonight, the fans might as well be ghosts.
The bullfighters jog over, grinning andclapping me on the back. I'm nodding, saying thanks, doing what I'm supposed to do. But inside, I'm coming apart.
I came here to get my head right, to prove I could still be myself without her.
I was wrong.
I collect my gear and head for the truck, ignoring the other riders who want to buy me a beer and talk about the ride. My mind’s already three hundred miles away, working through what I need to do.
If I can get right with Kinsley, then we can work out a way to get right with the ranch. Senator Martinez thinks he's got me backed into a corner; thinks he can use my family's land against me. He has no idea how hard I’m willing to fight for it—no idea that the land is in my blood and it’ll fight for me too.
Dad said he’s made up of three things—well, I’m made up of four: Lovin’ Kinsley, Stonegate Ranch, horses, and bulls.
I've been coming apart piece by piece out here. It's time to pull myself together.
Which means I need to do something I swore I wasn’t going to do; I need to go home.
Forty-Eight
I WANT TO BE DONE WITH WYATT.
KINSLEY
"I can't believe I agreed to this," I say, staring out the passenger window of Brook's truck as downtown Gritstone's lights blur past. It's been four days since Wyatt left and Jess pulled out this morning. Her PTO ran out and she had to get back to work. I think she called me five times on her drive home to check in.
Between calls, I've been hunched over my laptop, piecing together Martinez's scheme. Janet came through with the paperwork—timelines, official filings, even interdepartmental emails that shouldn't have seen the light of day. My dining table has become a war room, every surface covered with evidence connecting Martinez to the fire hazard designation. The case is growing stronger by the hour, but I'm triple-checking everything. One overlooked detail could bring it all crashing down. I haven't told Sarah or anyone in the family yet. I can't bear the thought of giving them false hope, watching that spark ignite in their eyes only to have to extinguish it if I've missed something. They've been through enough.
"You have to get out," Brook says from the driver's seat, her tone gentle but firm. "You have to think about something else besides my brother."
I want to argue. Want to tell them that going country dancing while my heart's in pieces feels like the worst idea anyone's ever had. But they showed up at my cottage an hour ago with makeup and determination, and I didn't have the energy to fight them.
I sigh heavily and lean against the door. "I think I'm broken."
Hailey leans forward from the back seat, resting her arms on the console between us. "Is it hard to eat?"
I nod, my throat tight.
"Do you zone out?" Brook adds. "Like you'll be doing something and suddenly realize you've been staring at nothing for ten minutes?"
"Yes." The word comes out rough.
"Totally normal." Brook's voice carries the weight of experience. "We've both been there. Heartbreak club—membership is terrible, but at least we're in it together."