“Watch the front for me? I have to grab some things from the back.” She leaves us there.
Wyatt reaches over the counter and pulls out a handful of candy, winking at me.
I'm walking backward, watching him and laughing at his gleeful snitching of candy, when I collide with something solid. The impact sends me stumbling, off-balance, and for one crucial heartbeat the man behind me does nothing. Doesn't reach out, doesn't steady me, doesn't react like someone who just knocked a stranger over.
Wyatt’s strong arms catch me before I can fall, pulling me against a firm chest. His hands are sure and gentle as they steady me, his touch carrying a warmth that makes me feel fluttery inside.
"Easy there, Kins," he murmurs against my ear. I like the way he shortened my name and made it his. No one's ever called me that before.
I turn in his arms to face the man who watched me stumble, and my heart stops.
Bradley Ford stands there in his pressed jeans and expensive boots, green eyes cold as January creek water. He looks older than I remember—silver threading through his dark hair, lines etched deep around his mouth—but it's the same face that haunted my childhood dreams.
He studies me for a long moment, and I see the exact second recognition dawns. He doesn't speak. Doesn't acknowledge me. Doesn't act like a father who just about knocked his own daughter over and did absolutely nothing to help her.
The contrast is devastating—the stranger who protects me, the father who watches me stumble.
"Ford," Wyatt says, and there's a tone in his voice that makes my spine straighten.
"Halloway." Ford's gaze moves between us, taking in Wyatt's protective stance, the way his hands move up and down on my arms as if he’s chasing away the cold. "Didn't expect to see you here."
"Don’t know why not—we own the place." There's steel in Wyatt's steady voice.
"Right." Ford stretches out the word like he’s just realizing the fact. His attention shifts to me, and I shudder. “What are you doing with him?"
“What do you care?” I blurt realizing that he probably knows more about Wyatt than he does about me. Wanting to show him he doesn’t have the upper hand, I spit, “And what are you doing planting flags on Stonegate land?”
Wyatt's tone drops to something dangerous. "I'm getting real tired of ya, Ford."
The few other customers have gone silent, watching the drama unfold like it's dinner theater.
“This is none of your business, girl, you’re not a Halloway.” Ford may have been speaking to me, but he didn’t take his eyes off Wyatt.
Wyatt steps in front of me like a shield. “Well, it’s my business. Stay offmy land.”
"Hard to claim ownership when you're too busy playing cowboy for the cameras—try to keep your shirt on, kid."
I gasp at his mention of RodeoBrittney’s post.
A muscle in Wyatt’s jaw starts ticking. He’s mad, but I’m incensed at the dismissive way Ford says, "playing cowboy.” Like everything Wyatt's accomplished, every eight-second ride, every broken bone, is just a teenage hobby.
"At least I earn what I have," Wyatt shoots back. "At least I know a good thing when I see it.” He touches my elbow.
Ford's gaze flicks to me and back. “I can’t help it if she’s naive enough to think you’re not using her. Just like all those other women you’re with on social media."
I feel something crack inside my chest as every fear I have is confirmed—my father does not love me.
"Watch your mouth," Wyatt snarls, moving closer to Ford.
"Truth hurt?" Ford's smile turns cruel. "She's convenient isn't she. A pretty little thing on the ranch. I fell for that once too."
I can feel my fight-or-flight response kicking in and my stomach rolls over.
"You don't know anything about me," I manage.
"I know enough." Ford's attention shifts back to me, and my skin crawls. "You're just like your mother—thinking you can change a man who's already shown you who he is—."
Wyatt's fist connects with Ford's jaw before the last word is finished. The sound echoes through the store like a gunshot. Ford's head snaps back, blood immediately welling on his lip.