She doesn't say she wants me, but her body tells me things her lips don't. She leans into me, her free hand coming to rest on my chest as we pose for the obligatory photos.
"Beautiful couple!" one photographer calls out, and I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes mine back.
We finally make it through the doors and into the warmth of the restaurant.
The main dining room is all Western elegance—stone walls lined with original Russell paintings, and enough crystal chandeliers to light up half of Wyoming. If Kinsley notices the way every man’s head turns as she walks by, she doesn’t show it.
There's something about the way she carries herself—confident and approachable but not desperate for attention. I scowl. She’s like catnip for men.
"Wyatt!" A voice booms across the room, and I turn to see Marcus Brennan, CEO of High Country Outfitters, approaching with his wife Helen in tow. Marcus is old-school rodeo money, the kind of man who started with nothing and built an empire selling gear to cowboys who actually use it instead of just wearing it for show.
"Marcus, good to see you." I shake his hand, noting the way his attention immediately shifts to Kinsley with obvious curiosity. I’m sure he was informed about my special guest the moment I called to get her on the plane.
"This is my date, Kinsley Rose," I say, my hand finding the small of her back as they shake hands. "Kinsley, this is Marcus and Helen Brennan. High Country Outfitters." My largest sponsor and the whole reason we’re in Jackson Hole tonight.
"Hello," Helen gives Kinsley a polite hug. "That dress is stunning—is it custom?"
"Thank you so much," Kinsley replies, touching the silver threading at her waist. "I found it at a little boutique in Denver. The owner said it was made by a local artist whospecializes in Western couture. I fell in love with the detail work."
"You have excellent taste," Helen says with obvious approval. "And what do you do?"
"I'm a political consultant, specializing in agricultural and land use policy." Kinsley's tone shifts subtly, becoming more professional without losing its warmth. "I work primarily with western communities to navigate federal regulations."
Marcus's eyebrows rise with interest. "Now that's timely work. These environmental groups have been churning up our grazing permits all across the region."
"Actually," Kinsley says, leaning forward slightly with the kind of attention that makes people feel like the most important person in the room, "I just read about your company's sustainability initiative. The partnership with regenerative grazing operations is brilliant."
Marcus's chest puff with pride. "Not many folks understand the difference between stewardship over land and harvesting land. Most people think you either care about profit or the environment, not both."
I’ve heard this speech many times before. I glance around for Jake. We have a signal that means:I need a rescue,and this is the time to use it. He’s standing at the bar with his back to me, so I settle in for the long haul.
Marcus draws in a breath, ready to start preaching when Kinsley says, "The best ranchers have always been conservationists because their livelihood depends on the health of the land."
"Exactly." Marcus claps his hands together. "I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
My jaw drops and I snap my teeth back together.
As the Brennans move on to greet other guests, I lean down to murmur in Kinsley's ear. "Remind me to thank you properly for making me look good."
Her laugh is soft and wicked. "It’s a big job, but lucky for you, I’m overqualified."
I poke her ribs, and she jumps away, laughing. The sound does something to me, and it’s all I can do to not whisk her away and keep her all to myself for the night.
Unfortunately for me, I brought the most irresistible woman in the room.
Usually at these events, I'm the one making sure everyone feels appreciated so they'll keep writing checks.
Kinsley handles them all with effortless grace.
She compliments Janet Morrison (Jake's aunt) on her recent election to the county commission in Texas, then seamlessly transitions into a conversation about water rights that has Janet hanging on every word. She asks David Richards about his family's ranch operation, listens intently as he describes the challenges of marketing grass-fed beef, then suggests a specific consumer trend he should be aware of.
With Sarah Whitfield, wife of a major feed manufacturer, Kinsley admires the woman's turquoise jewelry and learns it was made by a Native American artist from New Mexico. Within minutes, Sarah is promising to send Kinsley contact information for other artists she should meet.
I'm struck by something that should have been obvious but somehow surprises me: Kinsley isn't just charming these people. She's genuinely interested in what they do, genuinelyknowledgeable about their industries, genuinely supportive of their goals.
This isn't an act. This is who she is.
"Your girlfriend is remarkable," says a voice beside me, and I turn to find Dr. James Harrison, the veterinarian who handles most of the rodeo stock health. "I've been watching her work this room, and I'm impressed."