And tomorrow morning, I'm going to prove to her that she’s not alone in this.
Twenty-Nine
YOU LOOK PRETTY GOOD WITH A LITTLE DIRT ON YOU.
WYATT
By the time the sun rises over the Rockies, I'm driving through Gritstone with only one thing on my mind and she has no idea I’m coming.
As I pull up the long drive, my heart stops clean in my chest.
Kinsley's driving the old Ford flatbed through the south pasture, hay dust trailing behind her, looking like she was born to work this land. The sight of her behind the wheel of my family's truck gives me a vision of what my life could be with Kinsley in it, and it feels so right it's like God smacked me on the back of the head and told me to pay attention.
I park near the hay field and jog across the stubbled ground, timing my approach as she makes another pass. The truck's moving slow enough for loading, and when I hop uponto the running board and grab the door frame, she does a double-take.
"Wyatt." Her voice carries pure shock and delight as she hits the brakes, the truck lurching to a stop. “Wait.” Worry lines furrow across her brow. "What are you doing here?” She looks me over. “Are you hurt?”
"No," I say, grinning as wonder once again fills her blue eyes.
"But you're supposed to be in Calgary tomorrow night," she says, yet she's already reaching for me through the open window, her hands gripping my collar and pulling me to her.
"Still am," I tell her, leaning through the window to capture her mouth with mine. "Flew home just to see you."
The kiss tastes like hay dust and promise, and when she melts against me despite the awkward angle, pulling me closer with desperate hands, I know it was worth it.
"You flew home for one day?" she whispers against my lips, and the awe in her voice fills me with satisfaction. "Miss me?" she asks against my lips, and the breathless quality of her voice makes heat shoot straight through me.
"Every dang minute," I admit, stealing another kiss. "You look good driving my family's truck, sweetheart."
She grins against my lips.
"Hey!" someone yells from the back where they were throwing hay until Kinsley stopped the truck.
"Don't stop on my account—I'll catch up." I wink and hop down.
She laughs and I watch her drive away with the kind of pride that sits deep in a man's chest. That's my woman, working my family's land like she belongs here. Because she does.
"Quit mooning over your girlfriend and get to work!" Grandpa’s voice carries across the field, gravel-rough and with just enough amusement to take the sting out of the order. "Rest of us been sweating since dawn while you're off kissin' the help."
I grin and jog toward where Grandpa's working. The field stretches out in neat rows of bales. Some are being loaded onto trailers, others waiting for hands to stack them. Trucks rumble between the rows while ranch hands, family, and even a few employees from the feed store work to bring in the last cut of the season.
Dad appears at my elbow, his hat pushed back and sweat darkening his shirt despite the early hour. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," he says. There's affection in his voice if you know how to listen for it. "Figured you'd forgotten how to buck hay."
"Like riding a bike," I tell him, grabbing work gloves from the truck bed and pulling them on. "Though I seem to remember you being prettier the last time we did this."
Dad snorts. "Smart mouth's gonna get you the heavy bales today."
"Wouldn't be the first time," I shoot back, and for a moment we're just father and son ribbing each other over shared work instead of two men who've spent years talking past each other about futures and expectations.
I get to work. The small bales are headed for Brook's feed store customers, families with a few horses who need hay they can handle without equipment and rodeo families that need hay to travel. These small bales are different from the big round bales we use for our own feed but every bit as important.
Kit looks down at me from where she's stacking on the trailer, her blonde hair escaping from her ponytail and her face flushed with effort. "About time you got here," she says, grinning. "Kinsley's been showing us all up for the past two hours."
I glance across the field to where Kinsley's expertly backing the flatbed up to another stack of bales, her movements sure and confident behind the wheel. "She's something else."
"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Kit says, hefting a bale that probably weighs as much as she does. "She was doing this before you got here, and she'll be doing it after you leave again."
After I leave again. Like it's a given, a foregone conclusion that I'll choose the road over whatever's growing between these mountains.