For the first time in years, I feel peace here.
"Contemplating your roots?" Brook asks, appearing beside me as I stand looking out over the stubbled field.
"Something like that," I admit, surprised by how comfortable the admission feels. "Feels different this time."
"Because of her?" Brook nods toward where Kinsley's talking to Mom.
"Partly." I consider this, trying to untangle the knot of feelings that's been building all day.
Brook's quiet for a long moment. "You know, when you first left to rodeo, I thought you were theluckiest person alive. Getting to choose your own path instead of having it chosen for you."
"And now?"
"Now I think maybe we were both wrong about what paths were available to us." Her smile is soft and a little sad. "This place needs people who love it, Wyatt. Not just people who feel obligated to it." She steps away and then turns back. "I'm glad you came home today."
Why does coming home always have to be so complicated?
I didn't come to haul hay and if I don't hustle, I'll miss my porch swing date.
The sun hangs low and golden as I step out of the shower in the main house. I pull on clean jeans and a shirt that actually smells like soap, then grab the envelope from my jacket pocket—the one that represents everything complicated about loving someone when your dreams pull you in different directions.
The walk to the cottage feels longer than usual because I’m thinking about Kinsley’s question up on the mountain. Why do I think I have to pick? Is there a way to have both? Kinsley seems to have settled in here and I don't know that she'll want to leave it all behind to chase me across the country.
Kinsley's already on the porch swing when I arrive, her hair still damp from her own shower and twisted up in a way that makes my fingers itch to pull it loose. She's wearing a simple sundress that makes her skin glow in the evening light, and when she sees me approaching, her smile makes every bit of work to get here worth it.
"Feel better?" she asks as I settle beside her, automatically pulling her against my side where she fits just right.
"Much." I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "You?"
"Mmm." She curls into me with a contentment that makes my chest tight with wanting. "This is perfect. Sitting here, watching the sunset—it makes me believe that all is right with the world."
She's just named something I've been feeling all day but couldn't articulate.
"It is," I agree, but my voice carries a weight that makes her pull back to study my face.
"What's wrong?" she asks.
I reach into my pocket for the envelope that's been burning a hole there since I got home. "I have something for you."
Her eyebrows rise with curiosity, but she waits patiently while I struggle to find the words.
"Today reminded me of something I'd forgotten," I start, looking out over the valley that shaped me. "This land is in my blood, Kinsley. This work, this family, this place—it's part of who I am in ways I've been running from for years."
"But?" she prompts gently.
"But I can't let go of the other part either." The admission tastes like failure and truth in equal measure. "I've got three more rodeos before the National Finals. Three more chances to rack up money for the finals. And I—" I stop, frustrated by my inability to explain what's pulling at me.
"You're not ready to give up the dream," she says quietly, and there's understanding in her voice instead of the disappointment I expected.
"I don't know if I'll ever be ready," I admit. "And that's not fair to you. You’ve got your own dreams, your own career, and I can't tear you away."
Kinsley shifts on the swing to face me fully, her hands framing my face. "Wyatt, look at me."
I meet her eyes, expecting to see frustration or hurt or the distance that comes before someone walks away. Instead, I see something that looks like love mixed with determination.
"I'm not asking you to choose," she says firmly. "I'm asking you to let me be part of both versions of your life while you figure it out."
Wait. What? "You mean that?"