Before I can answer, Kinsley's hand finds my arm as natural as breathing. Wesmile for the photo and then he ducks away mumbling about Cash Thornton being up for a Country Music Award as he snaps pics of the guy at the mic.
Kinsley gasps and I glance down at her. “What?”
"Heaven help us all," she murmurs so only I can hear. "Callie Rose is here."
I look toward the entrance. A woman in a red dress steps through the doorway, her straight brown hair hanging loose. She's wearing knee-high dress boots and not much jewelry but she’s real pretty.
I can see where Kinsley gets her looks. Same stubborn chin, same way of sizing up a room before stepping into it. But where Kinsley works a crowd like she was born to it, this woman looks like she'd rather be anywhere else—probably back home with her horses.
Kinsley' draws in a deep breath and squares her shoulders. "I guess you should meet my mother." She turns to me with wide eyes. “Just remember, her bark is worse than her bite.”
I nod. “That’s so very comforting. Thank you,” I say sarcastically.
Kinsley laughs and pulls my arm. Something tells me this is going to be an introduction I won't forget.
Thirty-Five
I HAVE NO ONE TO BLAME FOR THE COMING DISASTER BUT MYSELF.
KINSLEY
My mother moves into the room and every head turns.
Her red dress leaves just enough to the imagination to make her unforgettable. I can’t help but stare. I don’t think I’ve seen her wear anything but jeans—maybe a tiered skirt and jean jacket for church on Christmas. I’m shocked at this side of her.
The look on her face says she’d rather be mucking stalls than spend an evening making small talk. Yet there's something untouchable about Callie Rose, something that speaks of wind-carved stone and endless sky, of a woman who's never bent to anything but her own conscience.
Ford is going to pass out when he sees her.
The panic hits me like cold water. Ford!
I never told her he'd RSVP’d.
I silently curse. This could be bad. So, so bad.
Wyatt's hand finds the small of my back, steady and warm, and I realize he's been watching me watch her. There's something in his eyes—curiosity mixed with understanding, as if he recognizes the complexity of loving someone who's both your greatest strength and your deepest vulnerability.
My mother has always cast a long shadow, one that's shaped every choice I've made. And now here's this man who's somehow slipped past all my defenses, about to meet the woman who taught me that love was nothing but a heartache.
Our eyes meet and the smile that crosses Mom's face is full of relief. My heart lifts and I realize that I’ve missed her.
We make our way across the patio space, Wyatt's presence both steadying and nerve-wracking beside me. When we reach her, I take a breath. "Mom," I say, my voice catching slightly on the word. "I'd like you to meet Wyatt Halloway. Wyatt, this is my mother, Callie Rose."
Wyatt removes his hat with the kind of old-fashioned courtesy that would make his grandfather proud, extending his hand. "Ms. Rose, it's an honor to meet you. Your daughter speaks of you often."
Mom assesses him, and her smile remains genuine. "Mr. Halloway. I've heard quite a lot about you as well." There's something in her tone—approval mixed with protective instinct. Okay. We can handle this.
"All good things, I hope," Wyatt says, and the easy confidence in his voice tells me he's not intimidatedby her scrutiny.
"Mostly," she replies, her smile faint, her body easing by degrees.
Just as I'm starting to think this introduction might actually go smoothly, the main entrance opens again and the Whitmore's sweep in.
The universe, it seems, has a twisted sense of timing.
I look right past Eleanor's cream-colored lace dress with pearl beading and Maxwell's dark suit that looks like he's trying too hard to see Ford.
A line of curse words parades through my head.