Page 92 of Fool for You
And I would never—ever—give up on Quinn.
Rhett and Kyla arrived soon after, Kyla hugging me before going to check on her daughter, but I went right to my brother. Once an idea popped into my head, it was hard to get rid of it. And swaying with Poppy, seeing Stetson and Poppy by the lake, having Quinn there for my stable chores with her laughter filling my senses, an idea formed. And I just needed to talk to Rhett.
“Hey,” I leaned my palms on the kitchen island and looked at my brother. I knew later I’d need Lachlan and Abi, but for now…forty percent would do. “Can we talk?”
Thirty-One
Quinn
“Withjustfifteenminutesto go until the show really gets going, how about we start with some mutton bustin’?” Wyatt’s voice blared through the speakers, still calm and collected even though he was riding on Rusty. When he told me he was going to switch it up, rideandannounce at the same time, to—and I quote—‘Show you just how amazing of a rider I am,’I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him.
I knew he was a good rider. I’ve seen him ride in the arena—granted, it was the worst tie down I had ever seen— and I’ve seenhim riding on the field working. I’ve seen him riding with a fancy wedding suit on and with a baby being held to his chest. But apparently, according to him, I hadn’t seen a good show until he had a microphone in his hand. And I wouldn’t admit it to him, but he was right.
He was dressed to fit the part. His Wranglers fit him just right, the blue button-down stretched against his biceps, and his blond hair stuck out from under his Boot Barn hat. He had his script in one hand, along with the reins, and the microphone in the other. His baby blues could be seen even under the shadow of his hat, and his smile gleamed. I had heard his voice several times over the speakers—I had heard the way he could rile up a crowd—but I neverwatchedhim. He was in his element, and anyone could see the exuberance flying from him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“And we’re starting with six-year-old Tersea Kuster—”
The chute opened, and the sheep busted through, the little girl holding on for dear life until she fell off, landing face-first in the dirt. The crowd gave a collective groan, but Wyatt moved on, announcing her score and hyping up her ride before introducing the next rider.
After all the kids had their moment, Wyatt led Rusty off the arena, and the high school riders went in with the flags. I began to weave through the crowd, wanting to get as close to Wyatt as I could. I may have plenty of time to prepare for my event, but I was missing something.
And according to Abi, that was an important something.
“And bringing us our National Anthem”—he came into view, and I felt that spark in my stomach. That one I was trying to ignore for so long, and now that he had been mine for almost a month…I was trying to figure out how I ever ignored it—“Kendell York from Alpine Ridge High. Please stand and face the flag—”
“Wyatt!” I whisper hissed, coming up to the side of Rusty.
Wyatt turned, welcoming me with his perfect smile. He had an earpiece in his right ear, the wire trailing down his back to the battery pack that was hooked to Rusty’s saddle. Twisting his neck at an angle, he took it out with the hand that was holding the microphone and lowered them both to the horn. I watched as the red light on the mic turned black.
“Get out there and respect the anthem,” he whispered back, leaning down close to me, his tease sending chills down my spine.
“Abi says Cash gets a kiss for luck. I’m pretty sure he’s out there kissing your sister right now—”
“He'd better not be late. He’s up first.” He cocked a grin.
“—and Rhett always kisses Kyla after, right? So…when are we going to kiss?”
He raised a brow. “Well, seeing as we are both busy at the moment, you know, I got this microphone and a sponsor list, and you have to go get Hook ready, I don’t think we’ll be able to carry Rhett’s tradition…or Cash’s. But we could start our own.” He cocked a grin and motioned to his stirrup, sliding his boot from it, giving me the leg up I needed.
Repeating the move he did to me just weeks ago, I used the stirrup to hoist myself up, my lips meeting his instantly. I reached for the horn of the saddle, using it to keep me upright as we slowly kissed. His fingers weren’t in my hair, his hands weren’t roaming my body. I wasn’t humming or moaning into him. I was holding on to the saddle, praying I didn’t slip—but this kiss wasthekiss. That same spark flew from my stomach, reaching every inch of me. My body heated just from his lips, his taste…justhim. I wouldn’t have guessed seven months ago that this man—who I once said was more starch than man—would be sending this thrill through me. It had only been a few weeks, butit felt like so much longer. I would never have guessed that Wyatt Hartwell held my heart. My whole heart.
“Wyatt,” I whispered against him. It was on the tip of my tongue…I lo—
“The anthem is over…” he whispered back. “I’ll see you on the dirt.”
I gave him one last chaste kiss before lowering myself down, removing my boot from his stirrup. Taking a few steps back, I could feel the pull tugging me to him.
“Meet me after? For the fireworks?” he asked, moving Rusty’s nose to the gates.
I nodded, watching Rusty jerk his nose back, the microphone dropping into the saddle. I held back a chuckle and resisted the urge to flash him finger guns. “Sure, if you don’t fall off. Maybe stick to announcing in the box?”
Wyatt gasped, dropping his jaw. “Prepare to be amazed at my skill.” He curved his lips, shoving his earpiece back in his ear, and flicking the mic back on, all with the same hand, his other never loosening on Rusty’s lead.
Rolling my eyes, I slunk away from him, keeping my eyes on him until he gave me a wink.
Cash scored an eighty-seven, then joined Abi and Stetson in the stands. Rhett clocked one of his best times with a seven-point-one, kissed Kyla over the gate like always, then took Poppy in his arms and wove in and out of the cowboys and cowgirls. And Wyatt let out the loudest cheer when I finished my ride, disappearing from the arena. Even if he didn’t have amicrophone in his hand, anyone would have been able to hear him scream, “That’smygirl.” And I guarantee that even though the sun had set and the sky was ready for the fireworks, anyone would have been able to see the heat in my cheeks.
I watched the rest of the event with the other barrel racers, but while my peers were watching the bull riders, my eyes were trained on Wyatt. He was still on Rusty, and even though they were behind the gate, they stood close enough that Wyatt could see the action and tell off all the scores as the judges sent them his way. His face had a light sheen of sweat, the sleeves on his button-down had been rolled up several times to expose his toned forearms, and his hair on the nape of his neck was damp—but even through the miserable heat—Wyatt looked happier than I had ever seen him before.
