Chapter 2
two
. . .
brOCK
"I've lasted longer with worse," she shot back.
She was gonna be a pain in my ass, I could already tell. Standing there in her ruined little heels, glaring at me like she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.
I shook my head, stepped back into the round pen, and caught Rio’s lead rope. The colt had been doing fine until her car rolled up, and now he was restless again. I ran a hand down the rope and brought him back in line. He blew hard through his nostrils but listened.
Behind me, suitcase wheels rattled over gravel. Then came a sharp little hiss and a muttered “Fuck” that sounded way too natural from somebody dressed like her.
“House is unlocked,” I called over my shoulder. “Somebody’ll come greet you eventually.”
She scoffed. Her heels clicked up the porch steps, then stopped. I turned just enough to see her standing there, her brown hair whipping across her mouth in the wind. She didn’t bother pushing the strand away.
That mouth looked like it had gotten her out of plenty of trouble back wherever she came from. Not here.
"You know," she said, her voice carrying clear across the yard, "you've looked at my shoes three times since I got out of the car."
I looped the rope once around my hand. "Have I."
"If you've got something to say about how I'm dressed, go ahead and say it."
I shrugged. "You showed up to a working ranch in heels and a dress. Don’t need to say much."
“I was told I was going to a hotel. The plan changed an hour ago. And what I’m wearing has nothing to do with how well I do my job.”
I turned back to Rio. “Well, believe me, sweetheart, I’m not any more thrilled about this than you are.”
“It’s Sienna.”
"What?"
“My name. Sienna Starling. Not sweetheart.”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek, fighting a grin I didn’t want to give her. “Noted.”
“Look. I know this isn’t ideal for either of us. But I’m here to help you, Mr. Wilder, so if we can—”
I laughed. Couldn’t stop it if I tried.
She went still. “Something funny?”
“You called me Mr. Wilder. Hell, nobody’s called me that in my life, darlin’.”
“No one’s ever called me darling.”
I lifted my brows. "Thought I said Starlin’. Sounds the same to me."
Her eyes narrowed like she knew what game I was playing, but couldn’t call me on it. Good. Let her stew a little.
“If you’re staying in my house, it’s Brock.”
“Okay, Brock.” She said it like my name tasted sour. “Is there a time tonight we can sit down and go over the plan?”
“I’m busy.”
“Tomorrow morning, then?”
“I’m up at five.”
A pause. She was staring from the porch, probably trying to decide if I was being difficult to be an asshole or if I was just telling the truth.
Both. The answer was both. I'd been expecting someone I could ignore or run off without much effort. Instead, I got her. Sharp-tongued, stubborn, and clearly not going anywhere. Which meant I needed to get rid of her fast.
"Five works," she said finally.
"Can't wait, darlin'," I said, as flat as I could make it.
I barely had time to enjoy her irritation before my brother’s battered F-150 came tearing up the drive, horn blaring.
He slammed it into park. Wren was already hopping out of the passenger side, but Colt beat her to it.
“Look at that,” Colt said, grinning wide. “He hasn’t scared her off yet. I owe Wyatt ten bucks.”
Wren shoved his shoulder out of the way as she passed, her loose braid swinging as she headed toward Sienna.
“Ignore the cavemen,” Wren said, extending a hand. “I’m Wren, Brock’s sister. This idiot is our brother Colt. And we already apologize for whatever Brock said to you in the last five minutes.”
"I'm Sienna," she said, shaking Wren's hand. The stiff posture disappeared, and she smiled.
I looked away. Didn’t need to see that.
"Don't let the scowl fool you," Colt said. "Brock's just mad he has to share his sandbox. Come on inside, dinner must be almost ready."
I ground my teeth and looped Rio’s lead rope over the fence rail. "Nobody asked for a welcoming committee."
"Nobody asked you to punch a guy on camera either, but here we are," Colt shot back.
I pushed through the round pen gate as Wren reached for Sienna’s suitcase. I stomped up the porch steps, brushing right past Sienna as if she were invisible, and snatched the handle out of my sister's hand. Wren gave me a sour look that I ignored.
I marched inside, but paused to toe off my dusty boots. The house smelled as it always did on Sunday evenings: roasting chicken and herbs. But there was something else now, something floral and warm that didn’t belong here.
It took me a second to realize it was her perfume. That pissed me off more than it should have.
"Come on," Wren said, nodding toward the stairs. "Let's get you settled. Those shoes and that dress are way too pretty to ruin out here."
Sienna let out a short laugh and gestured at her clothes. "I didn't exactly plan for this. I didn't know I was coming here."
Wren stopped on the second step. “They sent you here without telling you?”
"They told me when I landed."
My sister looked at her for a long second. "Well, you're here now. And we're not that bad, I promise. Come on, I've got stuff you can borrow."
"Honestly, after the welcome I got from your brother, 'not that bad' already feels like a five-star upgrade."
"Give it a week,” Wren said. “He grows on you. Like mold."
Fucking great. Now I had two of them coming at me.
"I heard that," I called from the bottom of the stairs.
"Good," Wren shouted. "Saves me repeating it."
Before I could lift the suitcase, a blur of black and white fur shot past my legs. Moose, our Bernese Mountain Dog, scrambled up the wooden stairs, his nails clicking frantically. A second later, a sharp yelp rang out from the second floor.
I stiffened, thinking he’d knocked her over, but then a delighted laugh floated down the stairwell.
"You're a giant, aren't you? Who's a handsome boy?"
I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle and hauled it up, letting it slam and bump its way up every step. At the top, I dropped it and turned straight back toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was warm with the smell of roasting chicken. Colt was the only one there, leaning against the counter with a carrot in one hand, grinning.
After washing my hands, I set the table while my brother stood there with his arms crossed, watching me slam silverware down.
"Trying to break those?” he asked.
"Shut up."
"She seems nice."
"She's not here to be nice. She's here because Outlaw thinks I need a handler."
He snagged another carrot off the cutting board and bit into it with a loud crunch. "Might do you some good to have one."
I pointed a fork at him. "You're not helping."
"I'm not trying to."
The back door swung open. Dad filled the frame, his gray hair sticking up where his hat had been. He held his Stetson in one hand and an onion in the other—fresh from the garden, still smudged with dirt.
"What's all the arguing about?" he asked.
"Brock's new ball buster—" Colt caught the sharp look on Dad's face and cleared his throat. "His new trainer arrived."
I pictured shoving my brother headfirst into the nearest water trough.
Dad looked at me. I didn’t confirm it, which was confirmation enough.
"Huh." He set the onion on the counter, then hung his hat on the hook by the door. "Why didn't you introduce me?"
"She just got here," I said.
"So?"
"So she's upstairs with Wren."
He sat down at the head of the table like he always did. "Bring her down for dinner. Use your manners, son."
Before I could force myself to go get her, soft footsteps tapped down the stairs. Sienna walked into the kitchen in a white tank top and a pair of Wren's old jeans. They stopped above her ankles, because she was taller than my sister. She looked... different.
I looked away. Then I looked back. Mistake.
I didn’t want her here. Didn’t want her perfume lingering in my house or her shit scattered around. Sure as hell didn’t need her following me to every rodeo and event.
“Well,” Dad said, standing up, hand out. “I’m Silas. Nobody told me we had company, because my children have no manners. You eaten yet, sweetheart?”
"I haven't," she said, shaking his hand. "It's nice to meet you."
"Sit anywhere. Brock, get her a glass of water. She just flew in from—where?"
“Chicago,” Sienna said.
Dad nodded like that explained a lot. “Long way from home.”
Colt pulled out a chair for her and she sat. I filled a glass from the tap and set it in front of her, maybe a little harder than I needed to.
“Better?” she asked, glancing down at her new clothes, one brow raised.
Dad had his back turned to us, busy pulling the pan of roasted chicken out of the oven.
I pulled out the chair across from her and sat. "You’re still here. So no.”
Colt kicked me from under the table. I was about to kick him back when I heard it: the tap-tap-tap of a small cane on hardwood.
Wyatt appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had the same broad build as the rest of us brothers, but wore a tired slump from being up before the sun.
Maisie, with blonde pigtails and denim overalls, clutched his fingers while her cane tapped along the baseboard.
Her pale blue eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere near the fridge.
The irritation buzzing under my skin disappeared. I crossed the room, making sure my boots hit the floor loud enough for her to hear me coming.
“There’s my girl,” I said.
Her face lit up. She let go of Wyatt’s hand and reached out into the air. “Uncle Brock!”
“Wanna fly, May-bug?”
I grabbed her under the arms and lifted her high. She shrieked happily, her hands grabbing my shoulders as I spun her once and settled her against my hip.
“Easy, don’t break my kid before dinner,” Wyatt said. He clapped a hand on my back, then followed my gaze to the table.
Sienna was watching us, her expression softer than it had been a minute ago. I didn’t like it. I didn’t need her looking at me like that.
Wyatt tipped his hat. “You must be the one they sent for my brother. I’m Wyatt. Welcome to the chaos.”
“Sienna,” she said, the sharp edge gone from her voice. “Thanks. I’m starting to think I might need the warning.”
Her brown eyes moved from Maisie’s arms around my neck to my face, then quickly away. A hand patted my chest, and I looked down. Maisie’s nose wrinkled.
"Uncle Brock?"
"Yeah, bug?"
"Someone smells like flowers." She tilted her head. "It's not Wren. Wren smells like hay. And it's not Daddy. Is that Sienna?"
"Yeah, bug. That's her. She's staying with us for a while."
She thought about it. "Is she your girlfriend?"
Colt threw his head back, barking out a laugh. Even Dad let out a low chuckle, trying to hide his grin behind his water glass. Across the table, Sienna’s cheeks flushed pink.
“No,” I said. “She’s here for work.”
“She smells way better than you.”
“Thanks, bug,” I said. “Come on now, dinner’s getting cold.”
The kitchen went back to its usual chaos—plates clattering, chairs scraping, Dad barking at Colt to pass the rolls. I settled Maisie into her chair and straightened up.
Sienna was staring at her water glass like it was the most interesting thing in the room. But that bright pink hadn’t left her cheeks. And I was the idiot who couldn’t stop looking.