Chapter 32
thirty-two
. . .
brOCK
The axe bit through the pine log with a sharp crack.
The wood split clean down the center, the two halves tumbling into the dirt. I hooked the toe of my boot under another log, flipped it onto the chopping block, and brought the axe down again.
Crack.
I let the momentum carry the swing, waiting for the familiar spike of pain in my shoulder. It didn’t come. Just the smooth stretch of a muscle that had finally healed.
I buried the axe head into the chopping block and let out a long breath that clouded in the freezing November air. Rolled my shoulder once. Perfect.
“Look at you playin’ lumberjack! Try not to pull a muscle.”
The roar of the John Deere echoed across the yard. I looked up. Colt was hanging off the side of the cab, grinning like an idiot as our newly hired day-worker, Miller, steered the big tractor.
I grabbed a chunk of split pine and lobbed it at them. It bounced off the rear tire. Colt flipped me the bird, laughing as they rolled out of sight.
“You’re really out here chopping wood in a T-shirt when it’s thirty degrees? Keep it up, cowboy, and I might start selling tickets.”
I turned to see Sienna leaning against the porch railing, two steaming mugs in her hands. She was swimming in my oversized denim coat, sleeves rolled up twice so her fingers could peek out. The wind whipped her dark hair across her face, but she didn’t bother brushing it away.
Her gaze drifted slowly down my chest. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a second, then the corner of her mouth curved up.
I peeled off my work gloves and slapped them against my thigh. “Get down here and say that again.”
She smiled, stepping carefully down the frosty stairs. When she reached me, she handed me one of the mugs.
“You’re in a suspiciously good mood.”
"Shoulder’s at a hundred percent," I said, taking a sip of the hot black coffee. "I think I’m ready to start getting on practice broncs again."
She let out a breathless, relieved laugh and leaned her forehead against my chest. "Thank God."
After weeks of her worrying, it felt damn good to finally give her some good news.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on. Put some real boots on and come with me.”
She pulled back, squinting up at me. “I am wearing boots.”
“Not those. The ones you don’t mind getting muddy.” I set my mug on the chopping block and grabbed my flannel off the fence. “I want to show you something.”
Ten minutes later we were walking up the long dirt drive.
The morning sun melted the frost, softening the ground.
After a hundred yards I took a left, cutting across the pasture and leading her through the small stand of old apple trees.
Most of the fruit had already been picked or dropped, but a few late ones still clung stubbornly to the branches.
Sienna stayed close to my side, hands buried deep in her pockets. “There’s nothing up here but overgrowth. Wren showed me the first week I was here.”
"Used to be," I corrected.
The moment we cleared the trees, Sienna stopped dead in her tracks.
Mom’s old glasshouse sat tucked in the clearing, protected from the wind by the apple trees. Sunlight bounced off the sloped glass roof and wide windows.
For years, the place had sat overgrown and forgotten, but over the last few weeks, I’d replaced the rotted boards with fresh cedar that still smelled clean and sweet. Now it gleamed again.
“Did you do all this?” she asked quietly.
I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. “No rodeos for a while. Needed something to do.”
We walked up to it. The glasshouse stood tall in the clearing, close enough that I could see our reflections in the windows.
Her fingers moved over the new hinges and brass hardware on the door.
“This is your mom’s greenhouse, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Dad built it for her so she could keep gardening when the cold set in. Been sitting empty since she passed.”
"You brought it back."
"Just cleared the brush out." I stepped up to the door and pushed it open. "Come on."
The second the door clicked shut behind us, the cold disappeared. Warm air wrapped around us as if we’d stepped into another world. Sunlight poured through the glass roof, turning the whole place into a pocket of summer. The air smelled like cedar and damp soil.
“Must be seventy degrees in here,” she said.
“It’ll stay warm even when there’s snow covering the ground.”
I walked down the center aisle. She followed behind me, running her fingers over the scarred, weathered wood of the potting benches that lined the walls.
I reached under the main bench and pulled out the canvas cooler I’d hidden there earlier. I unzipped it and took out two cold bottles of local beer and a paper-wrapped bundle of sausage and egg sandwiches from the diner.
“Breakfast,” I said, popping the caps off against the edge of the wooden bench.
She laughed, looking from the bottle to me. “Beer? But it’s nine in the morning.”
"I just spent weeks eating spinach and egg whites," I said, handing her one. “I’m having a beer.”
She smiled and took it. We hopped up and sat side by side on the wide potting table, her boots dangling while mine rested on the floor. Sienna took a bite of her sandwich, squinting as the bright sun hit her face. She lifted a hand to block it.
I pulled the Stetson off my head and dropped it onto hers. It was a brand-new custom felt hat, one of the first perks from the deals Sienna had landed.
I still couldn’t believe how fast she’d made it all happen.
My inbox was now flooded with offers from feed companies, ranch equipment brands, and more.
I gave every one of them the same answer: I’d only talk about their product if I actually used it on the ranch.
Surprisingly, most of them respected that.
The hat slipped down a little, sitting just above her eyebrows so she had to tilt her chin up to see me.
"Better?" I asked.
A smile spread across her face. "Much better. Thank you."
I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her against my side. We ate in easy silence, the wind rattling the glass panes outside.
I stared at her as she ate and took sips of beer, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. My hats looked better on her.
Last week, I’d tried moving her share of the new deals into her account, but she’d pushed it right back, telling me to put it into Wild Sage instead. I still felt weird as hell calling my own ranch a “brand.”
Since she wouldn’t take the money, I’d found another way. I’d called her sister a few days ago. The second my NFR payout hit, forty grand was going straight toward helping Mara finish her degree.
That was the thing about Vegas: you could chase rodeos for eleven months and make more in ten nights than in the rest of the year combined. If I rode the way I knew I could, the prize money and sponsor payouts would finally wipe our debt clean and let me buy Maisie the tablet I'd promised her.
I wasn’t looking forward to that fight when Sienna found out. She was just like me, and she hated when anyone tried to fix her problems for her, but I’d take it. I was done watching her stress over money.
"This really is incredible, Brock," she murmured, pulling me out of my thoughts.
She slid off the table and walked over to the far wall, running her hand along the empty wooden shelving. "You could grow so much in here."
I took another drink of my beer to hide the smile tugging at my mouth. “Yeah.”
I set the empty bottle down and walked over, sliding my hands into the back pockets of her jeans and pulling her close.
“Figured we could start growing some vegetables,” I said. “Maybe some flowers for the house. Mom used to love it in here.”
She tilted her head up. The brim of the Stetson bumped lightly against my forehead. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”
I tipped the brim of the hat back just enough and kissed her. It was slow and deep, tasting like cold beer.
Vegas was only three weeks away. My shoulder felt solid, the training was paying off, and the bank accounts were finally moving in the right direction. But Dave’s ultimatum from Outlaw lingered in the back of my mind: make the top five in the first go-round, or they’d drop me.
Losing that paycheck would hurt like hell. I’d been in this game too long to believe anything was guaranteed. I’d gone into the NFR with good momentum before and still come home disappointed.
But this time, Sienna would be in the stands. She was going to be damn good motivation.