Chapter 19
nineteen
. . .
brOCK
Redbow Days hit like a wall of ninety-degree heat and packed bodies. This year’s centennial had pulled in a massive traveling carnival, and the whole town had shown up.
Main Street sat blocked off with orange snow fencing. A local country band tore through a fast two-step on a plywood stage in the middle of the intersection, the bass drum thumping through the soles of my boots.
The air smelled like baking pie crust, fried dough, and crushed grass. Trucks and strollers packed every side street and parking lot.
I hated crowds. Always had. But today, it wasn’t the heat or the noise that bothered me. It was the fact that I had to stand ten feet away from Sienna, act like a damn gentleman, and pretend I hadn’t had her thighs locked tight around my waist less than twelve hours ago.
I’d kept my promise from the barn. We’d gone at it again yesterday morning against the workbench in the equipment shed, and again last night with her pinned to my mattress and my hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t wake up the whole house.
Ice rattled in her plastic cup as she laughed at something Wren said, the late sun catching the tan lines on her bare shoulders. I knew better than to keep looking, especially with my family standing right there, but she made it difficult.
Before my self-control could snap entirely, a small, solid weight slammed into my knees.
"Uncle Brock!"
I blinked, forcing my eyes away from Sienna, and looked down. Maisie grinned up at me, her pink cowboy hat swallowing half her face. She bounced on her heels, clutching a stiff coil of nylon rope.
Right. The kids' roping clinic. The whole reason I'd ended up here today.
"You ready to catch a steer?" I asked.
Her little fingers disappeared inside my palm as I steered her through the crowd toward a patch of grass in the town square, which had been roped off for the kids. At the orange netting, I hunted for my so-called assistant.
My brother stood ten yards away, leaning against the bed of a display truck, inhaling a funnel cake. He already had powdered sugar all down the front of his dark shirt.
"Colt!" I yelled.
He turned with his mouth full, looking guilty. I pointed at the hay bale sitting in the grass with a plastic steer head mounted on it.
“You’re the dummy today. Get over here.”
He groaned, swallowed, and brushed sugar off his chest at the same time. He ambled over and hauled the heavy bale out into the center of the pen.
Parents and kids gathered at the fence. Over by the rail, Sienna stepped up next to Wren and Wyatt, watching me with an amused smile.
I forced my focus down to my niece. Maisie gripped the rope in both hands.
“I’m pointin’ it up, Uncle Brock,” she said, her face wrinkling in concentration.
“Good. Now wait for the target.” I straightened up and tipped my hat back, glaring at my brother. “Any day now, Colt.”
Twenty feet away, Colt grinned, tapped the plastic horns, and let out a ridiculous, high-pitched “Moo.”
“He’s not even trying to sound like a cow,” Wren muttered from the rail.
“Don’t distract him,” Wyatt said, arms crossed, fighting a smile. “This is the most important work he’s done all week.”
“Hey,” Colt protested. “I’m providing realism. Okay, Maisie! The steer is running! It’s getting away!”
“Throw it, bug,” I said.
Maisie swung the loop over her head, jerking with the effort, and let it fly. The rope sailed about six feet and dropped short. Colt scrambled forward like a maniac, snatched it, and jammed it over the plastic horns. He yanked it tight just as Maisie pulled back on her end.
"Got him!" Colt yelled from the dust, throwing his hands up like he’d been shot. "The beast is down! Stop the clock! Somebody get this cowgirl the grand prize—a giant ice cream!"
Maisie dropped the rope and started jumping up and down.
The line of waiting kids immediately started yelling for ice cream too. A chorus of "My turn!" erupted down the line.
Wyatt stepped into the pen and slapped Colt a loud high-five. “Hell of an assist.”
He scooped Maisie up, burying his face in her neck while she giggled. As he carried her toward the food trucks, he looked back at me over her pink hat and gave me a deeply amused grin.
“Good luck with the mob,” he called.
Sienna had her phone out, recording the chaos. She caught my eye, lowered the screen, and gave me a slow, knowing wink.
Heat dropped straight to my gut, and it was the worst possible moment for that.
I dragged my attention back to the kids and pointed a thumb at my brother.
“Alright, who’s next? Line up. If you hit him in the face, you get bonus points.”
“Wait, why?” Colt protested.
I spent the next forty-five minutes fixing grips and untangling knots while half the kids took my advice and aimed straight for Colt’s head. To his credit, he took a rope to the ear twice and kept cheering them on.
Sweat stung my eyes and my left shoulder throbbed, a sharp reminder that pinning Sienna to the mattress last night probably wasn’t what the doctor meant by “light duty.” Not that I regretted a single second of it.
When the last kid finally roped the steer, I handed my rope to Colt. He was sweating too, rubbing a red welt on his neck.
“You did great today,” I told him, clapping his shoulder. I pulled a twenty out of my wallet and shoved it at him. “Go buy yourself another funnel cake.”
Colt perked up immediately. “Thanks, man.”
I turned back toward the rail, ready to go collect on that wink, but the spot where Sienna had been standing was empty. I ducked through the rails and scanned the crowd. Dad and Wyatt were in the snow cone line with Maisie. Wren was over by the bandstand.
I finally spotted Sienna down at the end of the vendor row, standing under a white pop-up tent that said Elm Creek Botanicals. I stopped a few feet away by the lemonade stand and watched her.
She was picking up a wrapped bar of soap, bringing it to her nose and closing her eyes.
The vendor, an older woman with a silver braid, smiled. “Cedarwood and sweet orange. That one’s my best seller.”
“Did you cold-process this? Usually cedarwood drowns out the orange.”
The woman lit up. “I did. I use a little vetiver to ground it so the citrus holds. You know your stuff.”
“I dabble.”
She picked up a heavy glass candle next, running her thumb over the label. She stopped, her eyes catching the price tag on the bottom. She carefully set it back on the display.
“I’ll take the soap, please.”
I walked up behind her, reached past her shoulder, and set the candle next to the soap.
“We’ll take the candle too,” I said. “And whatever else you recommend.”
Sienna jumped and spun around. Her eyes darted past my shoulder, scanning the thick crowd.
“Brock,” she hissed. “What are you doing? You can’t stand here with me.”
“I’m shopping.”
The vendor grabbed a small amber bottle. “My steam-distilled lavender oil. It pairs perfect with the cedarwood.”
“Throw it in,” I said, dropping a couple twenties on the table.
Sienna’s fingers dug into my forearm. She stepped in close, using my body to block her from the walkway. "Seriously," she hissed softly.
I took the bag and change. Looking down at her, I dropped my voice. “Just wanted to get you something.”
She bit her lip, her grip loosening. “Thank you. But we’re supposed to be ignoring each other today. Wyatt knows, but we don’t need Colt finding out. Or even worse, your dad.”
“I know.” I handed her the bag, letting my fingers drag against hers. “I lasted as long as I could.”
She studied me for a second, sighed, and turned. I fell in beside her as we pushed back into the crowd.
A few steps later, she bumped her shoulder against my right arm. “You didn’t have to do that. Now I’m gonna smell like cedarwood and lavender for a month.”
“I can live with that.”
I was already thinking about burying my face in her neck later.
A familiar voice cut through from my left. "Well, now. Brock Wilder. Heard you put on a hell of a show in Cheyenne last month."
William Briggs was leaning against a streetlamp, hat so beat-up it looked like it grew on his head. He was a retired PRCA judge who had settled down in Redbow.
He pushed off the post when he saw Sienna and tipped his brim.
"William," I said. "Good to see you, sir."
“Good to see you too, son.” His eyes moved to Sienna, warm and curious. “Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, miss.”
“Sienna. Just visiting from Chicago.”
“Chicago.” William tilted his head. “Went once. ’99. Stayed three days and spent most of them turned around. Got in a cab and thought I’d wandered into a stampede.”
She laughed. “Still accurate.”
“You make it out to any of the rough rides yet?” he asked.
Sienna glanced at me. Her brow pinched for a fraction of a second—thinking of Wyoming dirt roads, no doubt. I shook my head and pointed discreetly at my own chest.
She looked back at William. “I have, yes. Brock gave me a front-row seat to my first one. The Cody rodeo.”
“Well, you’ve got a good one to show you the ropes. This cowboy here is one of the best.” He tipped his hat again. “And Brock, good luck this season. I’ll be watching.”
William drifted off into the crowd. I turned to Sienna and closed the gap, tipping my head so my stubble brushed the skin behind her ear.
“You think I’ve already shown you a rough ride, darlin’?” I said low. “I haven’t even started.”
Her breath hitched. I felt the tiny shiver run through her.
I figured she’d step back and remind me we were in public. Instead, she turned her head, mouth an inch from my jaw.
“Good,” she whispered. “Because the second your shoulder’s healed, I want you to show me just how rough you can get.”
Every bit of blood in my body went south.
She gave me a sweet smile and walked toward the food tents, hips swaying in those little denim shorts.
I stood there for three full seconds, pulse hammering, fighting the urge to throw her over my shoulder and haul her to the truck.
I caught up to her behind the funnel cake stand, in the narrow strip of shade between the tents. My fingers hooked her hips.
“You think you can say something like that and just walk away—”
“Actually, I think she can.”
Sienna jumped, spinning around so fast she nearly dropped her bag.
Wren stepped out from behind a stack of empty wooden pallets, arms crossed over her chest. She looked between us with an eyebrow raised.
“So,” Wren said. “Are we telling Dad at dinner, or is this gonna stay a terribly kept secret? Because you two are the worst hiders I’ve ever seen.”
Sienna flushed. “Wren, it’s not—we were buying food.”
“Buying food. Right.”
Sienna looked at me, then at Wren, and let out a long breath.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
Wren shrugged. “Long enough.”
I scoffed. "Wyatt told you."
“I have eyes, Brock, I’m not stupid. Plus, I caught you sniffing her hair in the barn last week.”
I let out a harsh breath, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck, but Sienna spoke before I opened my mouth.
“It’s true,” she said. “I know it’s crazy. But it’s true.”
Wren watched her for a long second, then let out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Thank God. The unspoken tension was starting to ruin my appetite.”
Sienna blinked. “That’s… not the reaction I was expecting.”
“What did you expect? Brock is actually bearable to be around lately. I’m thrilled.”
“I’m standing right here,” I said.
"I know," she said without looking at me. “So, what’s with all the sneaking around?”
Sienna rubbed her arms. “My agency. If they find out, I’ll lose my job. They can’t know.”
Wren held her gaze. "Then we make sure they don't. Because seriously, if you two want to keep this quiet, you have to try harder."
"Nobody's watching us,” I said. “We just have to be careful at rodeos. And Colt doesn't know yet, but let's be honest—if he finds out, he'll announce it during the national anthem after two beers. So we can’t let him know.”
Sienna stared down at the paper bag. "And your dad. He's the one letting me stay in his house. I don't want him thinking I let this get in the way of my job. He's been nothing but generous."
“He won’t think that,” I said.
Sienna held my gaze, like she was trying to decide whether she believed me.
“He won’t,” Wren echoed. “Dad’s not like that. But I get it. Your call.”
Sienna let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
Wren waved it off. “Don’t thank me yet.” She pointed a finger at me. “And you. Stop eye-fucking her at the dinner table. It’s gross.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
Sienna looked at me. The panic had faded from her face.
“Your family keeps surprising me.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Wren just threatened you for me. Wyatt is hiding our secret. Colt drove two hours to get us when the truck died.” She paused. “I’m not used to people showing up for me like that.”
I didn’t have words for what she said. So I stayed quiet, took the crinkling paper bag from her hands, and let my fingers brush hers.