Chapter 20
twenty
. . .
SIENNA
Stepping onto the shaded porch with my morning coffee, I spotted Wren kneeling in the driveway gravel. She had a box cutter in one hand and a huge grin on her face. Four big cardboard boxes were stacked around her.
“Oh my god,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “They’re finally here.”
The Ryder & Co. logo sprawled across the cardboard, its edges scuffed from shipping.
She sliced open the top one, flipped the flaps back, and let out a happy shout. “Sienna, check out this jacket.”
She pulled out a dark denim jacket with a fancy stitched yoke and shrugged it on over her tank top. The sleeves were a little long on her.
“Brock’s out fixing the waterline, so he can’t stop us.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “Stop us from what?”
“Opening everything and trying it all on.”
She pushed a box toward me. I reached in and pulled out a pair of soft, vintage-wash jeans. The brass buttons felt solid.
"They sent women's stuff too," I said. "I bet they sent extra hoping we'll be wearing their label if we wander into the background of a video."
We dragged all the boxes inside and spread everything out across the living room floor, covering it in tissue paper.
Pearl-snap shirts, artisan belts, and boots smelling of oiled leather covered the rug.
Wren sorted the clothes into two piles: hers, and stuff she'd generously allow her brothers to borrow.
From the last box she pulled out a suede coat with fringe on the sleeves.
She hugged it to her chest. “I’m hiding this one. Colt would wear it to the diner and think he looks amazing.”
Heavy footsteps came up the porch stairs.
“What’s Colt wearing to the diner?” Brock asked as he stepped inside.
I turned. He leaned against the frame, his Stetson pushed back, a faded T-shirt clinging dark with sweat across his chest.
He glanced at the pile of clothes but didn’t say anything. His eyes landed on the denim in my hands, then met mine.
Wren held up one of the cowboy boots. “Genuine ostrich. Ryder went all out.”
Brock picked up a shirt, checked the price tag, and set it back down. “These are fine.”
“That’s it?” Wren tossed the boot onto the couch. “They’re fine? The signing bonus alone is the biggest check we’ve seen in months. It’ll cover the tractor transmission and—”
“Wren,” he said, his voice low.
“—and put a dent in what we owe the bank,” she finished, lifting her chin.
The room got quiet except for the window AC rattling. Brock crossed his arms, jaw tight.
“Sienna’s gonna find out eventually,” Wren said. “She lives here now. She’s with you.”
Brock let out a sharp breath and turned to stare out the window.
The jeans slipped from my fingers. “Find out what?”
Wren’s excitement faded. She looked at Brock’s stiff back, then at me.
“The debt,” she said. “From when Mom got sick. She had to be flown to the hospital a couple of times, and Dad borrowed against the ranch to pay the medical bills. We’re still paying it off.”
“I didn’t know.”
The grandfather clock ticked in the hallway. I looked at all the expensive clothes scattered on the floor and suddenly felt bad for getting excited about them.
Their mom had been gone for eight years, and they were still carrying the weight of her loss while trying to cope with the debt left behind.
Brock stayed facing the window, shoulders tense. Wren chewed her lip.
“No point dwelling on it today,” she said, trying to sound upbeat again. “We should celebrate. Brock gained a huge sponsor, and that’s because of you.”
My throat felt tight. “He earned it.”
“Yeah, but your videos got millions of views. Ryder wouldn’t have called without them.” She waved at the boxes. “This is your doing.”
Brock offered a low grunt.
“That was almost a thank you,” Wren said. “Try again.”
He turned back to the room, his blue eyes steady. “She’s not wrong.”
My heart thumped hard. I wanted to go over to him and touch him, but I stayed put. The urge to fix this, to do something that helped, rose fast and sharp.
“You need something that keeps bringing in money,” I said. “Not just a one-time payment.”
Brock narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean like… what if we set up an affiliate deal?”
He stared at me.
“I don’t know what that means,” he said.
“If people buy items through a link in one of our posts, you get a cut. It’s not much per sale, but the numbers can add up fast.”
“How do they even track that?”
“I'll take care of everything. You just wear the clothes and let me post. And I bet Ryder would love seeing the whole family in the videos. Your dad fixing fences wearing one of their jackets, Wren on horseback with the boots... People eat that stuff up.”
Wren snatched the suede coat from the sofa, her grin returning. “We could get paid to wear this stuff? I’m in.”
“Are we all driving to Douglas tomorrow for the rodeo?” I asked.
Brock nodded. “We leave around four.”
“Perfect. We can pack the gear and shoot some stuff on the way. I’ll email Ryder tonight and—”
The frantic scrabble of dog nails against the hardwood interrupted me. Moose bounded into the living room, nose twitching. He ignored the tissue paper and went straight for the expensive ostrich boot, clamping his jaws onto the leather toe.
Wren scrambled over the boxes. “Moose, drop it!”
Moose thought this was a phenomenal game. He dodged her easily, kicked up a pile of shirts, and bolted for the hallway.
“Hey!” Colt shouted from the other room.
There was a scuffle, a loud thud, and some swearing. Colt limped back in holding the slobbery boot between two fingers.
He looked at the explosion of clothes all over the living room and then at the three of us.
“What the hell is all this?” he asked.
“New sponsor stuff,” I said, trying not to laugh. “We’re shooting promo videos on the drive to Douglas tomorrow. You’re our newest model.”
Colt’s eyes went to the denim jacket on the couch. “Do I get to keep the coat?”
“Only if you keep Moose away from the boots,” Brock grumbled.
We pulled the truck onto the dusty shoulder about an hour north of Douglas. The late afternoon sun was dropping low, turning the dry Wyoming scrub into a blaze of harsh gold light.
Colt jumped onto the lowered tailgate, showing off his new denim jacket.
He dropped his voice into an over-the-top radio announcer’s voice.
Wren grabbed a handful of gravel and chucked it at his legs.
The wind was whipping across the plains, but my phone still caught her loud, bright laugh cutting through it.
After that, Wren snatched Brock’s coat. It swallowed her up, but she strutted around like a model anyway, chin high and hand on her hip. Brock just rubbed his temples and let her do it. I hit record right as she flipped her brother the double middle finger with a big grin.
“Get in the shot,” Colt said, hopping down and grabbing the phone from me. He shoved my shoulder, pushing me right into Brock. “Come on, stand together. Pretend you can stand each other.”
Brock's arm slid around my waist and settled on my hip, way too low. The heat from his palm burned straight through my dress. I kept my face still, trying to ignore how fast my heart was suddenly beating.
“Get closer,” Colt ordered. “You two look like you’re at a funeral.”
“We’re standing next to a muddy tire on the side of the road, Colt,” I said, glaring at the camera. “This isn’t prom.”
“Just fake it. Brock, smile. Sienna, act like you don’t hate him.”
Wren snorted from the ditch. Next to me, Brock’s thumb slowly traced a tiny circle on my hip bone. I bit the inside of my cheek hard so I wouldn’t smile.
The camera clicked. Colt flipped the phone around and shoved it at me. “Done. You’re welcome.”
Dusk settled over the plains, turning the sky a muted purple. I climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the heavy door. Behind us, Colt's headlights flicked on.
The empty highway stretched out dark ahead of us. I lit up my phone in the dim cab and scrolled through the photos and videos. Colt’s stupid voice, Wren goofing around in the coat, and then the last picture—me and Brock.
His arm was locked tight around my waist, but he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was staring down at me, smiling.
My breath caught. My thumb hovered over the screen.
Up front, Brock drove in silence, his right hand resting on the wheel. Those same rough fingers that had been on my hip.
I thought about the hospital bills, the loans against the land, and the way he’d gone still when Wren brought it up.
I turned the phone off, pulled out my laptop, and opened it.
They needed more than just videos. I was looking for every possible way to bring money in: affiliate deals, brand partnerships, anything that could help.
I wanted them to stop drowning. I wanted Brock to stop carrying all of it alone.
The truck rolled down the empty road while I typed on my laptop, the keys clicking steadily over the rumble of the engine.