Chapter 35
thirty-five
. . .
SIENNA
A week after Vegas, the deafening chaos of the stadium already felt like a lifetime ago.
The ranch had its own kind of noise now.
Orders for the Ryder collab were still rolling in, and I’d insisted on adding a personal touch to every holiday package.
That decision had turned our evenings into something new.
Every night after dinner, the Wilder family gathered around the kitchen table in an assembly line.
Silas sat at the head, writing “Thank you for supporting our ranch” in his neat cursive. Wyatt and Maisie slid the finished cards into envelopes. Colt was stuck licking them shut, and Wren stacked the sealed ones into small boxes. I passed fresh stacks down the line as they were needed.
Colt groaned, letting his head thunk down on the table. “My tongue tastes like glue. I think I’m hallucinating. If I get a paper cut, I’m asking Dad for a raise.”
“For licking the envelopes?” Wren asked.
“Ain’t exactly in my job description.”
Silas didn’t even look up from his writing. “Your job description’s always been whatever needs doin’. And you volunteered for this.”
“Yep. That’s why I’m putting crafting injuries on next year’s budget.”
I laughed and pushed another stack toward him. “Stop whining and lick. We still have two hundred left to seal before tomorrow.”
Colt grumbled something under his breath but reached for the next envelope anyway.
For a moment, I just sat there watching them. Wren was humming under her breath. Silas’s pen scratched steadily across the paper. Wyatt leaned in close to Maisie, murmuring something that made her smile. Colt kept making dramatic gagging noises every time he licked another envelope.
It was loud and messy and kind of ridiculous. And it felt fantastic.
The ranch debt was cleared. Mara’s tuition was paid in full. For the first time, we weren’t carrying everything alone—Brock and I had done this together.
I let out a slow breath and leaned back in my chair.
The back door clicked open. A rush of cool air swept into the kitchen before the door shut again. Brock stepped inside, shrugging off his canvas barn coat. His dark hair was windblown, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked over at the table, caught my eye, and smiled.
“Damn, you guys look busy,” he said as he crossed the kitchen.
“We are!” Colt groaned against the table. “Tell Sienna my saliva glands are officially retired. I’m a dried-up husk.”
Brock chuckled. “Want to switch? I’ve been breaking ice on the stock tanks for the last hour.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Colt said, licking another envelope. “Starting to develop a taste for it. Reminds me of that blue raspberry Outlaw can.”
Brock stopped behind my chair. His hands were still cold as he rested them on my shoulders. I leaned my head back against him and felt the press of his lips on my hair.
“Take a break,” he murmured. “Come upstairs. I want to show you something.”
I glanced at the mountain of cards. “Right now? We still have a whole box to finish.”
“It’s important.”
He pulled me gently to my feet.
Wren waved a hand. “Just go. If he stays down here, he’s only gonna distract you anyway. We’ve got a quota to hit.”
I let Brock lead me upstairs. The second floor was quiet, floorboards creaking under our steps. We passed my room, then Wren’s and Colt’s, but he kept walking.
My steps slowed. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He didn’t say anything else, just gave my hand a small squeeze as we stopped in front of the door that had stayed closed since I arrived: Knox’s old room.
No one ever went in there. It was one of those unspoken rules.
Brock turned the knob and pushed it open. I stepped into the doorway and froze.
The room smelled of fresh paint and wood polish.
Gold light poured through the massive window, catching on warm cream walls.
Beyond the glass, the Bighorn Mountains rose in the distance, their snow-dusted peaks sharp against the pale sky.
Far below, horses and cattle moved slowly across the open pasture.
A heavy oak desk sat directly in front of the window, with a plush leather chair drawn up to it. Along the wall, shelves held neat rows of amber glass bottles that caught the light like dark honey.
I walked over to the desk. A package sat in the middle, the label reading:
Jewelers Scale, 0.001g Precision.
I reached out and picked up a vial. Jasmine Absolute. My fingers moved over the labels one by one. Sweet Orange. Vanilla CO2. Sandalwood.
“You built me a fragrance lab,” I said, my voice catching. “How did you… when did you…?”
“Dad emptied it while we were in Vegas. And the last pieces arrived today,” he said. “I was planning to wait until Christmas. Had this whole thing worked out in my head. But then the boxes showed up and… fuck it. I couldn’t wait another week.”
I picked up another bottle, reading the label. Geosmin. Smells like fresh earth after rain. He’d bought an absurd amount, more than a lifetime’s supply. One drop in a swimming pool, and you’d notice it.
I put it back, then my eyes landed on the one beside it: Hay Absolute.
A surprised laugh escaped me. I turned around.
He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me with a grin.
“Hay Absolute?” I asked, holding up the little amber vial.
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah… I wasn’t sure what you’d actually use, but when I saw that one, I figured it sounded like something that belonged on a ranch.”
I pressed my lips together. “How did you even know what to get?”
“Looked it up online.” He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to me. “Spent a few nights reading about base notes, heart notes, all that stuff. Figured out what tools you’d need to do it proper.”
I looked around the room again. The window held, indeed, the best view on the entire ranch.
“Brock,” I started, then stopped. My throat felt tight. “But this is Knox's room.”
“Not anymore.” He reached out and brushed his fingers down my cheek. “Talked to the family. We’re done carrying that weight. Done keeping an empty room for somebody who doesn’t want to be here.”
He dropped his hand and settled it on my waist.
“You helped build me a brand, Starlin’. Figured it was time you had one of your own.”
I didn’t have words big enough, so I didn’t use any. I buried my fingers in his thick hair and kissed him. He pulled me in tight, wrapping both arms around me.
“I can’t believe you did all this for me,” I said, breathless.
“For us. I spent a long time holding onto old ghosts. I’m done looking backward. I’m all in, Sienna.”
“Good,” I said softly against his mouth. “Because so am I.”