I pulled on my jeans, followed the smell of fresh coffee downstairs, and walked into Brock standing by the stove, already dressed for the day. His eyes flicked to me before dropping back to his mug.
"Morning," I said, offering a tentative smile.
"Mornin'." He dumped the rest of his coffee down the sink, rinsed the mug, and snatched his hat off the peg.
"Wait," I said, stepping forward. "Outlaw sent a package and?—"
"Busy today," he cut in. Then he turned his broad back to me and shoved the back door open.
"It’ll take five minutes?—"
"I said I'm busy, Sienna."
The door banged shut, leaving me alone in the quiet kitchen.
The cold shoulder lasted six days. Brock treated me like a piece of furniture he occasionally had to walk around. The teasing was gone. The easy silences we’d shared in the truck were gone.
And worse, he flat-out refused to wear the sponsor's shirt.
By Saturday morning, I was running on caffeine, dread, and a deadline I had ignored for too long. That was how I ended up wedged into a sticky vinyl booth at the Wagon Wheel Diner, nursing a stress headache while the Wilder family chaos unfolded around me.
Across the table, Wyatt tried to wrestle a bottle away from his daughter.
"Maisie, not that one, baby. That's hot sauce."
"But Daddy, it's sticky like syrup."
"It's Cholula, bug. Give it to Uncle Colt before you?—"
"Too late." Colt inspected the bright red smear across the tabletop. "That's gonna stain."
"Everything stains in here," Wren said, already wiping it up with a napkin. "That's part of the charm."
She wasn't wrong. The Wagon Wheel Diner had twelve tables, a counter with eight stools, and faded wallpaper patterned with wildflowers. Every surface was some shade of brown, and from the way the waitress had set this corner booth without asking, it was obvious this was their regular spot.
Sitting against the window, isolated from the noise, Brock drank his black coffee and stared out at the parking lot.
Of course, his grumpy streak had not passed, and Avery had been leaving voicemails for two days. I needed to film a clip for Outlaw, but asking him to put on a neon-green shirt while he was still in this mood was guaranteed to fail. I peeled the backs of my thighs off the sticky seat and decided to wait him out.
"So." Colt leaned back, stretching his arm along the top of the booth. "Brock. Quick question, and don't get mad."
"Already mad."
"The folks putting on Redbow Days called the house yesterday."
Brock's mug stopped halfway to his mouth.
"And they need someone to run the roping demo for the kids again," Colt rushed out. "And I might've told Linda you'd do it."
"You told Linda."
"She caught me off guard! I panicked. You know how she is."
"So un-volunteer me."
"Can’t. She already put your name on the flyer."
"I saw it at the post office," Silas said without looking up from his menu. "Looked real nice."