Static crackled from the yellow radio clipped to Colt's belt.
"Dad's running on ibuprofen and watching another UFO documentary," Wren's voice blasted through the speaker.
The back door clicked open. Moose pulled free from my grip and trotted toward the sound.
I exhaled, pressed against the wallpaper. In the reflection, Wren strode inside, peeling off her leather work gloves and dropping them on the counter.
"Colt, your mic's stuck open again." She turned her glare on Brock. "And you know we can handle things just fine without you."
"We have to move the herd to the winter pasture by the fifteenth."
"Then we'll hire a day hand," she countered. "We can afford it now that we have the Ryder money. Let it go."
Brock’s jaw tightened. Sitting out went against his nature.
He let out a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Fine. But if you guys break the tractor again?—"
Colt grinned and slapped his shoulder. "I'll fix it myself. I'm the captain now. Go take a bath, you stink of diesel."
Heavy boots scraped against the linoleum. Brock pushed back from the table and turned toward the hallway.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, spun around, and hurried up the stairs. The seventh step creaked under my foot, making me wince, but I didn't stop until I reached the guest room.
Once inside, I opened my laptop and checked the analytics for the Ryder & Co. campaign.
Wren was right. The affiliate links were bringing in enough money to give the ranch some breathing room.
I'd just pulled up the last spreadsheet when my phone buzzed on the mattress. Avery was requesting a video call.
Dread settled in my gut. She never asked to see my face unless something was wrong.
I smoothed my hair, tucked the loose waves behind my ears, forced a smile, and swiped to answer.
"Hi Avery. Is everything okay?"
She sat behind her desk, crisp in a white blazer, a gray sky stretching across the windows behind her. Her fingers drummed a gold pen against the glass desktop. She didn't smile back.
"I need to ask you something," she said. "And I need you to be honest with me."
"Of course."
She held my gaze. "Is there something going on between you and Brock Wilder?"
I forced out a laugh. "What? No. Why would you ask that?"
"Someone forwarded me a video from a local fair. It clearly showed you and your client, with his arm wrapped around you."
My heart hammered against my ribs. After the Ferris wheel at the Douglas County Fair, we hadn’t bothered to hide. Rain had soaked through my shirt, and Brock had tucked me under his arm to shield me from the downpour.
Of course someone had filmed it. For more than a month, we’d fed the rumors after Cheyenne, letting his followers wonder without ever giving them an answer.
“You’re his publicist, Sienna. You know how this reflects on the agency.” The gold pen stopped tapping. “So, let me ask you directly. Are you sleeping with him?”
I didn't blink. One more lie wasn't going to break me.
“I’m not involved with him like that,” I said. “You told me to lean into the mystery, so we stand close when we're out in public. It drives engagement.”
Avery stared at me, searching my face. I gave her nothing. Out of frame, my nails dug into the rough denim of my thigh.