Brock rested his chin on top of my head and let out a slow breath. The warmth of it against my cold skin finally broke the silence I’d been holding in.
"I don’t want to leave," I whispered.
"I know. Me too."
I tried to memorize all of it. The weight of his arm, the creak of the porch boards, the cold, clean smell of the air. I tried to pack it all away somewhere safe.
The night on the porch ended way too fast. By sunrise, I was running on black coffee and a heavy dose of dread.
I leaned against the paddock fence after lunch, watching Brock work Rio in the dirt ring. It was chilly, but the sun was blinding. I kept both hands wrapped around my hot tea, wearing one of Brock’s spare hats pulled low to block the glare.
An engine rumbled up the drive. A spotless black SUV rolled up, kicking up dust before parking right behind my muddy Outback.
Brock paused in the ring, looping his lunge line loosely over his hand. He frowned toward the SUV, and suddenly I was back on my first day here. The same flat look, the same guarded expression.
I set my tea on the fence post and slid off the rail, but Moose beat me to it. He bounded off the porch, tail wagging like a windmill, eager to greet the newcomer.
The driver’s door opened. A man stepped out in a crisp white button-down, sunglasses tucked into his styled brown hair. Moose planted two heavy, dusty paws on the guy’s pristine shirt.
The man yelped, stumbling back and swatting wildly. "Hey—down! Someone get this thing off me!"
My body recognized that irritated voice before my brain did.
Trent.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t.
Brock ducked through the rails and came up beside me. His eyes flicked to my clenched fists, then to the yard.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, low.
"That's the replacement Avery sent," I said, the words scraping past the sudden lump in my throat. "And my ex."
Brock's jaw tightened, and he took a step closer.
Trent walked over, keeping a careful distance from Moose. He was too busy brushing dirt off his shirt, ignoring us until he was a few feet away. When he finally looked up, he stopped dead. Shock flashed across his face as he took in the oversized coat, my cowboy boots, and Brock’s Stetson pulled low on my forehead.
It disappeared almost instantly, replaced by his perfect smile. It made my skin crawl.
"Sienna," he said, smoothing his cuffs. "Didn’t think you’d still be here. Figured you’d be on a plane back already."
"I took a week of PTO."
He gave a small nod, like it didn’t really matter, then turned to Brock and extended his hand. "Trent Masters. I’m the senior publicist they sent in for Vegas. I tried shooting you a few emails to set up a meeting, but since I didn't hear back, I figured I'd make the drive."
Brock just stared at the outstretched hand. "Sienna handles that stuff for me."
Trent dropped his hand, completely unfazed. "Right. Well, the agency decided you needed someone with more experience.No offense, Sienna. You did an okay job cleaning up after that bar fight. We can sit down later and go over the handoff before you fly out."
"I’m not handing anything off to you," I said.
He sighed. "Could we at least be professional about this?"
"Professional? That’s rich coming from you."
He shook his head. "You’re still holding a grudge."
Moose let out a soft whine and leaned his heavy body against my leg. I reached down and buried my fingers in his fur.
