"Wyatt, just match her pace," I called out, crouching low in the dirt driveway.
He chuckled, adjusting his grip on her small hand.
"You are walking too slow, Daddy!" she protested.
"I know, bug. You're leaving me in the dust."
I smiled as Maisie stepped firmly onto a pile of dry cottonwood leaves, crunching them.
"Got it," I said, stopping the recording and brushing the dirt off my knees.
The clip performed even better than I’d hoped. Engagement was through the roof. People were loving the Wilder family.
Yesterday, Colt had taken it upon himself to film a "review" of every Outlaw energy drink flavor they’d sent us. The video peaked when he strolled out to the paddocks and tried pouring asplash of “Blue Raspberry Rush” into Dusty’s water container to see if the mare wanted a boost.
Brock slapped the can out of his hand, yelling that if the horse got hold of taurine, he’d throw the rest of the drinks in the trash. I had to cut those parts out, but an hour after I posted the edited version, Outlaw’s rep emailed asking for a whole series.
I spent the rest of the morning at my laptop, riding the high of climbing metrics and conversion rates.
Silas had also tried one of the Outlaw drinks yesterday and delivered his verdict in classic deadpan style.
"Tastes pretty good," he’d said, pushing the can away. "But I reckon if you drink enough of this, you don’t need a horse to buck you off. Your own heart will do it for you."
The comments flooded with people begging for more of the “savage cowboy grandpa.”
"Hey, you’re burning a hole in that screen."
I looked up. Brock was leaning against the kitchen door, freshly showered. He wore a sage green thermal henley, and his dark hair was damp, curling slightly. He smiled as he crossed the room, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
"You should go get ready, Starlin’. We’ve got to leave for Sheridan in twenty minutes."
My stomach flipped. The flight. I’d been so deep in the numbers I hadn’t even noticed the time.
An hour later, I was standing at the baggage carousel in the tiny Sheridan airport. The sliding glass exit doors were right next to the belt, letting in a blast of cold wind every time someone walked through.
Mara appeared, dragging a massive suitcase behind her. She was wearing a gray cashmere sweater she’d stolen from my closet, paired with a stylish wool coat that looked wildly out of place among all the Carhartt jackets.
"Sienna!" She launched herself across the linoleum and threw her arms around my neck. "Oh my god, you smell so nice."
I laughed, hugging her back tightly. "It’s my new soap. I’ll get you a bar."
She pulled away, holding me at arm’s length. "Look at you, wearing cowboy boots! And that hat! I want one too."
I grinned. "I’ll get you one. How were midterms?"
"Brutal, but I survived." Mara looked past my shoulder, her eyes going wide. "Oh. Wow."
I turned to see Brock walking toward us, having just paid the parking meter. He stopped beside me and slid an arm around my waist.
"Mara, this is Brock," I said. "Brock, this is the genius of the family."
"Nice to meet you, Mara." Brock offered her an easy smile and reached down to take the handle of her suitcase. "Heard a lot about you."
Mara blinked. “Sienna didn't exaggerate. The videos don't really capture how tall you are."
He let out a short laugh. "Guess I look smaller on a phone screen. Come on, truck’s this way."
The drive back to Wild Sage passed in a blur of catching up. Mara fought off yawns for the first half, still tired from the journey, but the moment we turned onto the long dirt road leading to the ranch, she shot upright in her seat, pressing her face to the window to watch the horses.
