“Aw, come on,” I said. “There has to be someone. At the rodeos? Some guy you met in the city?”
Wren waved her cup lazily. “Rodeos are great, but dating in that crowd gets messy fast. And guys from the city… I don’t know, they’re just not my thing.” She took another sip. “Still… I can’t say there aren’t any good ones around here, though.”
Mara’s eyes lit up. "Who?"
"His name was Hunter," Wren said, leaning her head back against the edge of the bed. "He was my oldest brother’s best friend. He practically lived here when we were growing up, and I had the biggest, most obvious crush on him for years."
"Did anything happen?" Mara asked, leaning forward.
Wren let out a sharp laugh. "God, no. He’s ten years older than me."
Mara grinned. "Ah, so you’re into older guys. Love a silver fox?"
"Are you calling me old?" Wren threw a popcorn kernel at her. "He can’t have gray hair yet—I’m only twenty-two."
She let out a long breath, staring up at the ceiling.
"It doesn’t matter anyway. I haven’t seen him since I was a teen. After my brother Knox left, Hunter only stuck around for a few more months. He was really pissed at us for how we handled everything, so eventually... he just packed up and vanished too."
A heavy knot formed in my stomach. The last thing I wanted tonight was Mara accidentally ripping open old family wounds by asking too many questions about their estranged brother. I held my breath.
Thankfully, she just smiled and raised her plastic cup. "Well, here’s to outgrowing dumb childhood crushes."
I let out a quiet exhale of relief.
Wren grinned and tapped her cup against ours. "I’ll drink to that." She pointed at the screen. "Now shh, the male lead is about to ruin his suede jacket in the rain."
We spent the rest of the night laughing until our sides hurt, mostly because Moose kept sneaking into the room to steal popcorn and wedge his giant body between us. By midnight, Mara was passed out sideways across the blankets with one arm draped over the dog, and my eyelids were growing heavy.
Over the next week, it became obvious why Brock had been so grumpy about the pizza talk. He was deep in training mode: strict diet, resistance band workouts, and cutting out all the heavy diner food. Wren was personally offended.
"I'm just saying, bacon grease is a food group in this house," she grumbled one morning, staring at Brock’s plate of egg whites and spinach. "You’re eating like a rabbit. It’s unnatural."
But the hardest part wasn't the food; it was the ice.
Late October brought freezing nights and frost by mid-afternoon. Brock had loaded a portable, heavy-duty canvas plunge tub and four coolers of ice into the back of the ranch’s UTV.
We drove up the rocky trail to the Painted Basins, where thick steam rose from the natural hot springs.
Brock set the tub on a flat rock right beside the largest pool. He then grabbed a long hose, walked it back out through the narrow opening in the rock wall, down to the cold creek that ran outside the canyon. He started pumping freezing water into thetub. Once it was full, he dumped in several bags of ice. The cubes hissed as they hit the water.
Wearing only red athletic shorts, Brock stared down at the tub. The soft light caught the yellowing bruises along his ribs.
"You don’t have to do the full five minutes today," I said, zipping my parka up to my chin.
"Doc said five minutes cold, then straight into the hot water. Gotta shock the shoulder."
He stepped over the edge and lowered himself in. The second the icy water hit his chest, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Breathe," I said, stepping up to the tub. I started the timer on my phone.
Brock closed his eyes, gripping the rim. His breathing was fast and shallow. I reached out and covered his freezing knuckles with my warm hands. He opened his eyes and focused on me. Slowly, he matched his breathing to mine.
"Three minutes," I whispered.
He gave a tight nod.
When the timer buzzed, Brock stood with a sharp gasp, his skin flushed bright red. He stepped out of the ice tub and moved straight into the steaming turquoise spring.
