Silas sat at the head, writing “Thank you for supporting our ranch” in his neat cursive. Wyatt and Maisie slid the finished cards into envelopes. Colt was stuck licking them shut, and Wren stacked the sealed ones into small boxes. I passed fresh stacks down the line as they were needed.
Colt groaned, letting his head thunk down on the table. “My tongue tastes like glue. I think I’m hallucinating. If I get a paper cut, I’m asking Dad for a raise.”
“For licking the envelopes?” Wren asked.
“Ain’t exactly in my job description.”
Silas didn’t even look up from his writing. “Your job description’s always been whatever needs doin’. And you volunteered for this.”
“Yep. That’s why I’m putting crafting injuries on next year’s budget.”
I laughed and pushed another stack toward him. “Stop whining and lick. We still have two hundred left to seal before tomorrow.”
Colt grumbled something under his breath but reached for the next envelope anyway.
For a moment, I just sat there watching them. Wren was humming under her breath. Silas’s pen scratched steadily across the paper. Wyatt leaned in close to Maisie, murmuring something that made her smile. Colt kept making dramatic gagging noises every time he licked another envelope.
It was loud and messy and kind of ridiculous. And it felt fantastic.
The ranch debt was cleared. Mara’s tuition was paid in full. For the first time, we weren’t carrying everything alone—Brock and I had done this together.
I let out a slow breath and leaned back in my chair.
The back door clicked open. A rush of cool air swept into the kitchen before the door shut again. Brock stepped inside, shrugging off his canvas barn coat. His dark hair was windblown, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He looked over at the table, caught my eye, and smiled.
“Damn, you guys look busy,” he said as he crossed the kitchen.
“We are!” Colt groaned against the table. “Tell Sienna my saliva glands are officially retired. I’m a dried-up husk.”
Brock chuckled. “Want to switch? I’ve been breaking ice on the stock tanks for the last hour.”
“Nah, I’m good,” Colt said, licking another envelope. “Starting to develop a taste for it. Reminds me of that blue raspberry Outlaw can.”
Brock stopped behind my chair. His hands were still cold as he rested them on my shoulders. I leaned my head back against him and felt the press of his lips on my hair.
“Take a break,” he murmured. “Come upstairs. I want to show you something.”
I glanced at the mountain of cards. “Right now? We still have a whole box to finish.”
“It’s important.”
He pulled me gently to my feet.
Wren waved a hand. “Just go. If he stays down here, he’s only gonna distract you anyway. We’ve got a quota to hit.”
I let Brock lead me upstairs. The second floor was quiet, floorboards creaking under our steps. We passed my room, then Wren’s and Colt’s, but he kept walking.
My steps slowed. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He didn’t say anything else, just gave my hand a small squeeze as we stopped in front of the door that had stayed closed since I arrived: Knox’s old room.
No one ever went in there. It was one of those unspoken rules.
Brock turned the knob and pushed it open. I stepped into the doorway and froze.
The room smelled of fresh paint and wood polish. Gold light poured through the massive window, catching on warm cream walls. Beyond the glass, the Bighorn Mountains rose in the distance, their snow-dusted peaks sharp against the pale sky. Far below, horses and cattle moved slowly across the open pasture.
