Colt slapped the table. "I’ll do it. Give me the shirt."
"We could put him in Brock’s hat," Wren suggested. "Shoot it from behind."
"I’d look great from behind," Colt agreed.
"Over my dead body," Brock said. "Nobody is wearing my hat."
The banter died when two men stopped at the end of our booth. They wore crisp pearl-snap shirts and spotless Stetsons.
They looked like ranchers, but the polished version, the kind you’d see in a brochure.
"Silas." The older man nodded. "How’re things out at Wild Sage?"
"Can’t complain, Roy. Well, I can, but nobody listens."
Roy chuckled, then his eyes moved to me. "New face."
“That’s Sienna,” Silas said. “She’s helping Brock get some publicity for the season.”
"Welcome to Redbow,” the man said, tipping his hat to me. “I’m Roy, and this is my boy, Travis. We're up at the Double C."
"Nice to meet you," I said. "Double C?"
"We run a ranch," Travis explained. "Mostly cattle, but we’ve gotten into the guest side too. Trail rides, sunrise tours, that kindof thing. We’re having a crazy summer, actually. Booked every week through August."
"That’s real good to hear,” Silas said. “Glad it’s working out."
Roy nodded. “I keep telling you, Silas. You’ve got those springs, the Bighorns right behind you... folks would come from all over to spend a week out there.”
Silas smiled the way you smile when you’ve heard the same suggestion more than once. "Roy?—"
"I'm just saying. You've got the land."
"It's a nice setup you’ve got," Silas said smoothly. "But that’s not us. Cabins, insurance, staff—it’s a bigger lift than people realize."
Roy nodded, catching the shift in the conversation. He tipped his hat, told me it was nice to meet me, and headed toward the door.
Travis lingered a second. "Good luck this season, Brock."
Brock looked up and gave him a small nod. "You too."
Then Travis followed his dad through the glass doors.
Nobody said much after they left. Brock picked up his fork and cut into his pancake.
"They mean well," Wren said quietly.
Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing wrong with what they’re doing. Just not us."
Maisie tugged on my sleeve. "Sienna?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you a tourist?"
Colt snorted into his coffee.
"No." I smiled. "Not really."
