"Good. Tourists are loud, that’s what Daddy says."
"I said some tourists," Wyatt corrected quickly.
"You saidalltourists, Daddy."
We piled into the trucks after breakfast. Colt drove too fast on the way back, leaving a cloud of dust in our wake that swallowed Brock and Silas’s truck behind us.
By three o’clock, the ranch had gone quiet. My panic hadn’t.
I set up at the kitchen table with my laptop, trying not to look at the clock. A tractor hummed somewhere in the distance. Warm air drifted through the open window, heavy with the smell of freshly cut grass and summer, but I couldn’t settle into any of it.
My phone buzzed against the wood, rattling loudly. It was Mara.
I answered and put her on speaker while dragging a video file into Adobe Premiere.
"Shouldn’t you be studying for your summer finals?"
"I’m currently staring at a diagram of the Krebs cycle and retaining nothing," Mara said. "Also, I miss you, so I stole your gray cashmere sweater from your old closet at Mom and Dad’s.”
I stopped dragging files. "It’s ninety degrees in Chicago, Mara."
“The library is freezing, which is the only interesting thing happening to me right now. So, cowboy update. Are you living your best Yellowstone life yet?”
"I’m working."
"Boring. Is Brock still doing the brooding, arrogant thing?"
I glanced toward the window. "Yes. But... it’s mostly an act. He plays like he doesn’t care, but he’s carrying this entire ranch on his back."
"Oh no."
"What?"
"You like him. You’re using your soft voice."
"I’m surviving him." I gripped the edge of the table, my face warming up. "Because I have a job to do."
"You said he gave you his jacket. In cowboy culture, I’m pretty sure that’s basically a proposal."
"It’s really not."
Mara sighed, the teasing fading. “By the way… I should probably tell you something before I forget.”
“What?”
“The Bursar’s office sent the automated email this morning.”
My stomach dropped. "The fall statement?"
"Yeah. They added the lab fees. I knew there would be some, but I underestimated it. The number I gave you was wrong.”
“When is it due?”
“August fifteenth.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll call financial aid Monday. I’ll figure it out."
"Mara, stop. You’re not taking out another loan. I planned for this."
"But—"
