His shoulders dropped. The hard edge left his face. Before he could smile or clap me on the back, I stepped closer.
“But you can’t say a damn word, Wyatt. If this gets out, Sienna loses her job, and it’d be my fault.”
He gave a single nod, then reached out and gripped my hand, pulling me in for a quick, rough half-hug.
“I’ve kept worse,” he said. “Your secret’s safe.”
I stood in the yard for a minute after Wyatt went inside, the sun hot on the back of my neck, then took the truck down to the south pasture. Colt didn’t actually make me lift the gate—he found the C-clamps the second I showed up—but I sat on the tailgate and handed him tools while he welded.
As soon as we finished, he was off the clock. By the time I got back to the house, it was pushing ten. Colt had already showeredand was reeking of aftershave, tearing down the dirt road toward the tavern in town.
The house had gone quiet, Dad's door shut and the TV off.
I had my own room in the far corner of the house, with a door that opened onto a stretch of porch facing the Bighorns. I'd left it open, and the cool night air drifted inside, carrying the scent of dry earth.
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet until footsteps sounded in the hall.
Sienna stood in the doorway in an oversized T-shirt and bare feet, her hair loose and backlit by the hall light. She'd never come to this side of the house before. I wasn't even sure she knew where my room was.
“This is a bad idea,” she whispered.
“It’s a great idea.”
She stepped inside and closed the hallway door softly behind her. She stood there for a second, taking in the boots in the corner and the wide glass door left open to the night.
“You have your own porch,” she murmured.
She walked across the floorboards and stopped in the open doorway. The night air lifted her hair as she looked out at the dark mountains.
“My apartment in Chicago is in a high-rise. You’d think that means a great view, but mostly I look into a hundred other people’s living rooms. Crack a window and it’s just sirens and traffic. Here, you’ve got the breeze, the privacy, the mountains…”
She leaned against the doorframe, hugging herself. “This is the best view in the house.”
I watched the wind play with the hem of her shirt. I should have just agreed with her. I should have pulled her away from the door and straight into my bed.
“It’s not the best,” I said before I could stop myself. “Knox had the best one. Biggest window. Older brother perks.”
She came back across the room and sat on the edge of the mattress, then lay back against me slowly, resting her head carefully on my good shoulder.
“So is his room empty now? Or…” she trailed off.
I wrapped my arm around her and rested my cheek against the top of her head. She smelled like vanilla shampoo.
“Empty. Nobody wants to be reminded of him.”
She was quiet for a second. Then, softly: “Why did he leave?”
“He said he had a job out of state, and that was it. Gone.” She went still against me. “Didn’t come back when things got bad with Mom. Didn’t even come to her funeral.”
Her hand found mine under the blanket and held it. “I’m sorry.”
“It's okay. It's been eight years.”
We lay there in the dark with the wind moving through the open door. It was easier to talk like this—her weight against my chest and the mountains black in the doorway.
“You and Knox don’t talk at all?”
“No.”
