SIENNA
Stepping onto the shaded porch with my morning coffee, I spotted Wren kneeling in the driveway gravel. She had a box cutter in one hand and a huge grin on her face. Four big cardboard boxes were stacked around her.
“Oh my god,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “They’re finally here.”
The Ryder & Co. logo sprawled across the cardboard, its edges scuffed from shipping.
She sliced open the top one, flipped the flaps back, and let out a happy shout. “Sienna, check out this jacket.”
She pulled out a dark denim jacket with a fancy stitched yoke and shrugged it on over her tank top. The sleeves were a little long on her.
“Brock’s out fixing the waterline, so he can’t stop us.”
I took a sip of my coffee. “Stop us from what?”
“Opening everything and trying it all on.”
She pushed a box toward me. I reached in and pulled out a pair of soft, vintage-wash jeans. The brass buttons felt solid.
"They sent women's stuff too," I said. "I bet they sent extra hoping we'll be wearing their label if we wander into the background of a video."
We dragged all the boxes inside and spread everything out across the living room floor, covering it in tissue paper. Pearl-snap shirts, artisan belts, and boots smelling of oiled leather covered the rug. Wren sorted the clothes into two piles: hers, and stuff she'd generously allow her brothers to borrow.
From the last box she pulled out a suede coat with fringe on the sleeves.
She hugged it to her chest. “I’m hiding this one. Colt would wear it to the diner and think he looks amazing.”
Heavy footsteps came up the porch stairs.
“What’s Colt wearing to the diner?” Brock asked as he stepped inside.
I turned. He leaned against the frame, his Stetson pushed back, a faded T-shirt clinging dark with sweat across his chest.
He glanced at the pile of clothes but didn’t say anything. His eyes landed on the denim in my hands, then met mine.
Wren held up one of the cowboy boots. “Genuine ostrich. Ryder went all out.”
Brock picked up a shirt, checked the price tag, and set it back down. “These are fine.”
“That’s it?” Wren tossed the boot onto the couch. “They’re fine? The signing bonus alone is the biggest check we’ve seen in months. It’ll cover the tractor transmission and?—”
“Wren,” he said, his voice low.
“—and put a dent in what we owe the bank,” she finished, lifting her chin.
The room got quiet except for the window AC rattling. Brock crossed his arms, jaw tight.
“Sienna’s gonna find out eventually,” Wren said. “She lives here now. She’s with you.”
Brock let out a sharp breath and turned to stare out the window.
The jeans slipped from my fingers. “Find out what?”
Wren’s excitement faded. She looked at Brock’s stiff back, then at me.
“The debt,” she said. “From when Mom got sick. She had to be flown to the hospital a couple of times, and Dad borrowed against the ranch to pay the medical bills. We’re still paying it off.”
“I didn’t know.”
