Page 190 of Wild Then Wed
“Lainey—hey!” Lark’s voice echoes through the speaker. “Elaine Alice Wilding! Give me back my phone!”
Suddenly, I’m looking at a very up-close gap-toothed grin and a halo of blonde curls.
“Wrenny!” Lainey squeals, holding the phone way too close to her face.
“Hi, Lainey girl,” I say, laughing in spite of myself. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have your mom’s phone right now.”
There’s a pause, the unmistakable beat of mischief, and then she glances over her shoulder like she’s about to rob a bank. “Uh oh,” she says, and takes off running. The camera starts bouncing wildly—walls, ceiling, and some poor houseplant shaking in the camera as she runs. In the background, I can hear Lark calling out, “Lainey! I swear to god if you break another phone—”
A second later, a pair of big arms swoop into view and Lainey lets out a giggle as she’s lifted mid-sprint.
Boone appears, holding the phone. “Sorry about that, sis.”
I shake my head, laughing. “Don’t apologize. She’s the cutest.”
“Oh, she is,” he says, glancing down at the squirming toddler in his arms. “And a whole lot of trouble.”
“I trouble,” Lainey says proudly, pointing at herself, her curls bouncing as she wiggles.
Boone chuckles and kisses her cheek. “Don’t forget it, kiddo.” He hands the phone back to Lark, who’s slightly out of breath.
I lean my elbows on the counter, looking at her through the screen. “You okay over there?”
Lark exhales. “Oh, just raising an exhausting, chaotic human being. You know. A normal Saturday night over here.”
I glance back at the makeup. “Well, at least one of us knows what they’re doing.”
“You’ve got this,” she says, settling back into frame. “Now, first step: find the concealer.”
I squint at the cluttered counter. “Which one is the concealer again?”
She sighs again. “Shit, we are so screwed.”
“Shit!”
The word comes shrieked from somewhere off-screen, tiny and boyish and way too clear for a toddler.
Lark’s eyes widen. “Jack!” she yells, already stepping out of frame. Her pregnant belly flashes across the screen as she goes, followed by the sound of something clattering in the background and Boone’s laugh rumbling through it all.
“Iknewhe learned that from you,” he calls. “You’ve been saying he got it from me!”
“Shut up, Boone!” Lark hollers, and I laugh, pressing my hand to my mouth.
Their house is always like this—voices overlapping, toys scattered, somebody yelling from another room. And yet it’s never felt like too much. Not when I’m watching them from the outside like this. It’s kind of comforting, actually. Loud in a good way.
Lark has always felt like an older sister to me. Her dad, Harvey, was a ranch hand at Wilding Ranch and a single dad at that, which meant Lark spent most of her days with the rest of us while he worked. She was only a couple years older than me, but it felt like a lifetime back then—old enough to saddle a horse by herself, braid a bridle out of baling twine, and keep a pack of Wilding kids in line without so much as raising her voice.
She used to rope me into every ranch adventure when we were little—bareback riding with no reins, sneaking sugar cubes from the tack room, building makeshift jumps for ponies thatdefinitelyweren’t jumpers. She always made me feel like I belonged. Like being quiet didn’t mean I had nothing to say.
When she finally reappears on screen, she’s holding something pink and spongy and egg-shaped between her fingers. “Sorry. Boone thinks it’s funny when Jack says stuff like that. It’s not.”
I smile. “Honestly, it made my whole day.”
She holds up the sponge. “Do you see anything like this in Sage’s makeup bag? It’s called a beauty blender.”
I peer into the makeup bag like it might bite me. “Hell,” I mutter under my breath. “Did she pack everything she owns?”
Sage’s makeup bag is less of a bag and more of a soft-sided duffel. I unzip it and it opens like a blooming flower—concealer sticks and eyeshadow palettes and ten different things labeled “glow.” Everything smells like coconut.
