Chapter 4 Maggie #2
The way he said my name—low, familiar, like he had every right to it—sent a shiver down my spine that had no business being there.
"Let's keep moving," I said. "Lot more ground to cover."
Midmorning, Wyatt found us.
I'd been showing Jack the training paddock, watching him work with a green-broke filly who'd been giving everyone trouble for weeks.
She was head-shy and jittery, the kind of nervous that lived under the skin—spooked by shadows, touch, her own thoughts.
Three different hands had tried with her. None had gotten close.
Jack didn't rush her.
He didn't crowd her space or try to prove anything.
He stood loose and relaxed, shoulders easy, weight settled like he belonged there.
One hand stayed low and open, palm up, the other resting at his side like it wasn't itching to take control.
He spoke softly—not commands, not reassurances.
Just a steady murmur, pitched low enough that it felt like it was meant for her alone.
The filly danced at first. Tossed her head. Tested him.
He waited.
When she finally stepped forward, it was on her terms. Nose dipping.
Breath huffing warm against his skin. Jack didn't move—didn't flinch, didn't reach—just let her decide.
When his fingers finally brushed her muzzle, it was slow and deliberate, like he understood exactly how much pressure was too much.
Twenty minutes in, she was standing square. Calm. Eating out of his palm like she'd known him her whole life.
I leaned against the fence, forgetting entirely why I was there, watching the way his hands moved—sure and patient, never forcing, always offering. Watching the way his body angled just enough to invite trust, the way he breathed with her, matched her rhythm, brought her down with him.
It was... beautiful.
And deeply unfair how watching him do something so gentle made my chest feel tight and my thoughts go places they absolutely shouldn't on a workday.
Wyatt's voice cut through the moment, sharp and loud against the quiet spell Jack had woven, and I blinked like I'd just been caught staring at something private.
Because that's what it felt like.
Like I'd been watching poetry unfold, one slow, steady movement at a time—and hadn't realized I was holding my breath until it was already gone.
"Maggie. Got a minute?"
I turned to find my brother striding across the yard, his expression set in that particular way that meant Business Discussion incoming. Which was Wyatt-speak for "I have concerns about something you're already handling."
"Sure," I said, pasting on a neutral expression. "What's up?"
"The north pasture clearing." Wyatt stopped beside me, arms crossed, not looking at Jack in a way that was very deliberately not looking at Jack. "We're behind schedule."
"I know. I'm the one who set the schedule." I kept my voice even. "The equipment rental fell through last week. I've already sourced an alternative and adjusted the timeline."
"The irrigation is slipping."
"By four days. Which I've accounted for in the revised project plan."
"Which means Ivy's cattle expansion—"
"Is still on track for the spring delivery window." I cut him off before he could finish. "I've been running the numbers, Wyatt. I know exactly where we stand. Did you come out here to check my work, or is there something else?"
"I just want to make sure we're prioritizing correctly," he said carefully.
"I've been prioritizing cattle for two years, Wyatt. I'm the one making the hard calls every single day about where our resources go." I could hear my voice rising and forced it back down. "So yes. We're prioritizing correctly."
Wyatt's expression shifted—surprise flickering through the frustration. Like it hadn't occurred to him that I might be tired of having my own decisions questioned.
"I know you are," he said, softer now. "I'm not trying to—"
"When I mentioned bringing in a stallion," I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started, "you said 'one thing at a time.
' That's what you said six months ago. And six months before that.
I keep putting horses last because I know cattle have to come first. I'm the one making that call.
But every time I try to talk about when it might be the horses' turn—"
"Mags—"
"You act like I'm asking for something unreasonable instead of just wanting a timeline for my own damn dream."
The words came out sharper than I intended. Wyatt's expression flickered—surprise, then something that looked almost like guilt. Like he was seeing, maybe for the first time, how much I'd been carrying while he focused on the big picture.
"Mags... I didn't realize—"
"Forget it." I held up a hand before he could finish whatever apology he was constructing.
I didn't want an apology. I wanted a seat at the table when decisions got made, not just the job of implementing them.
"You're not wrong that cattle comes first. I'm the one who made that call.
I just—" I stopped, shook my head. "Never mind. We're done here."
Wyatt stood there for a long moment. I could feel him wanting to push, to fix, to make this better somehow. That was his way—bulldoze through problems until they stopped being problems.
But some problems couldn't be bulldozed. Some problems were about being seen, and valued, and trusted with more than just the execution.
"We'll talk later," he said finally, and walked away.
I stood at the fence and watched him go, gripping the wooden rail so hard my knuckles had gone white. My hands were trembling like leaves and my chest was tight. I wanted to break something or cry or both.
"The filly's doing better."
Jack's voice, quiet and close. I hadn't heard him approach. He was standing a few feet away, giving me space, not looking at me directly. Giving me the dignity of pretending he hadn't just witnessed my brother shut me down.
"Good," I managed. "That's good."
"You want to take a break? I can handle the rest of the morning if you—"
"I'm fine." The words came out too sharp. I forced myself to loosen my grip on the fence and straighten my shoulders. "I'm fine. Let's keep moving."
Jack studied me for a moment. I braced for questions, for sympathy, for the kind of well-meaning concern that would shatter whatever composure I was barely holding together.
Instead, he just nodded. "Okay. What's next?"
Thank God.
Jack matched my pace without complaint. He didn't ask about Wyatt. Didn't offer opinions. Didn't do anything except exactly what I asked, exactly how I asked it, with a calm competence that made me want to scream.
At one point, we ended up in the tack room at the same time—me grabbing a bridle, him reaching for a lead rope.
The space was small. Too small. Saddles lined the wall, bridles hung from iron hooks, and the late-morning light cut through the gap in the boards in a single dusty stripe that landed right across his chest like the universe was staging this for maximum damage.
He stepped back to let me pass, and our shoulders brushed, just barely, the faintest whisper of contact through two layers of clothing.
My whole body lit up like a brushfire.
"Sorry," he said, voice low.
"It's fine." My voice came out too high. I cleared my throat. "It's fine. Tight space."
"Mm."
He didn't move. Didn't step further back. Just stood there, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, close enough to smell leather and horse and him, close enough that if I leaned forward just a few inches—
I grabbed the bridle and fled like the room was on fire.
From the main house porch, I caught a glimpse of my mother watching. Just standing there with her coffee, her gaze tracking between me and the tack room door where Jack was emerging at a normal, unhurried pace.
She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her raised eyebrow said plenty.
Mind your business, Momma.
I threw myself back into work with renewed intensity, because Jack Remington was exactly what the horse program needed.
He understood breeding. He had experience building programs from scratch. He could gentle a difficult horse with nothing but patience and soft hands. He saw things in our stock that would take most people months to notice.
If I had any sense at all, I'd be celebrating. Daddy had somehow hired exactly the right person at exactly the right time, and the horse program I'd been dreaming about for years finally had a real chance of becoming something.
But I couldn't celebrate. Because every time Jack was near—which was constantly—my body remembered before my brain could stop it.
I was losing my mind.
And the worst part was, he knew it. He had to know it. But he never pushed. Never let his mask slip. Never gave me anything I could point to and say, See, this is inappropriate, this is why we can't work together.
He was a perfect goddamn gentleman.
I wanted to kill him.
Ivy found me near the end of the day, hiding behind the equipment shed with a bottle of water and a tension headache.
"Okay," she said, settling beside me without waiting for an invitation. "What the hell is going on with you?"
"Nothing."
"Maggie. You've snapped at three people today. You rewrote the schedule twice. And you've been vibrating like a live wire since this morning." Ivy's expression was gentle but firm—the look she gave difficult livestock right before she got them to do exactly what she wanted. "Talk to me."
"It's nothing. Just stressed about the expansion timeline."
"Try again."
"It's really nothing, Ivy—"
"Is this about Wyatt?" She held up a hand before I could deflect. "I heard about your conversation this morning. He told me."
Of course he did. "Then you know there's nothing to talk about. He's right. The cattle program takes priority. End of discussion.” It didn’t matter that I was getting really sick of living by that mindset.
"He's not wrong about priorities. But the way he questioned you? That wasn't fair."
Something in my chest loosened. Just a little. "You noticed that?”
"Hard not to." Ivy bumped her shoulder against mine. "You've been making that call for two years. And Wyatt comes out here to question whether you're prioritizing correctly? When you're the one who set the priorities in the first place?"
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "It just... would be nice to be trusted, you know? Not just to execute, but to plan. To dream. To have a say in when things might change."
"I know." Ivy was quiet for a moment. "For what it's worth, I've seen the numbers you put together for the horse program. The ones you never showed anyone?"
I went still. "You found those?"
"They were on your desk. I wasn't snooping, I just—" She gave me a rueful smile.
"Okay, I was snooping a little bit. But Maggie, those projections were solid. The horse program could be profitable in three years with the right investment. I may have left them on Wyatt’s desk where he couldn't miss them. "
I stared at her, stuck somewhere between furious and elated and terrified. "You showed him my projections?"
"I showed him the opportunity he's been overlooking because you're too good at your job.
" Ivy's expression was gentle but firm. "You run this entire ranch, Maggie.
You make everything work. But you're so busy making everyone else's dreams happen that you never advocate for your own. Someone had to."
I didn't have an answer for that. Mostly because she was right.
We sat in silence for a moment, watching the sun sink toward the hills. Then Ivy said, carefully casual, “So…Jack."
Every muscle in my body went tight again. "What about him?"
"Nothing. Just... he seems capable."
"He is.” In more ways than one, I almost added.
"Good with horses."
“Very." It made him even hotter.
"Easy on the eyes."
"I hadn't noticed."
Ivy snorted. "Maggie. I've seen you 'not notice' him about fifteen times today. You're not subtle."
Heat crawled up my neck, and I picked at my water bottle. “I don't know what you're talking about."
"Okay." Ivy stood, brushing off her jeans. "When you're ready to talk about whatever's actually going on, you know where to find me." She squeezed my shoulder. "And for what it's worth? I think he's 'not noticed' you, too.”
She walked away before I could formulate a response.
I sat behind the equipment shed until the sun finished setting, my mind spinning in circles that all led back to the same impossible place.
I locked up my cabin that night, feeling wrung out in ways that had nothing to do with physical work.
Through my window, I could see the bunkhouse in the distance. A light was on. Sully was lying on the porch, his dark shape barely visible in the moonlight.
I stood there for a long moment. Then I turned away from the window, sat down at my desk, and pulled up the horse breeding projections Ivy had apparently already shown my brother.
If Wyatt had seen the numbers, then the conversation was coming whether he was ready for it or not. And when it did, I was going to be so goddamn prepared he'd have no choice but to listen.
I opened my laptop and started working, not thinking about the light in the bunkhouse window.
Much.