Chapter 2
Wyatt
"I don't need a damn consultant tellin' me how to raise cattle."
My words hung in the air of the Blackwood dining room like a challenge, but nobody took me up on it. They all just sat there around the big oak table that had been in our family for four generations, looking at me with varying degrees of pity, amusement, or concern.
"Nobody said you did," Dad replied, his tone mild in that way that meant he wasn't going to budge. Owen Blackwood might be pushing sixty, but he still ran this ranch with an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. "But the industry's changing, son. We either change with it or get left behind."
I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking under my weight. Around the table, my whole family was gathered for this "important meeting" Dad had called.
Mom sat at his right, her silver hair pulled back in the same practical ponytail she'd worn my whole life, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had probably gone cold an hour ago.
Clay lounged across from me, boots up on the empty chair beside him despite Mom's disapproving look.
Liam sat silent and watchful, that thoughtful expression that made him look older than his thirty-two years—same as mine, though we weren't blood brothers.
His parents had died when he was thirteen, and Mom and Dad had taken him and Sophie in without hesitation, raising them as their own.
Hunter had his nose in some car magazine, only half-listening until someone said something that required his expertise.
And Maggie—at twenty-nine, she'd grown into the sharpest business mind in the family—had her laptop open, fingers flying across the keyboard as she tracked our orders and budgets in real-time.
"The expansion's going to require significant infrastructure updates," Maggie said, not looking up from her screen. "New embryo transfer facilities, upgraded lab equipment, enhanced data tracking systems. We're looking at a major investment."
"Which will pay for itself within two years if we do this right," Dad countered.
He stood, moving to the window that overlooked the main pasture where our prize heifers grazed.
"Blackwood Ranch has been a leader in Texas cattle for the last twenty-five years.
But leadership means innovation, not just tradition. "
"Our bloodlines are already the best in the state," I argued, frustration creeping into my voice. "Our conception rates—"
"Could be better," Hunter interrupted, finally looking up from his journal. "The Dailey ranch increased theirs by thirty percent after modernizing their program."
"The Dailey ranch also lost half their heritage bloodlines in the process," I shot back. "They're producing quantity, not quality. That's not who we are."
"Which is exactly why," Dad said, turning back to face us all, "I've hired the best consultant in the business. Someone who understands both innovation and tradition. Someone who can help us modernize without losing what makes Blackwood special."
Clay snorted, reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table. "Must be some kind of miracle worker."
"In a way," Dad agreed, and something in his tone made my stomach tighten. "The specialist comes highly recommended. Turned the Henderson operation around in six months. Has a background in both genetics and practical ranch management."
"When do they arrive?" Liam asked, his voice carefully neutral. But I caught the way his eyes flicked to me, just for a second. He'd always been able to read the room better than any of us, a skill that had kept him alive in those rough years after my parents had saved him.
"Monday."
"That's in five days," I said. "Mighty quick."
"No point in waiting." Dad's jaw set in that stubborn line I'd inherited. "The consultant will stay in the guest cabin, have full access to our operations, and work closely with all of you to implement the new programs."
Mom finally spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. "This person will be family while they're here. You know how we do things—anyone working this closely with us becomes part of the ranch family."
“Can’t treat someone like family if we don’t know their name,” Clay pointed out, still casual, but I saw Liam tense, his coffee mug freezing halfway to his lips. That never meant anything good.
Dad looked directly at me when he answered. “It’s Ivy."
Blood rushed in my ears, like standing too close to a waterfall. My hands clenched on the table hard enough to hurt. Around me, the room had gone dead silent. Even Maggie's fingers froze over her keyboard.
Ivy.
Ivy Garrison.
Ivygirl.
"No." The word came out before I could stop it, rough as gravel.
"Son—" Dad started.
"No." I stood so fast my chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Absolutely not. Find someone else."
Clay let out a low whistle. "Well, hell. Ivy-weed's comin' home." He grinned at me, but there was concern behind the teasing. "Reckon you'll survive, big brother?"
"Shut up, Clay," I growled. Now wasn’t the time for his teasing. Not when the ground felt like it was caving beneath my feet.
"Wyatt," Mom said softly, and her voice held so much sympathy it made me want to punch something. "It's been a long time."
A long time. She said it like time meant something.
Like it had any bearing on the hole she'd left in my chest when she'd disappeared in the middle of the night without a word of explanation.
Just a note that explained nothing and a necklace I'd given her hours before, left on my pillow like a goodbye that was supposed to make sense.
I'm sorry. This isn't about you or us. It's about me needing to leave. Please don't look for me. Please don't wait for me. You deserve better than someone who runs.
I'd memorized those words. Carried them around like shrapnel near my heart since the morning I'd found them.
"I don't care how long it's been," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I'm not working with her."
"You don't have a choice," Dad said, and now his velvet glove was off. "This is what's best for the ranch."
"The ranch was fine without her."
"The ranch needs to evolve."
"Not with her, it doesn’t.”
Maggie looked between me and our parents, her dark eyes—so like Mom's—full of concern.
She'd been only sixteen when Ivy left, and she remembered.
She'd loved Ivy like a big sister, had cried for weeks when she left.
She exchanged a glance with Mom, some silent communication that made my temper spike higher.
"What?" I demanded. "What aren't you saying?"
"Nothing," Maggie said quickly, but she'd always been a terrible liar. Her fingers fidgeted with her pen, a tell she'd had since childhood.
"This isn't just about the ranch," I said, looking from Dad to Mom. "This is some kind of messed-up intervention, isn't it? You think bringing her back will, what, fix me?"
The guilt that flashed across Mom's face was answer enough.
"Jesus Christ." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm not broken."
"Nobody said you were," Liam said quietly. He set down his mug carefully, the way he did everything—deliberate, thoughtful. "But Uncle Owen's right about the ranch needing this. And if she's the best—"
I whirled on him. "You knew about this?"
He met my gaze steadily. "Uncle Owen told me yesterday."
"And you didn't think to warn me?"
"Would it have changed anything?" He leaned back in his chair with that calm demeanor that had always both impressed and irritated me. "Would you have done anything except stew about it? Work yourself up into a rage? Probably drink too much whiskey and pick a fight at Murphy's?"
He was right, and I hated him for it.
"She's the best," Hunter offered, trying to be helpful. "Her work on genetic markers is groundbreaking. There are articles in the Journal of Animal Science—"
"I don't give a shit about articles," I snapped.
"You give a shit about this ranch, though," Dad said. "And this ranch needs her expertise.” The only thing Ivy Garrison was an expert in was leaving.
"The ranch needs a lot of things. Doesn't mean we have to invite the devil through the door to get them."
"She's not the devil," Mom said softly. "She's a woman who was barely more than a girl when she left. People change, Wyatt. They grow. They become different versions of themselves."
"Do they?" I asked, hearing the bitterness in my own voice. "Because from where I'm standing, someone who runs in the middle of the night without explanation doesn't change. They just get better at running."
Clay's boots hit the floor with a thud. "Come on, man. You can't still be this torn up about ancient history."
Ancient history. Like she was some high school crush that hadn't worked out. Like we hadn't been planning a life together. Not that that would mean anything to Clay. His version of a long-term relationship was anything that lasted more than twelve hours.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I told Clay.
"I know you've been walking around like a ghost since she left," he shot back. "I know you haven't dated anyone seriously since. I know you still go to that spot by the creek when you think nobody's watching."
The words hit like sledgehammers. I wanted to deny them, but everyone at this table knew the truth. They'd all watched me try to piece myself back together after she left. Watched me fail. Watched me eventually just stop trying and pour everything into the ranch instead.
Maggie finally spoke up, her voice gentle but firm—so much like Mom's. "Wyatt, we've all been worried about you. You work eighteen-hour days. You never take vacation. You've turned down every woman in three counties. That's not living, that's just... existing."
"I'm fine," I ground out.
"No," Liam said, and there was something in his voice that made me look at him. "You're not. You've been walking around the Ivy-shaped hole in your life, pretending it's not there. Maybe it's time to stop pretending."
"What's that supposed to mean?"