Chapter 13
Ivy
Three days had passed since the fence incident. Three days of carefully orchestrated avoidance, working opposite shifts, eating meals at different times. My hand throbbed under the neat row of stitches Doc Hartley had put in, a constant reminder of how spectacularly Wyatt and I had imploded.
I'd told him I hated him. He'd called me a coward. We'd both drawn blood—mine literal, his metaphorical—and now we moved around each other like wounded animals, all teeth and careful distance.
Which is why I jumped at Louisa's invitation to lunch in town. Anything to get away from the ranch, from the suffocating tension, from the way my chest ached every time I caught a glimpse of his truck.
Rosie's Café sat on Main Street between the hardware store and the new boutique that sold overpriced candles to city people passing through.
It hadn't existed when I'd lived here—Louisa said it opened five years ago when Rosie Martinez moved back from Houston with culinary school credentials and a determination to prove small towns deserved good food too.
The interior was all brightness and warmth—yellow walls covered with local art, mismatched vintage tables and chairs that somehow worked together, windows that let in streams of afternoon sunlight.
It smelled like fresh bread and possibility, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.
"You look better," Louisa said after we'd ordered—a chopped salad for me, the daily special for her. "Less like you want to murder someone."
"I don't want to murder anyone," I lied, fiddling with my water glass.
"Mmm-hmm." She studied me with those knowing mother eyes that missed nothing. "That why you've been avoiding my son like he's got the plague?"
"We're both busy with work."
"Honey, I've raised seven kids. I know conflict avoidance when I see it." She reached across the table, her weathered hand covering mine. "You two have another fight?"
"Something like that."
"About?"
I pulled my hand back, gesturing at the bandage. "Fence wire and stubbornness, mostly."
She gave me a knowing look over the rim of her glass. “And fourteen years of unfinished business, I imagine."
Our food arrived, saving me from responding. Rosie herself brought it out—a woman in her forties with silver streaking through black hair and a smile that made you want to tell her your secrets.
"Louisa Blackwood," she said warmly, "telling everyone in town about my restaurant again?"
"Only the ones I like," Louisa replied. "Rosie, this is Ivy Garrison. She's helping with our breeding program."
Rosie's eyes lit with recognition. "The consultant from Dallas! I've heard about you. Welcome back to Copper Creek."
"Thank you," I managed, uncomfortable with how much everyone seemed to know about me.
After Rosie left, we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
The salad was perfect—fresh greens, candied pecans, goat cheese, and a vinaigrette that tasted like summer.
Through the window, I could see Copper Creek going about its business—ranchers in for supplies, mothers with toddlers heading to the park, teenagers loitering outside the ice cream shop that had been there since the fifties.
"You know," Louisa said, cutting into her chicken-fried steak with surgical precision, "this ranch has weathered a lot over the years. Droughts, floods, market crashes, family tragedies."
"I remember some of them."
"But it survives. Thrives, even. You know why?"
I shook my head.
"Because we understand that sometimes things have to break before they can heal properly. Like a bone that's been set wrong—sometimes you have to re-break it to fix it."
"That sounds painful."
"It is. But the alternative is living with the dysfunction forever." She took a sip of her sweet tea, eyes never leaving mine. "The ranch feels lighter lately, since you've been back. Like something that's been out of alignment is finally shifting back into place."
"Louisa—"
"I'm not saying it's easy. Lord knows, watching you and Wyatt circle each other like wounded wolves is about as painful as anything I've witnessed. But there's something happening here. Something that needed to happen."
"We can barely be in the same room without fighting."
"At least you're feeling something. That boy's been walking around like a ghost for so long, I'd forgotten what he looked like angry. Anger's not comfortable, but it's alive. It's a start."
"A start to what?"
“Healing, maybe. Forgiveness. Second chances.”
Louisa’s voice was soft, but it carried easily over the low hum of the diner—the scrape of forks, the hiss of the griddle, the easy rhythm of Copper Creek life still turning outside our little bubble. She smiled, that knowing, motherly curve that could warm a room faster than coffee ever could.
“This place has always been about second chances,” she said, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Owen and I gave each other one, all those years ago.”
She glanced toward the window, where the light slanted across the dusty street, a wistful shine in her eyes.
“Lord, I wanted to rip that man a new one when he didn’t write me a single letter the whole time I was off at college.
Four damn years, not so much as a postcard.
When I got home, I was ready to let him have it—both barrels. ”
Her grin turned sly. “He just looked at me, cool as you please, and said, ‘Had to make something of myself before I came for you.’ Can you imagine?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “What did you do?”
“I said, ‘Well, you about done yet?’” Louisa chuckled, shaking her head. “And that was that. Been inseparable ever since. That man drives me crazy, but he’s the love of my life.”
Her laughter faded into something quieter, more tender. “We gave the Walkers one, too, after they lost their parents. This ranch… It’s always been built on the idea that broken things can be mended. That with enough care and time, what’s damaged can grow back stronger.”
She looked at me then—really looked—her eyes steady and kind. “You of all people should know that, Ivy. Sometimes life tears things apart just to give us the chance to build them better.”
The words landed deep, stirring something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time. Outside, the neon “OPEN” sign flickered against the glass, and for a second, I thought maybe Louisa wasn’t just talking about the ranch.
I wanted to believe her. Sitting in this bright café, with her warm presence across from me and the familiar rhythms of Copper Creek outside the window, I almost let myself imagine it. Staying. Building something here. Finding a way back to—
My phone buzzed on the table.
Doug's name on the screen was like cold water on a fire.
"I should take this," I said apologetically. "It's my boss."
Louisa nodded, but I saw the concern flicker across her face as I stepped outside to answer.
"Doug," I said, trying to inject professional enthusiasm into my voice.
"Ivy! How's the frontier treating you?" His voice was cheerful, but I'd worked with him long enough to hear the edge underneath. "Making good progress?"
"Excellent progress. The implementation is ahead of schedule, actually."
"Good, good. Listen, the board is very interested in this project. Very interested. They want to see firsthand how their investment is performing."
My stomach dropped. "Oh?"
"We're flying in next week. Tuesday. Me, a couple of board members." He paused, and I knew what was coming before he said it. "Mark's coming too."
"Mark? Why would Mark—"
"He's been instrumental in securing the international contracts we discussed. The board thinks his presence would be valuable for the global expansion conversation."
"Doug, I don't think—"
"He also mentioned you two had some personal things to work through. Something about a misunderstanding before you left?" His tone was carefully neutral, but I heard the question underneath. Doug didn't like personal drama affecting his business deals.
"We broke up," I said flatly. "Before I left Dallas. It's over."
"Well, he seems to think otherwise. Look, Ivy, I don't care about your personal life except when it affects this company. The Blackwood contract is huge for us. Don't let whatever's going on with you and Mark jeopardize that."
"I would never—"
"Good. We'll be there Tuesday afternoon. Make sure everything's perfect. The board's considering promoting you to senior partner if this goes well. Don't fuck it up."
He hung up before I could respond, leaving me standing on Main Street with my phone in my hand and my carefully constructed peace in ruins.
Mark was coming here. To Copper Creek. To the ranch where I was barely holding myself together, where Wyatt and I were one wrong word from destroying each other completely.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, though the sky above was still clear. But to the west, dark clouds were building, promising another storm. They'd been coming regular as clockwork lately—afternoon tempests that left everything clean and charged and dangerous.
"Everything okay?" Louisa asked when I came back inside.
"My boss is coming for a site visit. Next week."
"That's good, isn't it? Shows they're taking the project seriously."
"Yeah," I said, but my mind was racing. Mark in Copper Creek. Mark at the ranch. Mark with his smooth city charm and his inability to take no for an answer. Mark in proximity to Wyatt, who already thought the worst of me.
"Honey, you look like you've seen a ghost."
"My ex-boyfriend is coming too," I admitted. "We broke up before I left Dallas, but he's... persistent."
Louisa's expression sharpened. "Persistent how?"
"He thinks we're just taking a break. That I'll come to my senses. He's been calling, texting. I've been ignoring him, but now he's coming here, and I can't avoid him."
"Does Wyatt know you have an ex?"
"Yes, I mentioned it." I rubbed my temples where a headache was building. "This is going to be a disaster."
"Maybe not. Maybe it's exactly what needs to happen."
I stared at her. "How could this possibly be good?"
"Sometimes people don't know what they want until they see someone else trying to take it.
" She signaled for the check. "Besides, you're not the same woman who left Dallas.
You're not even the same woman who arrived here two weeks ago.
Let this Mark person come. Let him see who you really are, where you really belong. "
"I don't belong—"
"Don't you?" She stood, pulling cash from her wallet.
"Honey, you've been home for two weeks, and you've already improved our breeding program, earned the respect of ranch hands who don't respect anyone easily, delivered a calf at 2 AM, and gotten into a fence-mending fight that left you both bleeding.
That's not the behavior of someone who doesn't belong.
That's the behavior of someone fighting against belonging. "
We walked outside together, the afternoon sun bright despite the building storm clouds.
Main Street looked exactly as it had when I was eighteen—a little more worn, a few different stores, but essentially unchanged.
Eternal. The kind of place that would go on existing long after the rest of the world had moved on to something else.
"Can I ask you something?" I said as we reached our cars.
"Always."
"Do you think people can really change? Or are we just... who we are, forever?"
She considered this, wind picking up and stirring her salt and pepper hair.
"I think we're like rivers. The source stays the same—who we are at our core.
But the path can change, the depth, the speed.
Sometimes we go underground for a while, but we always emerge somewhere.
And sometimes, if we're very lucky, we find our way back to the ocean we were always meant to reach. "
"That's very poetic."
"That's very true." She pulled me into a hug that smelled like vanilla and home. "Whatever happens with this visit, with Mark, with Wyatt—remember that you're not eighteen anymore. You're not powerless. You get to choose now."
As she drove away, I stood in the parking lot watching those storm clouds build. They were moving fast, probably hit by evening. Another storm, another chance for everything to explode.
My phone buzzed. Mark.
Can't wait to see you. We need to talk about us.
I deleted the message, but I knew it wouldn't matter. He was coming whether I wanted him to or not. Coming to this place where I was barely holding my pieces together, where every day felt like walking through a minefield of memories.
Thunder rumbled again, closer now. The air had that electric quality that came before big storms—charged, dangerous, full of potential for destruction or renewal.
I thought about Louisa's words. About second chances and breaking things to reset them properly. About choosing.
But what happened when all your choices led to pain? When staying hurt and leaving hurt, and there was no path that didn't end in someone bleeding?
The first fat raindrops started to fall as I drove back to the ranch. By the time I pulled up to my cabin, it was pouring—sheets of water that turned the world gray and uncertain. I sat in my car, watching the rain pound against the windshield, and tried to prepare myself for what was coming.
Mark in Copper Creek. Doug evaluating everything with his sharp city eyes. The board members who held my future in their manicured hands.
And somewhere on this ranch, Wyatt was probably watching the same storm, hating me with the same intensity I'd claimed to hate him.
Except we'd both been lying. We didn't hate each other.
That would have been so much easier than the truth.