Chapter 18
Jack
The night started as a family thing.
Stephanie was singing at the Copper Creek bar—a regular gig she'd built since everything that happened, part of her healing, part of reclaiming her voice in every sense. The Blackwoods turned out in force the way they always did. I went with them easily, folded into the group without question.
The bar was the kind of place that only existed in small towns—wood-paneled walls covered in local memorabilia, a jukebox that hadn't been updated since the nineties, and a bartender who knew everyone's name and drink order.
Ivy rode with Wyatt, their easy banter drifting through the open windows.
Liam drove Stephanie early for setup. Owen and Louisa took their usual corner table.
Hunter propped up the bar and provided running commentary on everything from the song selection to the quality of the draft beer.
And Maggie sat in the middle of it all, her ankle finally healed, her smile easier than I'd seen it in weeks.
This was Maggie in her element—surrounded by people who loved her, in a town that knew her name. She was relaxed. Glowing. Joking with her brothers, stealing fries off Hunter's plate, swaying when Stephanie's voice filled the room with something slow and aching.
When I stood close, her hand found mine under the table. The ease of it made my chest ache in the best possible way.
Stephanie's set was beautiful. Raw and honest, the kind of singing that made a room go quiet and stay that way. She sang about love and loss and the courage it took to stay soft in a hard world, and I watched the whole bar fall under her spell.
I watched Liam watch her. The naked devotion on his face, the way his eyes never left her, the complete absence of anything resembling self-consciousness. He didn't care who saw him looking at his girl like she hung the moon.
That's how I look at Maggie.
I knew it was. I'd stopped trying to hide it.
When Stephanie finished her final song, the crowd erupted. The Blackwood table emptied as everyone moved to hug Stephanie, buy drinks, claim space in the celebration. I hung back slightly, giving the family their moment.
Then the moment happened.
An old friend of Maggie's pushed through the crowd—a woman I didn't recognize, blonde and loud, clearly a few drinks into her evening. She spotted Maggie near the stage, shrieked a greeting that carried across the entire bar, and threw her arms around her.
"Maggie Blackwood! Oh my God, I haven't seen you in forever!"
Maggie laughed, returning the hug with genuine warmth. "Georgia! How are you? I heard you moved to Austin."
"Came back last month. Mama's hip surgery, you know how it is.
" Georgia pulled back, her eyes scanning the group around Maggie.
They landed on me and lit up with obvious appreciation.
"Who is this?" Georgia’s gaze raked over me in a way that made me want to take a step back. "You've been holding out on us, girl."
The question hung in the air. I didn't look at her. Didn't want to see her face as she decided. I just waited, heart thudding against my ribs, hoping for something I hadn't realized I needed until this exact moment.
Maggie laughed. It sounded natural. Easy. Not a trace of hesitation.
"Oh, this is Jack. He's our new ranch hand. Daddy hired him a few weeks back."
Ranch hand.
The words landed clean and sharp, like a blade slipped between ribs. I didn't react. My face stayed pleasant, neutral. I shook Georgia’s hand when she offered it. Made appropriate small talk. My voice stayed warm. My smile stayed easy.
Inside, something was bleeding.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Jack." Georgia’s attention had already moved on. "Maggie, we need to catch up! Lunch this week?"
"Absolutely. Text me."
I excused myself to get a drink I didn't want.
At the bar, I ordered a beer and didn't taste it. The noise of the celebration washed around me. I stood in the middle of all that warmth and felt absolutely cold.
Ranch hand.
After everything.
The bartender slid my beer across the counter.
I replayed the moment in my head, looking for something I might have missed. Some sign that Maggie had hesitated. Some flicker of regret. But there hadn't been any. She'd answered Georgia’s question without a second thought, like introducing me as the help was the most natural thing in the world.
I knew that wasn't fair. I knew I was hurt and not thinking clearly.
But the pain didn't care about fairness.
I understood what happened. Maggie wasn't being cruel—she was being scared. Caught off guard, defaulting to safety, retreating behind walls that felt familiar even when they hurt. I knew she cared about me. I knew she was trying.
But knowing didn't make it hurt less.
And understanding didn't mean accepting.
I had my own limits. My own lines. I wouldn't stay where I had to shrink myself to fit. Not even for Maggie. Especially not for Maggie—because she deserved someone who showed up fully, which meant she needed to choose someone who showed up fully. Not a secret. Not a man she was ashamed to claim.
The rest of the night passed gently. I stayed present. Warm. Attentive. I laughed at Hunter's jokes. Congratulated Stephanie on her set and meant every word. Talked horses with Owen, discussing the Fort Worth auction and the Raven Spur bloodlines and all the plans that might never happen now.
Maggie sensed the shift. I saw it in the way she kept glancing at me across the room. The way she found reasons to touch me—a hand on my arm, a shoulder pressed against mine. She was trying to pull me back, trying to close the distance that had opened between us without acknowledging it existed.
I gave her only what was real: kindness without illusion.
When we finally left—the crowd thinning, the family scattering toward their trucks—Maggie's hand found mine in the parking lot.
"You okay?" she asked. Her voice was soft, uncertain. "You got quiet in there."
I squeezed her hand. Didn't let go.
"I'm fine."
I wasn't fine. But this wasn't the moment for that conversation. Not here, not tonight, not when I hadn't figured out the right words yet.
And if tonight was going to be goodbye, I didn't want it to be angry.
I drove her home. Sully was probably pacing the bunkhouse porch, waiting for me to come back, sensing something in the air he couldn't name.
I walked Maggie to her cabin. She pulled me inside without asking, and I let her. Because I wasn't strong enough to say no. Not tonight. Not when this would be the last time.
The night that followed was different from any we'd shared. I didn't rush. I touched her like I was memorizing her—every curve, every sound, every small gasp that escaped when I found the places that made her unravel.
Maggie responded in kind. Open and present in a way she'd never quite allowed before. No rules. No walls. No exit plan.
She didn't know this was goodbye. I did.
I made love to her like it mattered. Because it did. Because she did. Because even if this was the last time, I wanted her to know—in her body, in her bones—what we could have been if she'd been brave enough to claim it.
Afterward, Maggie fell asleep wrapped around me. The moonlight came through her window in silver stripes, painting shadows across the bed, across her face. I lay awake and watched her.
She was beautiful like this. Soft in a way she never allowed when she was awake. The furrow between her brows had smoothed for once, and I could see the girl she must have been before the walls, before she'd decided she was too much for anyone to love.
But I couldn't prove anything if she kept me hidden.
I couldn't fight for her if she wouldn't let me stand beside her in public.
I let myself feel the full, terrible weight of loving her. Because I did love her. God, I loved her.
That was exactly why I had to go.
Maggie Blackwood deserved a man she was proud to claim. Not someone she introduced as the help. She deserved someone who made her brave—and right now, she wasn't ready to be brave with me.
Maybe my leaving would change that. Maybe it wouldn't. Either way, I wouldn't stay where I had to shrink myself to fit.
I watched her sleep, burning the image into memory. The way her hand curled loose against my chest. The small sounds she made when she dreamed.
I loved her enough to leave.
When I couldn't stay any longer, I slipped out of bed.
I moved carefully, quietly. My boots were by the door.
My shirt was on the floor where she'd pulled it over my head hours ago.
My belt was on the chair—she'd unbuckled it with hands that trembled slightly, and I'd kissed her so she wouldn't have to explain why.
I dressed in the dark, watching her sleep, making sure I didn't wake her.
At her small desk, I paused. Found paper. A pen.
The note took three tries to get right.
Maggie—
I can't be your secret or your sometimes or your safe thing you keep hidden from the world. I need to be chosen. Not later, not when you're ready, but now—out loud, in front of everyone, without apology.
That's not an ultimatum. It's just the truth of who I am and what I need.
You're worth everything I have to give. But I won't give it in half-measures, and I won't accept it that way either.
If you ever come for me, come all the way.
I'll be waiting. But I won't be waiting here.
Jack
I folded the paper once and set it beside her coffee mug, where she'd find it when she woke and reached for the coffee I wouldn't be there to make.
Then I crossed back to the bed. Looked at her one last time.
She was still sleeping, still peaceful, still completely unaware that her world was about to crack open. I wanted to climb back in beside her. But I couldn't keep pretending. And neither could she.
"I love you, Maggie Blackwood," I said, quiet enough that she wouldn't hear. "I hope you learn to love yourself enough to come find me."
Then I walked out the door.
Sully was waiting on the porch. The dog lifted his head when I appeared, tail thumping once against the wood.
He'd been out here all night—sensing something in the air that I couldn't hide from him.
Sully always knew. He'd known when Brad was about to have a bad day.
He'd known when the missions were about to go sideways. He knew when I was about to run.
I crouched beside him, burying my hands in his fur. His body was warm and solid, his presence steady.
"Yeah, buddy," I murmured, rubbing behind his ears. "Time to go."
Sully made a soft sound—not quite a whine, more like an acknowledgment. He'd done this before. He'd follow me anywhere. That was the deal we'd made when Brad died, and I inherited a dog who'd lost his person. I'd take care of him. He'd take care of me.
He rose without complaint and fell into step beside me as we walked toward the bunkhouse. The ranch was dark and quiet. The stars were fading in the east, making room for a morning I wouldn't be here to see.
I didn't look back at Maggie's cabin. I'd already said goodbye.