Chapter 22 Maggie
Maggie
I went to Liam because I always have.
Not Wyatt—who would want to fix it, manage it, take over. Not my parents—who would worry and hover and ask too many gentle questions when what I needed was action.
Liam. My quiet brother. Not my brother by blood, but in every way that truly mattered. The one who understood what it meant to almost lose someone and have to fight to get them back.
I showed up at his place as the sun was setting, the sky bleeding orange and pink over the Texas hills. I was still raw from breaking down in Momma's arms, but I was steadier now. Determined. The devastation had transformed into something harder, sharper. Something that felt like purpose.
Liam took one look at my face when he opened the door. "Whiskey?"
I nodded. Couldn't speak.
He disappeared into the kitchen without another word. I heard the clink of glasses, the low gurgle of liquid being poured. When he came back, he handed me a generous pour of Blanton's and tipped his head toward the front door.
"Porch."
I followed him outside. The evening air was cool and soft, carrying the smell of cedar and dry grass and something faintly sweet—wildflowers, maybe, blooming stubborn and late in the fields beyond his fence line.
Liam had two old wooden rockers out here, the kind with wide arms worn smooth from years of use.
He settled into one, and I sank into the other, and for a long moment neither of us said anything.
Just the creak of the chairs. The ice shifting in our glasses. The last of the sun spilling gold across the hills like it had nowhere else to be.
Liam didn't push. He never did. He just sat there, steady and patient, sipping his whiskey and watching the light change. Giving me room to fall apart or hold it together—whichever I needed.
I took a long drink. Let the burn settle in my chest.
And then I told him everything.
Not just about Jack leaving. Not just about the bar, or ranch hand, or the note that was still searing a hole in my pocket.
I went back further than that. I told him about the moment Jack walked onto Copper Creek with Sully at his heels and those quiet, knowing eyes that saw too much.
About the way he listened when I talked about the horse program—really listened, like my dreams were worth something.
About how he never tried to fix me or manage me or shrink me down to a size that was easier to hold.
And then I told him the rest. The stuff I'd never said out loud to anyone.
How I'd been carrying this family on my shoulders for so long, I didn't know how to set the weight down.
How I'd convinced myself that if I just worked hard enough, planned well enough, controlled enough variables, I could keep everyone safe.
Keep everything from falling apart. How exhausting it was to be the one who always had to have the answers.
And Daniel. I told him about Daniel. About being twenty-one and in love and showing someone every corner of myself—all the intensity, all the drive, all the too much—and having him look at me like I was a problem to be solved.
How he'd left, and I'd sealed that part of myself away, bricked it up behind walls so thick I'd almost forgotten it was there.
How terrified I was of being fully seen. Because the last time I let someone see me—really see me—he'd walked away.
And now Jack had walked away too.
The whiskey was gone by the time I finished. The sun had slipped below the hills, leaving the sky bruised purple and deep blue. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote called out, high and lonesome.
Liam listened without interrupting. His face stayed calm—that Ranger composure—but I could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"I was a coward," I said. "I couldn't claim him in front of a woman I haven't seen in five years. And now I'm paying for it."
"Where'd he go?" Liam asked when I was done.
"I don't know." The admission scraped my throat raw. "He didn't say."
Liam nodded slowly, processing. I watched the Texas Ranger in him kick into gear—the way his eyes narrowed, the way he shifted into that methodical focus I'd seen him use on cases.
"Men like Jack don't vanish," he said. "They move with purpose. Leave patterns. People remember them."
"How do I find him?"
"Patience. Paper trails. Old connections." Liam leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. "You know anything about his service? Unit? Buddies he kept in touch with?"
I thought about it. Sifted through every conversation we'd had, every fragment of his history he'd shared.
"Army Rangers," I said. "He served with a guy named Brad—they were close. Brothers, basically. Brad didn't make it home." I swallowed. "Sully was Brad's dog first. Jack inherited him."
Liam nodded, filing that away.
"His family had a ranch in Montana. His parents and sister died in a plane crash while he was deployed—six years ago. He sold the land after, never went back." I searched my memory for more. "He mentioned an inheritance once. Said he'd never touched it, though.”
"That's good." Liam's voice was steady, reassuring. "That's a start. Montana gives us direction. Rangers gives us a network. Someone will know something."
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. “You think you can find him?” I didn’t know what I’d do if he couldn’t.
"I can make some calls. If Jack's picking up work along the way, someone will remember a quiet guy with a good dog."
I felt something loosen in my chest. Not hope—not yet. But the beginning of something that felt like a plan.
"Liam." My voice cracked again, and I hated it. "I have to find him. I have to—"
"I know." He reached over and squeezed my hand, his grip firm and sure. "We'll find him."
That word—we—hit me harder than I expected.
Stephanie appeared in the doorway then.
She'd been listening from the kitchen—I could tell from the way she was holding two mugs of tea, already prepared, already anticipating what we'd need.
"You're not doing this alone," she said, crossing the room and handing me one of the mugs. The tea was warm against my palms, some kind of herbal blend that smelled like honey and comfort. "That's not how this family works."
"Stephanie—"
"I mean it." She settled onto the arm of Liam's chair, her hand finding his shoulder automatically. The casual intimacy of it—the easy way they touched—made my chest ache. That's what I wanted. That's what I'd been too scared to reach for.
"What are you suggesting?" I asked.
Stephanie grinned. "Road trip."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Stephanie—"
"Not a panic spiral," she clarified, holding up a hand. "A deliberate search. You follow the leads, track his movement, and when you find him—" she looked at me with fierce certainty, "—you tell him everything you should have said at that bar."
I blinked. "You want to come?"
"Someone has to keep you two from being too serious." She shrugged, but her eyes were warm. "Besides, I've been wanting to see Montana. And I make excellent road trip playlists."
Liam looked at her with that expression I'd come to recognize—exasperated and completely in love. "You've already decided, haven't you?"
"Obviously." Stephanie leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Pack a bag, baby. We're going to find Maggie’s man."
"Okay," I said, and my voice was steadier than I expected. "Let's do this."
We spent the next hour planning.
Liam pulled up maps on his laptop, tracing potential routes north from Texas. Montana was a big state, but Jack's family land gave us a starting point. He made phone calls while Stephanie and I listened, his Ranger credentials opening doors that would have stayed closed for anyone else.
"Got a hit," he said after the third call. "Feed store in Amarillo remembers a guy matching Jack's description. Came through yesterday morning, paid cash for dog food. Heading north on 87."
"That's him." My heart lurched. Yesterday morning. He'd been in Amarillo while I was snapping at volunteers and falling apart in the office. "He's not that far ahead."
"A day, maybe less if he's stopping to work." Liam traced the route on his screen. "If he's heading for Montana, he'll probably take 87 through New Mexico, then cut up through Colorado. Lots of ranches along the way that might hire day labor."
"He'll work," I said with certainty. "He can't not work. It's who he is."
"That's good for us." Liam nodded. "Means he'll leave a trail. Someone will remember him."
He made two more calls—one to a buddy who worked for the Colorado State Patrol, another to a veteran's outreach organization that kept track of former Rangers.
Both conversations were short, professional.
By the time he hung up, Liam had three more leads: a ranch outside of Raton, New Mexico, that was known for hiring drifters; a truck stop in southern Colorado where veterans often passed through; and a contact in Montana who knew the area where Jack's family had owned land.
Stephanie handled logistics while Liam worked the phones.
Route options, places to stay, snacks to pack.
She moved through the planning with the same cheerful efficiency she brought to everything, making lists on her phone and texting someone—probably Ivy or my mother—to let them know what was happening.
"I'm telling them we're going on a girls' trip with Liam as our security detail," she said, grinning at my expression. "What? It's not a lie."
"The family will worry."
"The family will understand." Stephanie reached over and squeezed my hand. "Your mom already knows, I'm guessing. And the rest of them—Wyatt, Hunter, your dad—they'll hold down the ranch. That's what they do."
"Your family can handle a few days without you," she added. "This is more important."
By the time I left Liam's place, the plan was in motion.
We'd head out tomorrow morning—early, before sunrise.
Liam would drive and work the phones. Stephanie would navigate and handle the human side of things—talking to locals, charming information out of gas station attendants and diner waitresses.
And I would... be there. Ready to face Jack when we found him.
Ready to say everything I should have said.
If we found him.
No. When.
I drove back to my cabin in the dark, the note still folded in my pocket. I'd read it so many times today that the creases were wearing thin, the paper soft from handling. But I didn't need to read it again. I had every word memorized.
I didn't go inside.
Instead, I sat on the porch steps, looking out at the ranch spread beneath the stars. The land I loved, the home I'd spent my whole life protecting. The horses were shadows in the far paddock. The barn was a hulking silhouette against the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote called to its pack.
This was Blackwood land. My birthright.
But it wasn't enough anymore.
I wanted more now. I wanted a partner to build something with. I wanted morning coffee I didn't have to make myself. I wanted arguments that ended in laughter. I wanted someone who knew all my sharp edges and loved me for them instead of despite them.
But it wasn't just about what I wanted to take anymore. It was about what I wanted to give.
I wanted to be the person he came home to.
The one who noticed when the quiet got too heavy and knew how to sit with him in it.
I wanted to learn the landscape of his grief and walk it beside him—not to fix it, but just to be there.
I wanted to make him laugh, really laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look younger.
I wanted to build him up the way he'd built me up.
To see him the way he saw me—all of him, the broken parts and the strong parts and everything in between—and make damn sure he knew he was worth choosing.
I wanted to be his safe place. His soft landing. His home.
I wanted to come all the way.
Tomorrow, I'd chase the man I loved across half the country if that's what it took. Tomorrow, I'd be brave.
But tonight, I sat in the darkness and let myself feel everything I'd been running from. The fear. The hope. The terrible, exhilarating possibility that I might actually get what I wanted—if I was brave enough to reach for it.
"I'm coming, Jack," I whispered into the night. "All the way."