Chapter 1
Ivy - Present Day
The boardroom smelled like money and stale ambition—two things I'd stopped caring about a long time ago.
I sat three seats down from the head of the mahogany conference table at Summit Range Livestock Consulting, close enough to matter but far enough to avoid the direct line of fire when Douglas Lancaster III got worked up about quarterly projections.
The streets of Dallas sprawled forty-two stories below.
Up here, in the climate-controlled perfection of our corporate offices, the June heat couldn't touch us.
We were insulated from everything real—weather, dirt, the honest sweat of actual ranch work.
I'd traded all of that for this. Some days, I could almost convince myself it had been worth it.
"Garrison." Doug's voice cut through my wandering thoughts like a whip. "You still with us?"
I straightened, fingers finding the smooth edge of my leather portfolio. "Yes, sir. Just reviewing the Henderson quarterly reports."
"Good. Because you're going to need your full attention for this next announcement.
" He stood, all six-foot-four of him radiating the kind of confidence that came from three generations of Dallas money and a Harvard MBA.
His suit probably cost more than most ranch hands made in a month.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to announce we've just landed the contract we've all been chasing. "
He clicked to the next slide on his presentation, and my heart stopped.
The Blackwood Ranch logo filled the screen—a stylized B with longhorns curved around it—as familiar to me as my own signature.
"Blackwood Ranch," Doug continued, his chest puffing with pride like a rooster in a henhouse. "The most prestigious cattle operation in East Texas. Hell, probably in all of Texas."
My pulse skipped, then hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure Jennifer sitting next to me could hear it. I kept my face carefully neutral, the mask I'd perfected over fourteen years of running from my past. But inside, everything was crumbling.
Blackwood.
"This is huge," Jennifer whispered, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her tablet. "They haven't worked with outside consultants in twenty years. Their breeding program is legendary. How did Doug even manage—"
"The owner called personally," Doug announced, and I had to grip my pen to keep my hand from shaking.
"Owen Blackwood wants a complete overhaul of their breeding program.
He wants modern embryo transfer protocols, upgraded genetic mapping, taking their operation into the twenty-first century.
They're looking to expand their influence beyond Texas, potentially international markets. "
Owen. I could still see the way he'd looked fourteen years ago—weathered hands gentle as he'd taught me to rope, voice patient as he'd explained bloodlines and breeding strategies. He'd treated me like family even before Wyatt and I... before everything.
"This could be worth millions in long-term contracts," Doug continued, his excitement filling the room like expensive cologne. "Not just from Blackwood, but from every ranch that follows their lead. And they will follow—when Blackwood moves, the entire industry pays attention."
My throat had gone desert dry. I reached for my water glass, proud when my hand barely trembled.
"The real coup," Doug said, clicking to the next slide showing aerial views of the ranch, "is that they specifically requested our firm. Said they'd heard about our innovative approaches, our success with modernizing traditional operations while maintaining heritage bloodlines."
The photos made my chest ache. Rolling pastures that seemed to go on forever, pristine white fences, barns that gleamed red in the Texas sun.
The main house sprawled in the center like a promise—white limestone and cedar beams, wraparound porches where I'd spent countless evenings listening to Louisa's stories and Owen's dreams for the ranch's future.
"Garrison."
I snapped back to attention. Doug was looking directly at me, and so was everyone else in the room.
"Sir?"
"You're leading this one."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Jennifer actually gasped beside me.
"I'm sorry?" I managed, though my voice sounded strange to my own ears.
"Don't look so shocked." Doug smiled, the kind that meant he'd already made up his mind, and this was all just theater.
"You're our best livestock genetics specialist. Your work on the Stanley account increased their conception rates by thirty percent.
The Hendersons specifically requested you for their expansion after you identified those hereditary markers everyone else missed. "
He was right. I was good at my job—maybe because I'd learned from the best, sitting at Owen Blackwood's kitchen table as a teenager, absorbing everything he taught about cattle and bloodlines and building something that would last generations.
"Plus," Doug added, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, "you're from that area originally, aren't you? That local knowledge could be invaluable. You understand these people, their culture, what matters to them."
These people. Like they were some exotic species to be studied. Like I hadn't been one of them once, hadn't bled and sweated and loved on that very land.
"Yes," I said, because what else could I say? "I'm familiar with the region."
"Perfect. You'll head down Monday. Plan for at least a month on-site, possibly longer depending on how the initial assessment goes.
" He clicked to another slide—financial projections that made my colleagues murmur appreciatively.
"If you nail this, Garrison, we're talking senior partner.
Corner office. Your pick of future accounts. "
Senior partner. The promotion I'd been grinding toward for five years. The thing that was supposed to validate all my choices, prove that leaving Copper Creek had been the right decision. The achievement that would finally make me feel like I'd become someone who mattered.
"Congratulations, Ivy." Jennifer's smile was tight. She'd wanted this assignment—we all had. But Doug had chosen me, and now I had to live with it.
The meeting dissolved into logistics and timelines.
I nodded at the right moments, took notes I'd have to decipher later when my hands stopped shaking.
Doug outlined expectations—modernize their operation without losing what made Blackwood special, increase conception rates, improve genetic diversity, establish protocols that could be replicated across their partner ranches.
Simple enough on paper. Impossible when the ranch in question held every ghost I'd been running from.
When Doug finally dismissed us, I was first out the door, my heels clicking against marble floors as I fled to my office. I shut the door and leaned against it, eyes closed, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
Fourteen years. I'd stayed away fourteen years, built a life that had nothing to do with dusty boots and dawn chores and the way the light looked over the creek at sunset. A life that had nothing to do with green eyes and calloused hands and promises whispered in the dark.
My phone buzzed. Mark's name lit up the screen.
Dinner at 7? That new place in Uptown?
Mark. Right. My boyfriend of eight months—though that word felt flimsy for what we were.
Two successful adults who enjoyed each other’s company, shared similar ambitions, looked good together at firm events.
He was handsome in that clean-cut, corporate way—square jaw, perfect teeth, hands that had never known a callus.
He drove a BMW, owned a condo with a view, and had a five-year plan that ended with him shaking hands at the partnership table.
He was everything a successful woman was supposed to want. Stable. Ambitious. Safe.
He was nothing like—
Stop.
Sure, I texted back. Long day. Need wine.
That bad? I’ll order a bottle. Love you.
I stared at those two words, waiting for something—warmth, longing, anything.
But there was nothing. Just a polite kind of guilt for not feeling what I was supposed to.
Mark said love you the same way he ordered coffee or signed a contract—efficient, routine.
I’d started saying it back months ago because it seemed easier than explaining why I couldn’t.
And that was the problem.
It wasn’t fair—to him or to me. He deserved someone who lit up when his name hit their phone, not someone who kept pretending she could fall for the idea of him.
I set the phone down and stared at it like it might give me the courage to end things before they turned into another lie. Because if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that love shouldn’t feel like obligation dressed up as comfort.
The only time I’d ever meant those words—truly meant them—I’d been eighteen, with Texas stars as my witnesses and creek water singing backup to my promises.
My desk phone rang, jarring me from the memory. The caller ID showed a 903 area code—East Texas. My hand hesitated over the receiver. It could be anyone. It could be a coincidence.
But I already knew who it would be.
"Ivy Garrison," I answered, proud that my voice came out steady and professional.
"Well, hell, honey, you sound all sophisticated and citified."
Owen Blackwood's voice washed over me like a summer thunderstorm—sudden, overwhelming, and carrying the scent of home.
That deep Texas drawl that could make discussing cattle prices sound like poetry.
The same voice that had taught me to read breeding charts, that had called me "honey" since I was fourteen, that had never held judgment even when I deserved it.
"Mr. Blackwood." My voice came out smaller than I intended.
He laughed, warm and genuine, the sound reaching through the phone line to squeeze my heart. "Now, none of that 'Mr. Blackwood' nonsense, darlin'. You've known me all your life. You call me Owen, same as always."