Chapter 23
Ivy
The notification appeared on my phone screen while I was measuring hormone doses in the breeding barn, two weeks after I'd come home for good.
Mark's name flashed briefly before I swiped it away without reading.
Whatever bitter words or warnings he'd composed, they belonged to a life that felt like someone else's dream—distant and fading more each day.
I deleted the message unopened, then blocked his number for good measure.
No drama, no hesitation, just a quiet severing of the last thread connecting me to Dallas.
That life wasn't just gone—it had never really been mine to begin with.
Just a costume I'd worn, thinking it would make me into someone worth loving.
"Everything okay?" Wyatt's voice came from behind me. He'd been checking the pregnant heifers, but had that uncanny ability to sense when something shifted in my mood.
"Perfect," I said, showing him the blank screen. "Just taking out the trash."
He moved closer, his presence solid and warm at my back as he watched me work.
We'd fallen into an easy rhythm these past weeks—working side by side, our movements synchronized without thought.
He'd hand me tools before I asked, I'd finish sentences he started about breeding schedules.
The partnership we'd glimpsed as teenagers had matured into something deeper, stronger.
"That chapter's closed," I said, drawing up the precise amount of hormone needed for the afternoon's procedures. "Completely. Finally."
"Good." His hands settled on my hips, pulling me back against his chest. "'Cause this one's just starting."
"And what's this chapter called?" I asked, leaning into him.
"How about 'The Part Where They Get It Right'?"
I grinned. ”Bit wordy for a chapter title."
"'Happily Ever After'?"
"Too cliché."
"'Home'?"
I turned in his arms, looking up at him. Afternoon light slanted through the barn windows, turning his eyes that impossible green that still made my heart skip. "Perfect."
He kissed me, soft and sure, tasting of coffee and promise. When we pulled apart, he kept me close, his forehead resting against mine.
"Mom's expecting us for Sunday dinner," he said. "Fair warning—she invited everyone. And I mean everyone. Clay's bringing his girlfriend, even Luke's driving in from Dallas."
"The prodigal son returns?"
"All the prodigal children return eventually. It's the Blackwood way." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender. "She wants to welcome you home officially. Make it clear to everyone that you're not a guest anymore. You're family."
The word made my chest tight with emotion. Family. After a lifetime of belonging nowhere, of being unwanted baggage in my parents' dysfunction, I had a family that chose me.
Sunday arrived with the kind of perfect weather Texas occasionally blessed its residents with—warm but not scorching, blue sky decorated with white puff clouds, a breeze that carried the scent of grass and possibility.
I stood in our cabin (I'd never get tired of thinking of it as ours), trying to decide what to wear to my official welcome home dinner.
“The blue sundress,” Wyatt said from where he lounged on our bed—long legs stretched out, shirt tucked into his jeans in that way that made him look like every cowboy fantasy I’d ever tried not to have.
“That’s what I wore to the dance,” I reminded him, holding the hanger up to my body in the mirror.
“Exactly.” His gaze dropped, slow and heated. “You looked beautiful.” A beat. Then the smirk. “Plus, easier to get you out of it later.”
I threw a pillow. He dodged it, the infuriating man, and I muttered something unladylike as I slipped the dress on.
I was at the bathroom mirror putting on mascara when there was a shift in the air. A second later, Wyatt was there. His warmth at my back, the low rumble of his breath brushing my shoulder.
Then his hands were on me.
Big. Warm. Possessive.
His palms slid over my hips first, shaping me like he owned the map of my body, thumbs sweeping up my waist before gliding higher—over my ribs, then cupping my breasts through the thin cotton. I sucked in a breath, mascara wand dipping dangerously.
“Wyatt…”
He hummed against my neck, the vibration sinking straight through me. “Darlin’, you walk around the house I built you lookin’ like that and expect me to behave?”
His jeans—specifically the very hard part of his jeans—pressed into my backside, leaving no confusion about exactly how much he appreciated the dress.
“Think again.”
My knees went weak. “We are going to be late.”
“Don’t care.” His mouth brushed that sweet spot beneath my ear, sending a bolt of heat straight down my spine. “Not wastin’ a single minute I could have you like this.”
His hands slid lower again, gripping, guiding, pulling me back against him as his breath turned rough. When his fingers laced with mine on the counter, pinning them gently but firmly, I melted.
“Ivy,” he growled, voice low, reverent, wrecked, “I love you. You hear me? I love you, and there ain’t a force on this earth strong enough to keep me from showin’ you exactly what you mean to me.”
The last thing I saw was the blue sundress in the mirror and the wild look in his eyes, and then his hand was in my hair, angling my head to the side. His mouth landed on mine hard, possessive, purely male.
And when he pulled back, eyes nearly black with want, and whispered, “Lift your dress up,” I listened.
Fabric bunched around my waist, Wyatt peered down at my ass, his calloused hands rough against my skin. I was panting by the time he reached for my panties and pulled them to the side, trembling at the slow pull of his zipper, and close to begging when he notched himself at my entrance.
“Look at me, darlin’,” he ordered, voice rough like the gravel lining our driveway.
My eyes met his in the mirror, and the sight of him stole my breath. He looked like a god behind me, looming over me like I was his to command. Powerful and beautiful and mine.
“Please,” I whispered, voice trembling with need. “Please, baby.”
My jaw dropped with a low moan as he slid inside. The force of him rocked me forward, my hair swaying against my shoulders with each thrust.
That was until he gathered it up, wrapped it around his fist, and yanked me back until I was upright. “Said look at me,” he growled low in my ear.
I forced my eyes to stay open, lost in the way his body moved behind mine in the mirror. We looked perfect together. Meant to be. His other hand slid around my waist, holding me to him.
He let my hair go, and his hand slipped beneath the neckline of my dress to palm my breast. “Oh God,” I whimpered when he tweaked my nipple.
“God’s not makin’ you feel this, Ivygirl, I am.” He punctuated the last two words with a thrust that rocked me up onto my toes and made me feel like I was floating.
“Yeah,” I nodded in a blissed-out daze. Heat coiled low in my belly, and I grabbed Wyatt’s hand that was secure on my waist, needing something to hold onto. “You’re gonna make me come, too.”
His grip tightened on my waist, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Let me see it,” he said, breath hot on my ear. “Let me see how good I make you feel.”
And when I fell apart, he followed right after. Our eyes locked the whole time. And I knew then I was a fool for ever thinking I could find this kind of connection with anyone else. That I could love anyone the way I loved him.
After—hair mussed, mascara barely salvaged, dress considerably wrinkled—I tried to fix my lipstick while he buttoned his shirt behind me.
“We’re late,” I said, breath still unsteady.
He stepped up behind me again, kissed the top of my shoulder, and murmured against my skin, “Best reason to be late I’ve ever had.”
My heart did a somersault. “Wyatt.”
He met my eyes in the mirror, serious now, voice soft but strong. “I meant what I said, Ivygirl. Every word.”
My chest tightened sweet and sure. “I know. I love you too.”
His slow grin returned, sinful and satisfied. “Good. ’Cause the dress? You’re wearin’ that again tomorrow.”
I swatted him with my makeup brush. He caught my wrist, kissed my palm, and just like that, I was gone for him all over again.
The main house was already buzzing when we arrived.
Trucks and cars lined the drive—not just family but what looked like half the town.
Through the windows, I could see Louisa orchestrating the chaos with the efficiency of a general, while Owen manned the grill, smoke rising like signals to gather the tribe.
"There are so many people," I said, suddenly nervous.
Wyatt took my hand, squeezing gently. "They're here for you. To welcome you home. Every single person in there has been waiting for this—for you to come back, for us to get our heads out of our asses, for this family to be complete again."
We walked in together, and the noise level dropped for a moment as everyone turned. Then Louisa's voice rang out clear and strong: "Finally! Our girl is home!"
The cheer that went up could probably be heard in the next county.
I was immediately engulfed in hugs—Maggie squeezing me tight while whispering that it was "about damn time, Ivy-weed," Clay picking me up and spinning me until I laughed, Hunter offering a quiet smile and a shoulder tap that said more than words.
Luke had indeed come from Dallas, looking like a younger version of Wyatt but with a sharper edge, city polish that reminded me of what I'd shed. "So you finally brought my brother back to life," he said, studying me with eyes that missed nothing. "Good. He's been a ghost for too long."
Liam arrived in his Texas Ranger uniform, having come straight from work. "Welcome home, Ivy. Officially and permanently, I hear."
"Permanently," I confirmed.
"Good. Aunt Lou's already planning the wedding."
"Liam!" Louisa scolded, but her eyes were twinkling.