Chapter 15
Stephanie
Liam leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching me in the mirror, and crossed his arms. "Sweetheart, you look beautiful. You've looked beautiful in everything you've tried on. You'd look beautiful in a burlap sack."
"A burlap sack might actually be better for blending in." I tugged at the hem of my sundress—a soft blue thing with tiny white flowers that Ivy had lent me. It was pretty. Simple. The kind of thing a normal woman wore to a small-town festival.
But I didn't know how to be a normal woman anymore.
"Hey." Liam crossed the room and turned me away from the mirror, his hands warm on my shoulders. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"Nothing." I pressed my forehead to his chest, breathing him in—soap and cedar and safety. “Everything,” I admitted. “What if someone recognizes me? What if I ruin your family's day? What if—"
"We don't have to go." His voice was gentle, no pressure. “Aunt Lou and Ivy will understand. We can stay right here, and I'll find ways to entertain you." His hands slid down to my hips, pulling me closer. "I can think of a few activities that don't require leaving the bedroom."
Heat rushed through me at the suggestion in his voice, and for a moment I was tempted. So tempted. Staying here, wrapped up in him, safe from the world and all its prying eyes...
But I wouldn’t give in.
I'd begged him to take me to this festival. I'd convinced him to let me go despite his concerns about my safety. I knew he'd said yes because he wanted to give me this—a taste of normal life, a chance to feel like a regular person.
I couldn't chicken out now.
"Nice try, Ranger." I pulled back and squared my shoulders. "But I need to do this."
Something shifted in his expression—pride, maybe, mixed with that ever-present worry he tried so hard to hide. "You sure?"
"I'm sure. Louisa and Ivy went out of their way to invite me. Your aunt has been telling me about this festival for weeks. I want to see her win that pie contest. I want to eat terrible fair food and watch fireworks and just... be normal. Even if it's only for one day."
Liam studied my face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Okay. But stay close to me, you hear? Anything feels off, anyone looks at you too long, we leave. No arguments."
"No arguments," I agreed.
"And if you get overwhelmed, you tell me. We can duck out anytime."
"I will."
He cupped my face in his hands, brown eyes serious and soft all at once. "I'm proud of you, Steph. You know that? Coming here, healing, wanting to face the world again—that takes guts."
My throat tightened. "I'm terrified."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "But you're doing it anyway. That's what brave is." He pulled back, a small smile tugging at his lips. "And I've got you. Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm around. I promise."
God help me, I believed him completely.
"Besides," he added, a smile tugging at his lips, "you've got your disguise."
He grabbed the straw cowboy hat from the bed—one of Maggie's old ones, soft and worn—and settled it on my head, tucking my braid underneath. Then he slid a pair of aviator sunglasses onto my nose.
"There. Completely unrecognizable."
I turned to look in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked like... well, like a rancher's girlfriend heading to a county fair. No glam squad. No designer labels. No Stevie Wilson.
Just Stephy.
The drive to town took twenty minutes, and by the time we pulled onto Main Street, my nerves had settled into something more manageable. The kind of butterflies that came before something good instead of something terrifying.
Copper Creek had transformed. The main square—usually quiet except for the occasional pickup truck—was packed with people, food stalls, and enough red, white, and blue bunting to make a flag factory jealous. A banner stretched across the street: FOUNDERS’ DAY FESTIVAL - 127 YEARS OF COMMUNITY.
"Oh my God," I breathed, pressing my face to the truck window like a kid. "It's like something out of a Hallmark movie."
"Don't let Aunt Lou hear you say that. She takes Founders’ Day very seriously."
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “How seriously?"
"She's been on the planning committee for thirty-two years. She has opinions about the placement of the lemonade stand."
I arched a brow. ”Strong opinions?"
He chuckled. “The strongest. Last year, she got into a heated debate with Pastor Jenkins about whether the pie contest should be before or after the square dancing.” He shook his head. “Things got ugly."
"Define ugly."
"Owen had to physically separate them. There may have been some aggressive finger-pointing."
I was still laughing when we found a parking spot near the feed store. The Blackwood convoy had arrived before us—Wyatt's truck, Clay's Jeep, and the big ranch SUV that Owen and Louisa drove lined up together.
"Ready?" Liam asked, squeezing my hand.
I took a deep breath. "Ready."
The moment we stepped onto the sidewalk, I heard her.
"There they are! Liam! Stephanie! Over here!"
Louisa stood near the entrance to the festival grounds, waving both arms above her head like she was flagging down a rescue helicopter. She wore a denim shirt with pearl snaps, her silver hair pulled back in a neat bun, and an apron that said BEST COOK IN TEXAS - JUST ASK MY FAMILY.
Beside her, Owen looked like the quintessential Texas patriarch—tall, weathered, distinguished in that way that came from decades of honest work and strong coffee.
"You made it!" Louisa pulled me into a hug before I could prepare myself, surrounding me with the scent of vanilla and something buttery. "I was worried you'd change your mind."
"She almost did," Liam said. "Four outfit changes."
"Traitor," I muttered.
Louisa pulled back, holding me at arm's length to study my face. Whatever she saw there made her expression soften. "You look beautiful, honey. And that hat suits you."
"It's Maggie's. I hope she doesn't mind—"
"Nonsense." She waved a hand dismissively. "Anything you need, we've got it. You're family now, Steph. What's ours is yours."
My throat tightened at her words. Family. She said it so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Owen stepped forward with a wry smile. “Good to see you out and about, Stephanie. How are you feeling?"
"Better," I said honestly. "Much better."
He nodded once, satisfied. "Glad to hear it. Now, I’ve gotta go find Tom Morrison. He said something about the horseshoe tournament bracket being wrong, and I promised I'd sort it out."
"Tom Morrison?" The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.
"Our neighbor," Liam said as Owen strode off. "He's the one who—" He caught himself, glancing at Louisa.
"The one who what?" I pressed.
"I'll introduce you later. Come on, let's find the others."
The rest of the family found us within minutes—drawn together by some invisible Blackwood homing beacon, or maybe just by Louisa's voice carrying across the crowded square.
Wyatt arrived first, Ivy tucked under his arm, both of them looking disgustingly happy.
"Stephanie!" Ivy pulled me into a hug. "You came! I'm so glad you're here. Maggie and I were drowning in all the testosterone.”
I chuckled. ”Me too." And I meant it. "You two look great."
"We clean up okay," Wyatt said, grinning. "For ranchers, anyway."
Clay sauntered over, looking like he'd rolled out of bed and directly into his boots. His hair was a mess, his shirt was wrinkled, and he was carrying a funnel cake the size of his head.
"Hey, superstar." He nodded at me like my presence was the most normal thing in the world. "Want some?"
He held out the funnel cake, powdered sugar dusting his fingers. I tore off a piece, and the fried dough practically melted on my tongue. "Oh my God,” I groaned.
"Right? Mrs. Henderson's been making these for forty years. Secret recipe. Pretty sure it's just more butter,” he said. He probably wasn’t wrong.
Hunter wandered over from the direction of the tractor display, grease still visible under his fingernails. He gave me a quiet nod—no big greeting, no fuss—just a small smile and a "Hey" before turning his attention to the funnel cake Clay was guarding.
"That Mrs. Henderson's?" he asked, reaching for a piece.
"Get your own," Clay snapped, angling the plate away and making us laugh.
Hunter just shrugged, unbothered in typical Hunter fashion, and drifted toward the food stalls.
The bickering continued around me, warm and familiar, and I found myself relaxing into it. This was what family sounded like. Not the forced politeness of industry events or the careful performance of my parents' dinner parties. Just... people who loved each other giving each other hell.
"Where's Maggie?" I asked, suddenly noticing her absence.
"Running the ranch booth." Louisa gestured toward a tent near the edge of the square. "She takes the breeding program very seriously. Been preparing her displays for weeks."
"And Sophia?"
"Night shift at the hospital," she said, a hint of worry in her voice. "She said she'd try to make it, but—"
"I'm here! I'm here!” My heart squeezed at the familiar voice.
I turned, and Sophia was rushing toward us, still in scrubs, her dark hair escaping from a messy bun. She looked exhausted—shadows under her eyes, the particular weariness of someone who'd spent all night on her feet—but the moment she saw me, her whole face lit up.
"Stephanie!" She crashed into me with a hug that nearly knocked me off my feet, clinging tight like she was afraid I'd disappear. "Oh my God, you're really here."
“You’re really here! Did you come straight from work? You must be exhausted.”
“Yeah. Twelve-hour shift in the ER." She stifled a yawn. "But I wasn't missing this. Not for anything. Aunt Lou's been talking about winning the pie contest for weeks. I had to see it for myself."
"You should be sleeping."