Chapter 7
DAISY
The door closes behind them, and June lets out a breath.
“Finally,” she sighs. “Girl time.”
Maggie grabs the wine bottle and refills everyone’s glasses, and without the chaos of dinner and the muddy entrance, I finally get a proper look at her.
She’s just as tall as I remember, with her mother’s dark hair escaping its pins, and navy-blue eyes already gleaming with mischief. “I thought they’d never leave.”
“You could have just asked them to go,” I point out.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Maggie settles back in her chair, cradling her wine. “So. Was dinner as chaotic as you remembered?”
I laugh. “Worse, actually. In the best way.”
“When was the last time you were here for Sunday dinner?” June asks as she tops up my glass.
“That Christmas when I was twenty, I think? Right before I started interning. So… six years ago?”
“God, that long?” Maggie shakes her head before a broad smile spreads across her face. “I remember that Christmas. You wore that beautiful red dress and looked so grown up. We couldn’t believe little Daisy was about to graduate college.”
My cheeks warm at the memory of that Christmas.
Of trying too hard and being too obvious and watching Wyatt walk out the door without a backward glance.
“I was insufferable,” I deflect. “Convinced I was going to change the world with investigative journalism.”
“You were passionate,” she corrects gently. “It was sweet.”
Six years is a long time.
I’d told myself it was just life getting busy—internships, finishing my degree, the job in Denver. Dad understood. He drove out to see me instead, twice a year like clockwork, never once asking why I wouldn’t visit anymore.
But the truth was simpler and a whole lot more pathetic: I couldn’t face sitting across from Wyatt, knowing he saw nothing when he looked at me. It was easier to stay away and pretend Montana didn’t exist.
And then Dad died, and coming back felt impossible for entirely different reasons. The grief I carried. The guilt of every visit I’d skipped, and every dinner I’d missed.
All that time I wasted being proud, instead of being present.
But sitting here now, wine in hand, surrounded by people who knew me when I was young and hopeful and probably annoying—it doesn’t feel impossible at all.
It feels like coming home.
Like I never should’ve stayed away this long.
June tops up my glass, leans forward on her elbows, and I’m struck, not for the first time tonight, by how much she’s grown into herself.
She was always pretty, but at twenty-four, she’s striking. Pale blonde hair caught up in a loose ponytail, green eyes bright with genuine warmth, and dimples that appear when her mouth curves into a smile that makes you feel like the most important person in the room.
“So.” She smiles, making those dimples pop. “Tell us all about Denver, honey. We want to know everything.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.” Maggie grins as she wiggles her eyebrows. “Starting with this ex situation. Don’t think I didn’t clock that at dinner.”
“Marketing for a tech startup, right?” June chimes in. “I caught that part when Colt was interrogating you.”
I nod as I take a sip of wine, grateful for the chance to get this out of the way without Wyatt’s presence.
Maggie raises an eyebrow over her wine glass. “And this friend thing? That’s code for friends-with-benefits, right?”
“What? No.” I almost choke on my wine. “Trust me, it’s a tactical decision.”
She frowns as she flourishes her wine glass. “Tactical how?”
I exhale, letting my shoulders drop. “His father plays golf with my editor every Saturday, and has done so for the last twenty years. And since Felix and I started dating, supposedly his dad’s been telling Glen what an asset I’d be on staff.
And that advocacy is the reason I’m in with a shot at a really important promotion.
When I told Felix I wanted to end things, he very pointedly told me his dad would keep singing my praises, like he has done for the last nine months. ”
June has gone stock still while Maggie sets her glass down with the kind of slow precision that means she’s fuming on the inside. “He threatened your career?”
I shake my head. “He’d never put it like that; he just made sure I knew the math. His dad. My editor. Every Saturday.”
“Motherfucker.”
“Yuuuup.”
There’s a beat of silence before June reaches across and squeezes my hand. “Oh, honey.”
I can only shrug, knowing this is very much a case of it-is-what-it-is.
“I play nice through texts, let him think what he wants, but the minute I have a signed contract from Rocky Mountain Magazine, I can drop the act. I wouldn’t have thought he was capable of this before, but it just goes to show, you can never really tell what anyone is capable of, given the right motivation. ”
Maggie shakes her head slowly. “What a fucking piece of work.”
“It’s manageable.”
She snorts. “Yeah, sure. In the way root canals are manageable.” June chuckles as Maggie picks her glass back up. “Okay, so girl to girl, what do we need to know? Are we talking six-foot-tall walking red flag, or the kind of disappointment that creeps up on you? I’m thinkin’ the latter.”
I laugh despite myself. “He’s… very put together. Strong jawline. Tall. Wears a lot of navy blue.”
“Navy. Blue.” Maggie repeats flatly, looking entirely unimpressed.
“He’s career focused. Very organized. Being with him felt like…” I trail off, almost ashamed to say the words aloud. “It felt like a responsible, adult move.”
June’s eyes go soft while Maggie shakes her head slowly.
“I know.” I take a long sip of wine as the relief of finally saying the words out loud unfurls in my chest. “Finally being honest with myself is what made me break it off.”
Maggie raises her glass at that, a genuine smile lighting up her face. “To not settling for navy blue.”
“To not settling for navy blue,” June echoes, and we all clink our glasses.
“So, how was the sex?” Maggie leans forward, wine glass dangling from her fingers.
June nearly chokes. “Magnolia Rose Hartley!”
“What? I’m a professional!” Maggie gestures with her glass, completely unrepentant. “I ask about reproductive health all the time.”
“In livestock!”
“Same principles apply.” Maggie’s eyes sparkle with obvious mischief over the rim of her wine glass. “Come on, Daisy. Some of us are too busy delivering breech calves to scratch that particular itch, so spill. That’s what family is for.”
Family.
She didn’t even hesitate. Like there’s no question I’m family.
Like I always have been.
My eyes sting, and silently, I blame the wine.
“It was… fine,” I manage, which probably says everything. “Normal. We were both busy, so…”
“So it was scheduled.” Maggie nods knowingly. “Twice a week, missionary position, lights off?”
“Maggie!” June throws a napkin at her, but she’s laughing too.
“I’m not wrong, am I?”
“You’re spot on, actually.” I shake my head as my entire body rumbles with laughter. “What about you, Maggie? Anyone in the picture?”
Maggie takes a long sip of wine. “Puh-lease. The dating pool in Blackstone Creek is ankle-deep and full of rocks.”
Behind her, June catches my eye and shakes her head once. Slowly.
Something in Maggie’s tone tells me these particular rocks have names, so in the interest of self-preservation, I leave well enough alone.
Between sips of wine and second helpings of cobbler, they tell me about June’s event-planning business and how she’s been turning the ranch’s guest facilities into a destination for weddings and corporate retreats.
They tell me about Maggie’s vet practice, the long hours, the emergency calls at three in the morning, and the satisfaction of saving an animal’s life.
Then, in turn, they want to know what I’ve been up to, and I find myself telling them. Not everything, not the investigation or the fifty-thousand-dollar question that’s burning a hole in my memory, but the real stuff. The stuff that matters.
The feeling that I’m running in place while everyone else moves forward, and the way I still reach for my phone to text my dad sometimes, three years later, before I remember.
They listen. They understand. They pour more wine.
My phone vibrates against the table and I glance down out of habit.
MOM
Just sending a reminder so you don’t forget Aunt Linda’s birthday next week. Love you.
Two sentences.
No mention of Montana. No mention of the ranch. No mention of Dad.
I lock the screen and set the phone face down on the table.
“Everything okay?” June asks.
“Just my mom.” I reach for my wine. “Nothing important.”
The words taste worse than they should.
My mother isn’t unimportant. She’s just absent—from Montana, from the conversation, from anything that still carries Dad’s name. We keep it surface like Aunt Linda’s birthday. Nothing that costs either of us anything real.
I trace the rim of my wine glass with one finger and keep my face steady, because the women sitting across from me just spent an hour listening to me like every part of me mattered, while my own mother can’t say the name of the man I loved most.
I set my glass down as June’s phone vibrates, and she glances at the screen with a small frown.
“What’s wrong?” Maggie asks.
“Just fundraiser stuff.” She sets the phone down with a sigh. “We’re doing what we can for the Hendersons, but it never feels like enough.”
“The Hendersons?” The name tugs at a memory of an older couple of empty nesters with a small spread on the other side of town. “What happened?”
“Bank repossessed their ranch last month.” Maggie’s voice is flat with suppressed anger. “Three generations on that land, and they lost it all. Couldn’t keep up with the payments after Ed’s health issues.”
“That’s awful.”
“It gets worse. The bank moved on them so fast they didn’t even get a chance to fight it.
Sold to some holding company before it ever hit auction.
” She sets down her phone with a decisive clink.
“Same story every time. The Millers a few years back, then the Coopers, then the Holburns. Now the Hendersons. Four ranches lost the same way, and nobody can figure out who’s really behind it. ”
I file that information away. Four ranches. Lightning-fast sales. Mysterious holding companies. Patterns nobody else has connected.
And I don’t believe in coincidences anymore.
“The fundraiser’s Friday night,” Maggie continues. “Town hall. They’re trying to raise enough to help the Hendersons relocate, at least.”
“Shelby Reynolds has been a godsend,” June adds. “Her family owns the Blackstone Inn. She’s donating a weekend stay for the silent auction and basically co-organizing the whole thing with me.”
The back door opens, bringing the smell of hay and evening air. The men file back in, boots stomping, voices low. Colt makes a beeline for the leftover cobbler. West heads for the coffee pot. Rhett hangs back by the door, comfortable in his quiet way.
And Wyatt—
Wyatt’s eyes find mine across the room as June clears her throat. “We were just talking about the Henderson fundraiser on Friday. Daisy should come as our guest.”
Wyatt’s gaze doesn’t leave my face. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then there’s a low “Mm.”
That’s it. That’s all I’m getting. Just “Mm.” Not even a full grunt this time.
“Is that a yes?” I can’t help the challenge that creeps into my voice.
His eyes never waver from mine. “It’s not a no.”
“High praise from Wyatt Hartley.” Colt grins around a mouthful of cobbler. “That’s practically a marriage proposal.”
“Shut up, Colt.”
I bite back a smile. His grumpiness shouldn’t be endearing. It absolutely should not make me want to poke at him until he cracks.
But it does.
“I don’t know.” I tilt my head. “I’d expect at least a grunt of commitment. Maybe two if he’s feeling romantic.”
He exhales through his nose before turning away to pour himself coffee, but not before I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
And there it is again.
Not quite a smile. But oh-so close.
I sip my wine and soak up the kind of evening I forgot I was missing.
And underneath it all, questions I’m getting closer to answering.
Whether anyone wants me to or not.