"The Dailey ranch also lost half their heritage bloodlines in the process," I shot back. "They're producing quantity, not quality. That's not who we are."
"Which is exactly why," Dad said, turning back to face us all, "I've hired the best consultant in the business. Someone who understands both innovation and tradition. Someone who can help us modernize without losing what makes Blackwood special."
Clay snorted, reaching for the coffee pot in the center of the table. "Must be some kind of miracle worker."
"In a way," Dad agreed, and something in his tone made my stomach tighten. "The specialist comes highly recommended. Turned the Henderson operation around in six months. Has a background in both genetics and practical ranch management."
"When do they arrive?" Liam asked, his voice carefully neutral. But I caught the way his eyes flicked to me, just for a second. He'd always been able to read the room better than any of us, a skill that had kept him alive in those rough years after my parents had saved him.
"Monday."
"That's in five days," I said. "Mighty quick."
"No point in waiting." Dad's jaw set in that stubborn line I'd inherited. "The consultant will stay in the guest cabin, have full access to our operations, and work closely with all of you to implement the new programs."
Mom finally spoke up, her voice gentle but firm. "This person will be family while they're here. You know how we do things—anyone working this closely with us becomes part of the ranch family."
“Can’t treat someone like family if we don’t know their name,” Clay pointed out, still casual, but I saw Liam tense, his coffee mug freezing halfway to his lips. That never meant anything good.
Dad looked directly at me when he answered. “It’s Ivy."
Blood rushed in my ears, like standing too close to a waterfall. My hands clenched on the table hard enough to hurt. Around me, the room had gone dead silent. Even Maggie's fingers froze over her keyboard.
Ivy.
Ivy Garrison.
Ivygirl.
"No." The word came out before I could stop it, rough as gravel.
"Son—" Dad started.
"No." I stood so fast my chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp as a gunshot. "Absolutely not. Find someone else."
Clay let out a low whistle. "Well, hell. Ivy-weed's comin' home." He grinned at me, but there was concern behind the teasing. "Reckon you'll survive, big brother?"
"Shut up, Clay," I growled. Now wasn’t the time for his teasing. Not when the ground felt like it was caving beneath my feet.
"Wyatt," Mom said softly, and her voice held so much sympathy it made me want to punch something. "It's been a long time."
A long time. She said it like time meant something. Like it had any bearing on the hole she'd left in my chest when she'ddisappeared in the middle of the night without a word of explanation. Just a note that explained nothing and a necklace I'd given her hours before, left on my pillow like a goodbye that was supposed to make sense.
I'm sorry. This isn't about you or us. It's about me needing to leave. Please don't look for me. Please don't wait for me. You deserve better than someone who runs.
I'd memorized those words. Carried them around like shrapnel near my heart since the morning I'd found them.
"I don't care how long it's been," I said, my voice dangerously low. "I'm not working with her."
"You don't have a choice," Dad said, and now his velvet glove was off. "This is what's best for the ranch."
"The ranch was fine without her."
"The ranch needs to evolve."
"Not with her, it doesn’t.”
Maggie looked between me and our parents, her dark eyes—so like Mom's—full of concern. She'd been only sixteen when Ivy left, and she remembered. She'd loved Ivy like a big sister, had cried for weeks when she left. She exchanged a glance with Mom, some silent communication that made my temper spike higher.
