"What?" I demanded. "What aren't you saying?"
"Nothing," Maggie said quickly, but she'd always been a terrible liar. Her fingers fidgeted with her pen, a tell she'd had since childhood.
"This isn't just about the ranch," I said, looking from Dad to Mom. "This is some kind of messed-up intervention, isn't it? You think bringing her back will, what, fix me?"
The guilt that flashed across Mom's face was answer enough.
"Jesus Christ." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I'm not broken."
"Nobody said you were," Liam said quietly. He set down his mug carefully, the way he did everything—deliberate, thoughtful. "But Uncle Owen's right about the ranch needing this. And if she's the best?—"
I whirled on him. "You knew about this?"
He met my gaze steadily. "Uncle Owen told me yesterday."
"And you didn't think to warn me?"
"Would it have changed anything?" He leaned back in his chair with that calm demeanor that had always both impressed and irritated me. "Would you have done anything except stew about it? Work yourself up into a rage? Probably drink too much whiskey and pick a fight at Murphy's?"
He was right, and I hated him for it.
"She's the best," Hunter offered, trying to be helpful. "Her work on genetic markers is groundbreaking. There are articles in the Journal of Animal Science?—"
"I don't give a shit about articles," I snapped.
"You give a shit about this ranch, though," Dad said. "And this ranch needs her expertise.” The only thing Ivy Garrison was an expert in was leaving.
"The ranch needs a lot of things. Doesn't mean we have to invite the devil through the door to get them."
"She's not the devil," Mom said softly. "She's a woman who was barely more than a girl when she left. People change, Wyatt. They grow. They become different versions of themselves."
"Do they?" I asked, hearing the bitterness in my own voice. "Because from where I'm standing, someone who runs in the middle of the night without explanation doesn't change. They just get better at running."
Clay's boots hit the floor with a thud. "Come on, man. You can't still be this torn up about ancient history."
Ancient history. Like she was some high school crush that hadn't worked out. Like we hadn't been planning a life together. Not that that would mean anything to Clay. His version of a long-term relationship was anything that lasted more than twelve hours.
"You don't know what you're talking about," I told Clay.
"I know you've been walking around like a ghost since she left," he shot back. "I know you haven't dated anyone seriously since. Iknow you still go to that spot by the creek when you think nobody's watching."
The words hit like sledgehammers. I wanted to deny them, but everyone at this table knew the truth. They'd all watched me try to piece myself back together after she left. Watched me fail. Watched me eventually just stop trying and pour everything into the ranch instead.
Maggie finally spoke up, her voice gentle but firm—so much like Mom's. "Wyatt, we've all been worried about you. You work eighteen-hour days. You never take vacation. You've turned down every woman in three counties. That's not living, that's just... existing."
"I'm fine," I ground out.
"No," Liam said, and there was something in his voice that made me look at him. "You're not. You've been walking around the Ivy-shaped hole in your life, pretending it's not there. Maybe it's time to stop pretending."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Liam stood, crossing to the window where Dad had been standing. "It means it’s time to face her and what happened, so you can either fix it or move on for good.”
His words hung heavy in the air. Outside, the cattle lowed, the sound of real life continuing while we sat frozen in this moment.
"The decision's made," Dad said with finality. "Ivy arrives Monday. You'll all treat her with professional courtesy and respect."
"Professional courtesy," I repeated, the words tasting like ash. "Right."
