I lifted my chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unnerved. ”Wyatt,” I said, proud that my voice didn't crack.
He tilted his head slightly, the barest acknowledgment. Like I was a stranger. Like I was nobody.
Then he turned and walked back into the barn without a word.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the cattle seemed to have stopped lowing. Somewhere a hawk cried, high and lonesome.
"Well," Louisa said with forced brightness that didn't quite mask the worry in her eyes. "Let's get you settled. The guest cabin is all ready for you."
"I can stay in town—" I started, but Owen cut me off.
"Nonsense. You'll stay here where you belong. The cabin's right there, see?" He pointed to a structure I hadn't noticed before, maybe a hundred yards from the main house. "Close enough to the barns for early morning work, but private enough for your own space."
The cabin was painted white with green shutters that matched the trim on the main house. A small porch held two rocking chairs that hadn't been there last time I was here. Flower boxes under the windows overflowed with more petunias. It looked like something out of a fairytale, like the kind of place where happily ever after might be possible.
"I'll help with your bags," Clay offered, already heading for my car. He whistled low, running a hand along the sleek roof. ”Jesus,Ivy, is this a Mercedes? How much do consultant types make anyway?"
"Not enough," I muttered, but he was already popping the trunk.
"The meeting tomorrow is at seven," Owen said, back to business now that the awkward reunion was over. "Give everyone a chance to get the morning chores done first. Liam and Hunter are excited to see you again."
Excited might be stretching it, but I nodded. "I'll be ready."
"Dinner's at six," Louisa added, her hand finding my arm and squeezing gently. "Nothing fancy, just family dinner. You remember where the dining room is?"
Like I could forget. Like I hadn't sat at their table hundreds of times, feeling more at home there than I ever had at my own family's table.
"I'll be there.” Even if the awkwardness nearly killed me.
They dispersed slowly, reluctantly. Owen headed to the breeding barn, probably to warn the hands that the consultant had arrived. Louisa touched my cheek once, soft as a butterfly, then headed back to the house. Maggie followed, though she glanced back once, her expression thoughtful.
Clay carried my bags to the cabin, keeping up a steady stream of chatter that didn't require responses. "We've upgraded everything since you left. New breeding facilities, better lab equipment, and even got some of that fancy genetic testing stuff Dad's always going on about. The ranch is three times the size it was, and we're running twice the cattle. Dad's got contracts with ranches all over Texas now, and even some internationally. It's an empire, really."
The cabin was perfect inside—simple but comfortable, with modern amenities that hadn't been there before. A small kitchen with new appliances, a living area with a stone fireplace, and through an open door, I could see a bedroom with a queen bed covered in one of Louisa's quilts.
"Mama spent three days getting this ready," Clay said, setting my bags by the door. "Changed the linens twice, brought fresh flowers from her garden, even baked cookies." He pointed to a covered plate on the counter. "Her chocolate chip ones you used to love."
The thoughtfulness broke something in me. "Clay?—"
"He's not okay, you know." The words came out quickly, like he'd been holding them back since I'd arrived. "Wyatt. He pretends, works eighteen-hour days, never complains, but he's not okay. Hasn't been since you left."
"Clay—"
"I'm not saying it to make you feel guilty," he continued, but his eyes said otherwise. "I'm saying it so you know. So you're careful with him. He's built himself back up, piece by piece, but it's all held together with work and will and not much else. You could break him again without even trying."
"That's not—I wouldn't?—"
"Wouldn't you?" His usually cheerful face was serious now. "You did it once already."
The words hit like a slap. "You don't know what happened."
"No, I don’t. None of us does. That’s part of the problem." He started toward the door, then hesitated, one hand braced on the frame. "You were part of this family, Ivy-weed. When you left, it left a space none of us really knew how to fill. Mama missed you something fierce. Dad buried himself in work for a while, like he could fix it by staying busy. Maggie... she just got quieter for a bit. Grew up fast."
He glanced back at me, eyes steady but not unkind. "And Wyatt—well, he learned how to keep his walls high and his words short. Took him a long time to find his footing again. But he did."
A pause, soft but weighted.
"We all did. Just… took a while."
