"The initial investment would be substantial," she said, clicking through financial projections that made Clay whistle low. "But the ROI would be realized within eighteen months, with profits increasing by forty percent within three years."
"Forty percent?" Hunter leaned forward, interested despite himself. "That seems optimistic."
She turned to him, and for a second, I saw a flash of the old Ivy—the one who'd debate cattle genetics with Dad for hours, passionate and sure. "It's conservative, actually. The Henderson ranch saw a fifty-two percent increase after implementing similar protocols."
"The Hendersons also lost half their heritage bloodlines," I said, my first words since she'd walked in.
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and the air in the room went electric. "Only because they didn't properly manage the transition. With correct protocols, you can maintain genetic diversity while improving overall quality. Look—" She clicked to another slide, showing a complex chart. "This is your current genetic distribution. See these markers here? You have one of the most diverse heritage populations in Texas. We're not talking about replacing that—we're talking about enhancing it."
She moved through the data with a fluency that was mesmerizing. This wasn't some city consultant who'd learned ranching from textbooks. This was someone who understood cattledown to their DNA, who knew the difference between a breeding program and a legacy.
"These protocols," I challenged, not ready to give up the fight. "They're all theory, aren't they? Academic exercises?"
"No." She clicked again, and case studies filled the screen. "I've implemented variations of this program at six ranches in the last three years. Every single one has exceeded projections." She paused, meeting my eyes. "Including the Sullivan ranch in Montana. They were as traditional as you, as resistant to change. They're now the leading Angus supplier in the Northwest."
Dad leaned forward, interested. "John Sullivan let you touch his breeding program? That man's more stubborn than I am."
A small smile touched her lips—the first real one I'd seen since she'd arrived. “Funny,” she laughed. ”He said the same thing about you when he heard I was coming here."
The room chuckled, tension breaking slightly. She had them. Hell, she almost had me. Then again, there was a time when I was wrapped around her finger so tight I didn’t know where I ended and she began. But things were different now. I couldn’t let her get to me. Couldn’t let her convince my family that this was a good idea unless it really was.
She fielded questions for another hour, and each answer was more impressive than the last. When Clay asked about implementation timelines, she had Gantt charts. When Maggie grilled her on costs, she had spreadsheets that accounted for everything down to the last syringe. When Liam questioned the science behind embryo transfer success rates, she quoted studies from memory, complete with publication dates and sample sizes.
She was composed, commanding, smart as sin, and in any other circumstance, I would have been proud as hell. Would have been shouting from the rooftops that this brilliant woman had come from Copper Creek, that we'd helped shape that mind.
But she'd left. She'd taken all that potential and promise and run with it, leaving us—leaving me—behind.
When she finally wrapped up, closing her laptop with a decisive click, the room was silent for a beat. Then Maggie started a slow clap, and soon everyone except me was applauding.
"Well," Mom said, beaming. "That was incredible, honey."
"Impressive work," Dad agreed, though he was watching me, not her. "We'll need time to discuss this as a family, but I think the direction is clear."
"Of course," Ivy said, gathering her things with the same efficiency she'd shown throughout. "I'll be in the breeding barn this afternoon if anyone has questions. I'd like to start assessing the current stock, with your permission."
Permission. Like she needed permission to be in barns where she'd once spent more time than her own home.
"Whatever you need," Dad said.
She nodded, professional and distant, and left without looking at me again.
The moment the door closed behind her, everyone started talking at once.
"Did you see those projections—" Maggie was saying.
"The genetic diversity preservation alone—" Hunter added.
"She really knows her stuff," Clay said, then grinned. "Plus, she looks good. City life agrees with her."
"Enough," I growled, standing so fast my chair scraped against the floor. "You want to implement her plan? Fine. But don't expect me to pretend I'm happy about it."
"Wyatt," Mom started.
"I've got work to do."
I stormed out, ignoring Mom calling after me, ignoring the weight of everyone's stares. I needed air. I needed space. I needed to be anywhere but in that house that still smelled like her perfume.
I saddled Tempest without thinking, muscle memory taking over when my mind was too full of her to function. The stallion sensed my mood, dancing sideways as I mounted, eager to run. I gave him his head, and we tore across the pasture like we were both trying to outrun something.
