"You did everything you could. More than anyone else ever did."
We sat in silence for a moment, both lost in memories better left buried.
"Your father's still around," Louisa said finally, her voice taking on a hard edge. "See him in town sometimes, usually coming out of Murphy's or buying bottles at the liquor store. Still mean as a snake, still drinking himself stupid." Her hands clenched in her lap. "Every time I see him, I have to stop myself from... well.Owen says I can't go around throttling people in the middle of Main Street, no matter how much they deserve it."
A chill ran through me despite the heat. "Does he... does he ever come here?"
"He tried once, about five years ago. Looking for money, probably, or just to cause trouble. Owen met him at the gate with a shotgun and Sheriff Cooper on speed dial. Made it real clear he wasn't welcome on Blackwood land." She looked at me intently. "He won't bother you here, honey. We'll make sure of that."
The thought of my father still being in Copper Creek, still drinking, still spreading his particular brand of poison, made my stomach turn. I'd hoped he'd moved on, found some other town to terrorize.
"Your mother remarried," Louisa continued, her tone softening slightly. "A nice man from Houston. She seems happy. Comes to town occasionally to visit her sister, but Art's not part of that picture anymore."
"I'm glad she found someone good," I said, and meant it. My mother had been as much a victim as I was, just in different ways.
Louisa studied me quietly. “Are you?” she asked. “Happy?”
The question caught me off guard. "I'm successful."
"That's not what I asked."
I thought about my life in Dallas. My expensive apartment that never felt like home. My relationship with Mark that was more convenience than passion. My career that looked perfect from the outside, but left me empty inside.
"I'm working on it," I said finally.
Louisa squeezed my hand once more, then started gathering the lunch dishes. "Well, you're here now. That's something."
"For a month or two. Until the job's done."
She gave me a look I couldn't interpret. "We'll see."
After she left, I sat on the porch for another moment, gathering my courage. The afternoon stretched ahead, full of work that would put me in proximity to people who'd known me before, who'dwatched me leave, and had opinions about why. Full of chances to run into Wyatt, to see that cold anger in his eyes again.
But I'd come here to do a job, and I'd do it well. I owed them that much at least.
I headed back to the breeding barn, where Jimmy and Buck were working with the young bulls. They looked up when I entered, and Jimmy actually smiled.
"That system of yours isn't half bad," he admitted. "Already caught a vitamin deficiency we might have missed otherwise."
"It's only as good as the data you put in," I said, pleased despite myself. "You're the ones who know these animals. The system just helps organize what you know."
I spent the afternoon working beside them, falling into the rhythm of ranch work that my body apparently remembered, even if my mind had tried to forget. The smell of hay and cattle, the sound of hooves on concrete, the particular quality of light filtering through barn slats—it all combined to create a sense of rightness I hadn't felt in years.
By the time the sun started setting, I'd collected fifty more samples, taught two more cowboys the tracking system, and identified three cows with promising genetic markers for the embryo transfer program.
"Not bad for a city girl," Buck said as we finished up, and there was approval in his voice now.
"Like I said, I haven't forgotten everything."
I was packing up my equipment when footsteps made me look up. For a moment, my heart jumped, thinking it might be Wyatt. But it was Hunter, covered in grease from whatever he'd been working on in the equipment barn.
"Heard you've been making friends," he said, his quiet voice warm.
"Just doing my job."
"No, you're doing more than that. You're showing respect for their knowledge, not coming in like you know everything. That matters here."
"I learned from the best," I said, thinking of Owen's leadership style, how he'd always valued every person on the ranch.
