Another buzz.
Hello? Earth to Ivy?
I huffed out a humorless laugh. The timing was cosmic. Less than twelve hours after letting Wyatt Blackwood push me up against a barn wall, my ex was texting like we were still scheduling dinner reservations.
Guilt twisted in my stomach, sharp but fleeting. I hadn’t thought about Mark once since I left him in my apartment. Not once. And now, looking at his name on my phone, all I could feel was… nothing.
No spark. No ache. Just distance.
I should respond. Something polite, detached. Maybe remind him thatwe broke up, remember?But the words wouldn’t come.
Because I wasn’t the woman who’d left Dallas anymore—pressed, polished, perfectly in control. That version of me wouldn’t recognize the woman standing here now, heart still bruised from last night’s storm and the taste of Wyatt’s mouth haunting every breath.
Instead, I turned the phone face down and went back to my samples.
By lunch, I'd analyzed genetic markers for thirty head of cattle and identified three potential champion bloodlines. I'd also successfully avoided anywhere Wyatt might be, timing my movements around his schedule like we were opposing magnets.
"You can't hide in here forever," Maggie said from the doorway, making me jump and nearly drop a vial of very expensive hormone solution.
"I'm not hiding. I'm working."
"Uh-huh." She came closer and perched on the edge of my makeshift desk. "Is that why you've been in here for four hours straight without a break?"
"The program needs?—"
"The program needs you not to have a breakdown in the middle of our breeding barn." Her voice was gentle but firm. "Mom sent lunch."
She produced a basket that smelled like fried chicken and heaven. My stomach growled, betraying me.
"Come on," Maggie said. "We'll eat on the porch. Like old times."
Except old times hadn't included this awkwardness between us, this careful distance where easy friendship used to be. But I followed her anyway, because Louisa's fried chicken could probably broker world peace if given the chance.
We settled on the main house's porch, the basket between us revealing not just chicken but potato salad, coleslaw, and what looked like apple pie.
"Your mom still cooks like she's feeding an army," I said.
"Some habits die hard." Maggie handed me a plate. "So. Want to talk about whatever has you hiding in the lab like a teenager avoiding her parents?"
"Nothing to talk about."
"Right. And Wyatt storming around like a bear with a sore paw all morning is also nothing."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "I don't know what you mean."
“What she’s trying to say is, are you two fightin' or flirtin'?" Louisa's voice came from behind us, making me nearly choke on my sweet tea. She settled into the rocking chair beside us with her own plate, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hard to tell with you two. Always was."
"We're not—" I started. "Neither," I said firmly. "We're maintaining a professional relationship.”
Louisa and Maggie exchanged a look that said they weren't buying it for a second.
"Professional," Louisa repeated, drawing out the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what we're calling hickeys now?"
I slapped a hand over my neck, mortified, while they giggled. But before I could respond, a commotion from the north paddockcaught our attention. Dust was rising in clouds, and I could hear whooping and hollering.
"Oh!" Maggie sat up straighter, grinning. "It's breaking day. They're bringing in the wild horses."
"Breaking day?" I echoed, though I remembered now. Once a season, they brought in the half-wild horses from the far pastures—young ones that needed training, older ones that needed refreshing.
