Ivy
Three days had passed since the fence incident. Three days of carefully orchestrated avoidance, working opposite shifts, eating meals at different times. My hand throbbed under the neat row of stitches Doc Hartley had put in, a constant reminder of how spectacularly Wyatt and I had imploded.
I'd told him I hated him. He'd called me a coward. We'd both drawn blood—mine literal, his metaphorical—and now we moved around each other like wounded animals, all teeth and careful distance.
Which is why I jumped at Louisa's invitation to lunch in town. Anything to get away from the ranch, from the suffocating tension, from the way my chest ached every time I caught a glimpse of his truck.
Rosie's Café sat on Main Street between the hardware store and the new boutique that sold overpriced candles to city people passing through. It hadn't existed when I'd lived here—Louisa said it opened five years ago when Rosie Martinez moved back from Houston with culinary school credentials and a determination to prove small towns deserved good food too.
The interior was all brightness and warmth—yellow walls covered with local art, mismatched vintage tables and chairs that somehow worked together, windows that let in streams of afternoon sunlight. It smelled like fresh bread and possibility, and for the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe.
"You look better," Louisa said after we'd ordered—a chopped salad for me, the daily special for her. "Less like you want to murder someone."
"I don't want to murder anyone," I lied, fiddling with my water glass.
"Mmm-hmm." She studied me with those knowing mother eyes that missed nothing. "That why you've been avoiding my son like he's got the plague?"
"We're both busy with work."
"Honey, I've raised seven kids. I know conflict avoidance when I see it." She reached across the table, her weathered hand covering mine. "You two have another fight?"
"Something like that."
"About?"
I pulled my hand back, gesturing at the bandage. "Fence wire and stubbornness, mostly."
She gave me a knowing look over the rim of her glass. “And fourteen years of unfinished business, I imagine."
Our food arrived, saving me from responding. Rosie herself brought it out—a woman in her forties with silver streaking through black hair and a smile that made you want to tell her your secrets.
"Louisa Blackwood," she said warmly, "telling everyone in town about my restaurant again?"
"Only the ones I like," Louisa replied. "Rosie, this is Ivy Garrison. She's helping with our breeding program."
Rosie's eyes lit with recognition. "The consultant from Dallas! I've heard about you. Welcome back to Copper Creek."
"Thank you," I managed, uncomfortable with how much everyone seemed to know about me.
After Rosie left, we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The salad was perfect—fresh greens, candied pecans, goat cheese, and a vinaigrette that tasted like summer. Through the window, I could see Copper Creek going about its business—ranchers in for supplies, mothers with toddlers heading to the park, teenagers loitering outside the ice cream shop that had been there since the fifties.
"You know," Louisa said, cutting into her chicken-fried steak with surgical precision, "this ranch has weathered a lot over the years. Droughts, floods, market crashes, family tragedies."
"I remember some of them."
"But it survives. Thrives, even. You know why?"
I shook my head.
"Because we understand that sometimes things have to break before they can heal properly. Like a bone that's been set wrong—sometimes you have to re-break it to fix it."
"That sounds painful."
"It is. But the alternative is living with the dysfunction forever." She took a sip of her sweet tea, eyes never leaving mine. "The ranch feels lighter lately, since you've been back. Like something that's been out of alignment is finally shifting back into place."
"Louisa—"
"I'm not saying it's easy. Lord knows, watching you and Wyatt circle each other like wounded wolves is about as painful as anything I've witnessed. But there's something happening here. Something that needed to happen."
