"GO!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed my suitcase from behind the barn, the tarp catching on the handle, tearing as I yanked it free. Behind me, I could hear them fighting—my mother's screams turning from fear to rage, his curses, more breaking glass. Part of me wanted to go back, to help her, to save her the way she was trying to save me.
But I was my father's daughter in at least one way—I knew how to save myself first.
I'm sorry, Mama, I thought, but I kept running.
The bus station was on the edge of town, all cracked concrete and flickering fluorescent lights. I bought my ticket with crumpled bills I'd been saving for two years, hidden in a tampon box because Daddy would never look there. The clerk barely glanced at me, just took my money, and slid the ticket across the scratched plexiglass window. One way to Austin. No return trip planned.
The bathroom was a horror of graffiti and questionable stains, but it had a mirror and a lock that mostly worked. I assessed the damage under the harsh light—split lip already swelling, blood drying rusty on my chin, the beginning of a spectacular bruise along my jaw. My ribs screamed with every breath. Hair a tangled mess with some strands missing where he'd pulled. I looked exactly like what I was—a girl running from something. Running to something. Just running.
I cleaned up as best I could with rough paper towels and cold water that smelled like sulfur, then sat on a bench to wait. 4:47 a.m. seemed like a lifetime away. Every set of headlights made me tense—could be Daddy, could be the sheriff, could be Wyatt. Anyone who might try to stop me or save me or make me stay.
But the hours crawled by, and no one came.
When the bus finally arrived at 4:47, exactly on time, I climbed aboard without looking back. The steps were steep, and my ribsprotested every movement. The seats were worn polyester patched with duct tape, and they smelled like a thousand previous journeys. I found a seat in the rear, as far from the driver and other passengers as possible.
I pressed my face to the window as Copper Creek disappeared into the darkness behind us. Somewhere behind me, Wyatt was sleeping in his truck by the creek, trusting I'd be there when he woke. Somewhere, Liam was lying awake, keeping my secret. Somewhere, my mother was nursing her own bruises, paying the price for my freedom.
The sun was rising as we crossed the county line, painting the sky the color of fresh blood and old promises. I touched my throat where the horseshoe necklace should have been, feeling its absence like a phantom limb.
"Forever," I whispered to the window, to the passing fields, to the boy I'd left sleeping by the water.
But some forevers, I was learning, ended before they even began.
Chapter 1
Ivy - Present Day
The boardroom smelled like money and stale ambition—two things I'd stopped caring about a long time ago.
I sat three seats down from the head of the mahogany conference table at Summit Range Livestock Consulting, close enough to matter but far enough to avoid the direct line of fire when Douglas Lancaster III got worked up about quarterly projections. The streets of Dallas sprawled forty-two stories below. Up here, in the climate-controlled perfection of our corporate offices, the June heat couldn't touch us. We were insulated from everything real—weather, dirt, the honest sweat of actual ranch work.
I'd traded all of that for this. Some days, I could almost convince myself it had been worth it.
"Garrison." Doug's voice cut through my wandering thoughts like a whip. "You still with us?"
I straightened, fingers finding the smooth edge of my leather portfolio. "Yes, sir. Just reviewing the Henderson quarterly reports."
"Good. Because you're going to need your full attention for this next announcement." He stood, all six-foot-four of him radiating the kind of confidence that came from three generations of Dallas money and a Harvard MBA. His suit probably cost more than most ranch hands made in a month. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm pleased to announce we've just landed the contract we've all been chasing."
He clicked to the next slide on his presentation, and my heart stopped.
The Blackwood Ranch logo filled the screen—a stylized B with longhorns curved around it—as familiar to me as my own signature.
"Blackwood Ranch," Doug continued, his chest puffing with pride like a rooster in a henhouse. "The most prestigious cattle operation in East Texas. Hell, probably in all of Texas."
My pulse skipped, then hammered against my ribs so hard I was sure Jennifer sitting next to me could hear it. I kept my face carefully neutral, the mask I'd perfected over fourteen years of running from my past. But inside, everything was crumbling.
Blackwood.
"This is huge," Jennifer whispered, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her tablet. "They haven't worked with outside consultants in twenty years. Their breeding program is legendary. How did Doug even manage?—"
"The owner called personally," Doug announced, and I had to grip my pen to keep my hand from shaking. "Owen Blackwood wants a complete overhaul of their breeding program. He wants modern embryo transfer protocols, upgraded genetic mapping, taking their operation into the twenty-first century. They're looking to expand their influence beyond Texas, potentially international markets."
Owen. I could still see the way he'd looked fourteen years ago—weathered hands gentle as he'd taught me to rope, voice patient as he'd explained bloodlines and breeding strategies. He'd treated me like family even before Wyatt and I... before everything.
"This could be worth millions in long-term contracts," Doug continued, his excitement filling the room like expensive cologne. "Not just from Blackwood, but from every ranch that follows their lead. And they will follow—when Blackwood moves, the entire industry pays attention."
