She went very still, like she was afraid to breathe and break whatever spell was happening.
"But more than that," Dad continued. "I've been talking to the other ranchers. Chuck Garrett, Sarah Chen, the Hendersons, even old Tom Morrison. They all want access to your expertise. We could make Copper Creek the anchor for a network of genetic excellence across the county. Maybe the state. And you'd head it all."
"I... what?"
"You'd work with us primarily, but consult with the others. Set up breeding protocols, implement new technologies, and train their people. Build something that's never existed here before—a cooperative that raises everyone's success without compromising individual operations."
"That's... that's huge."
"It's what this place needs. What you've already started, whether you realized it or not." Dad leaned forward, his expression serious. "The question is, do you want it? Not because you're stuck here now, not because Dallas closed doors, but because this is where you want to be?"
Ivy sank into Mom's rocking chair, her legs apparently no longer willing to hold her. She looked out over the ranch, the cattle dotting the pastures, the barns she'd helped modernize, the land that rolled toward the horizon like a promise.
"When I came here," she said slowly, "I thought I was just doing a job. Implementing a program. Proving something to Doug, to Mark, to myself, maybe."
"And now?" I prompted when she fell silent.
"Now..." She took a shaky breath. "This place isn't just where I worked. It's where I healed. Where I remembered who I was before I got lost in Dallas ambitions and corporate ladders that never led anywhere I actually wanted to go."
"Is that a yes?" Dad asked.
"It's a..." She stopped, tears starting to fall freely now. "It's a hell yes. It's a 'where do I sign.' It's a 'thank you for seeing something in me I'd forgotten was there.'"
Dad smiled, that rare full smile that transformed his weathered face. "Welcome home, Ivy. Officially this time."
She laughed through her tears, wiping her face with dusty hands that just made things worse. "I must look like a mess."
"You look like you belong," I said, and meant it.
She met my eyes, and something passed between us—not the heat from before, not the anger, not even the tentative friendship we'd been building. Something deeper. Something that felt like the future.
"There's a lot to figure out," she said, practical even through her emotions. "Contracts, structure, how to coordinate between ranches without stepping on territorial toes."
"We'll figure it out," Dad said. "That's what we do here. Face problems head-on, find solutions that work for everyone."
"Together," I added.
"Together," she agreed, and the word felt like a vow.
Dad stood, clapping me on the shoulder as he passed. "I'll let you two talk. Dinner's at six. We're celebrating tonight—Lou's orders."
After he left, Ivy and I sat in comfortable silence. The sun was starting its descent, painting everything gold and amber. The ranch looked like something from a painting—timeless, eternal, home.
"You hit Mark," she said eventually.
"He had it coming."
"You could have been arrested."
"Would have been worth it."
She turned to look at me fully. "Why?"
"You know why."
"I need to hear it."
I stood, moved to lean against the porch rail, where I could see her better. "Because nobody touches you without permission. Nobody threatens you. Nobody makes you feel less than what you are—which is extraordinary."
