And that was the problem.
It wasn’t fair—to him or to me. He deserved someone who lit up when his name hit their phone, not someone who kept pretending she could fall for the idea of him.
I set the phone down and stared at it like it might give me the courage to end things before they turned into another lie. Because if there was one thing I’d learned, it was that love shouldn’t feel like obligation dressed up as comfort.
The only time I’d ever meant those words—truly meant them—I’d been eighteen, with Texas stars as my witnesses and creek water singing backup to my promises.
My desk phone rang, jarring me from the memory. The caller ID showed a 903 area code—East Texas. My hand hesitated over the receiver. It could be anyone. It could be a coincidence.
But I already knew who it would be.
"Ivy Garrison," I answered, proud that my voice came out steady and professional.
"Well, hell, honey, you sound all sophisticated and citified."
Owen Blackwood's voice washed over me like a summer thunderstorm—sudden, overwhelming, and carrying the scent of home. That deep Texas drawl that could make discussing cattle prices sound like poetry. The same voice that had taught me to read breeding charts, that had called me "honey" since I was fourteen, that had never held judgment even when I deserved it.
"Mr. Blackwood." My voice came out smaller than I intended.
He laughed, warm and genuine, the sound reaching through the phone line to squeeze my heart. "Now, none of that 'Mr. Blackwood' nonsense, darlin'. You've known me all your life. You call me Owen, same as always."
Same as always. Like I hadn't vanished from his ranch, his town, his son's life without a word of explanation. Like the last time he'd seen me, I hadn't been sneaking away in the dark, leaving devastation in my wake.
"Owen," I managed, the name feeling rusty on my tongue.
"That's better. Doug tells me you're gonna be the one helping us drag Blackwood Ranch into the modern age."
"That's the plan." I forced professional steadiness into my voice. "I've reviewed your current numbers. There's definitely room for improvement in conception rates, and your genetic diversity could use some expansion. I think we can?—"
"Ivy." He interrupted gently. "I didn't call to talk business. We'll have plenty of time for that when you get here."
I waited, my free hand clenched so tight my nails bit into my palm.
"I called because I wanted you to hear it from me first. Louisa's already got the guest cabin all made up for you. New quilts on the bed, fresh flowers on the table. She's practically beside herself knowing you're coming home."
Home. The word lodged in my throat like a stone. The guest cabin—I remembered it. A cozy two-room structure near the main house, close enough to feel like family but private enough for space.
"I appreciate the offer," I said carefully, "but I'll probably stay at the hotel in town?—"
"Nonsense." His voice held that gentle authority that had made him so successful—firm but kind. "You're family, Ivy. Always have been, always will be. Besides, you'll need to be close to the barns for early morning work. No point driving back and forth from town every day. Waste of time and gas."
Family. If only he knew how badly I'd wanted that to be true once upon a time. How many nights I'd dreamed of being a real Blackwood, of having the right to that name and all it meant.
"Now," he continued, either not noticing or politely ignoring my silence, "I want you to know this isn't just about business. Louisa and I... well, we've missed you, honey. The whole family has."
The whole family. My chest tightened as faces flashed through my mind. Clay with his easy laugh and terrible jokes. Maggie, the only person on that ranch who could wrangle her brothers without breaking a sweat. Hunter with his gentle intelligence and way with fixing things. Luke, the baby of the family, probably smarter than all of us combined. And the Walkers. Liam, with his quiet intensity and unexpected wisdom, and Sophia, now a nurse.
And then there was... him.
"We're looking forward to having you home," Owen said softly, and I could hear the genuine affection in his voice, the kind that made me wonder how different my life might have been if I'd been born a Blackwood instead of a Garrison. "However long you've been gone, however far you've traveled, Copper Creek is still part of you. That doesn't change."
My throat grew tight. “Owen?—“
"Monday, then? I'll have one of the boys meet you at the ranch entrance, help you get settled."
One of the boys. My heart hammered against my ribs. Which one? Would it be Clay with his teasing grin? Liam, with his stare that somehow saw everything? Or would it be?—
"That's not necessary?—"
