Across the group, I caught my mother's eye. She was watching me with that quiet, assessing look that had been seeingthrough my bullshit since I was old enough to have bullshit to see through. Her gaze flicked from me to Jack, then back to me, and something shifted in her expression.
She knew.
No. She couldn't know. There was no way she could’ve known. I was being paranoid. I was projecting. I was losing my entire goddamn mind in the middle of a family gathering.
I looked away before she could read anything else in my face.
"Jack's going to be helping out with the horse operation," Daddy said, apparently determined to make this as painful as possible. "Figured Maggie could show him around, get him oriented. She knows that side of things better than anyone."
No. Absolutely not. Hard pass. I’d rather cut my hand off.
"Of course," I heard myself say instead, because what else could I say?Sorry, I can't show the new hire around because I fucked him in a motel room you paid for last week, and now I can't look at him without remembering exactly how good he is with his hands?
Yeah. That would go over great.
"Happy to help," I added, and the words tasted like dirt.
Jack nodded, still infuriatingly calm. "Appreciate it."
His voice. God, his voice. Low and unhurried, just like it had been when he'd asked me what I wanted in that dim motel room. Just like it had been when he'd told me to let go.
I needed air.
I needed space.
I needed approximately ten years of therapy and possibly a lobotomy.
"I'll catch up with you after the main events," I said, already stepping back. "Got a few things to handle first."
"Take your time."
He smiled—small, polite, nothing like the secret smiles he'd given me at the bar—and somehow that made it worse.Because it meant he was playing this perfectly. Acting like we were strangers. Giving me exactly what I should want, which was discretion and professionalism and no hint of what had happened between us.
I hated him for it. But I hated myself more for wanting him to look at me the way he had that night.
I turned and walked away before my face could betray anything else.
I made it approximately thirty feet before Ivy materialized at my side. "So," she said, in a deceptively casual tone. "The new ranch hand."
My head whipped towards her. "What about him?"
Her eyes lit up with amusement. “Nothing. Just... observing."
My chest tightened, my mind scrambling to come up with something to say to get her off my back. “Well, observe somewhere else."
"Maggie." Ivy caught my arm, pulling me to a stop. Her eyes were sharp, concerned, too knowing. "What's going on? You went white as a sheet back there."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. Tell me what’s going on.”
"I'm just tired. It's been a long day."
Her frown deepened. "It's barely noon."
"Long morning. Long week. Long month. Take your pick.” I pulled my arm free gently. "I'm fine, Ivy. Really. Just need some coffee and fewer people asking me if I'm okay."
She didn't look convinced, but she let it go—for now. "Okay. But if you need to talk..."
