He didn't interrupt. Didn't smile. Just watched me with that calm, infuriating focus, like he was taking my measure and finding it... interesting.
"Understood," he said.
That was it. No challenge. No flirtation. No crack in the armor.
Which, for reasons I deeply resented, made my skin feel like it was sizzling.
I tightened my grip on the clipboard and reminded myself that this was a workday, not a replay. His attention lowered to where my knuckles had whitened before meeting my stare again as if I were any other person.
God help me, I had the distinct feeling he knew exactly what he was doing.
"We'll start with the main paddocks, then move to the training facilities, then discuss the breeding program—such as it is."
"Sounds good."
"Any questions?"
He studied me for a moment, that steady gaze seeing way too much for my comfort. "Just one."
“What?" I replied too urgently, already more on edge from this brief interaction than I’d been in months. There was no telling what he could ask. Anything from ‘when’s lunch?’ to ‘do you miss the way my mouth feels between your legs?’
"Did you sleep okay?"
The question caught me so off-guard that I actually sputtered. "I— what— that's not?—"
"You look tired." His voice was mild. Genuinely concerned. Like he wasn't fully aware that he was the reason I'd spent half the night staring at my ceiling and the other half having dreams I was absolutely not going to think about. "Long day yesterday. Rodeos take it out of you."
I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he messing with me? Testing me? Or was he really just asking a normal, human question about my sleep patterns?
With Jack, I genuinely couldn't tell.
"I slept fine," I said shortly. "Let's get started."
The tour began well enough.
I started with the big picture—because that's how I think, how I've always thought. Blackwood Ranch isn't just horses or just cattle. It's a living organism, and I'm the one who keeps all the pieces moving.
"I run operations for the entire ranch," I explained as we walked. "Cattle, horses, expansion projects, logistics, staffing—all of it flows through me. Wyatt's the ranch manager, handles the big-picture strategy with our dad, but the day-to-day? That's mine."
Jack nodded, taking this in. "That's a lot of ground to cover."
"I like it that way. Keeps me busy." Keeps me indispensable, I didn't say. Keeps me too needed to be ignored.
We started with the cattle operation because that's where the money was—Ivy's breeding program, the expansion plans, the infrastructure that was eating most of our budget. I walked him through the numbers, the timelines, the contractors I was juggling. Jack asked smart questions about herd management and grazing rotation, proving he wasn't just a horse guy.
Then we moved to the horses.
This was smaller, more modest—twelve working horses, four broodmares, a handful of yearlings in various stages of training. But as I explained our current stock, my voice softened, became more animated. This was the part of the operation that was mine in a different way. Not just managed, but loved.
Jack noticed. Of course he did.
"This is where your heart is," he said. Not a question.
I didn't answer. Didn't have to.
"The bay mare in the far paddock," he said as we walked the fence line. "She's favoring her left foreleg slightly. Old injury?"
I blinked. "How did you—" I'd been watching that mare for three days, trying to decide if the slight hitch in her gaitwarranted a vet call. It was subtle enough that most people missed it entirely. "Yes. Tendon issue from two years ago. It flares up sometimes."
