Like I'd been watching poetry unfold, one slow, steady movement at a time—and hadn't realized I was holding my breath until it was already gone.
"Maggie. Got a minute?"
I turned to find my brother striding across the yard, his expression set in that particular way that meant Business Discussion incoming. Which was Wyatt-speak for "I have concerns about something you're already handling."
"Sure," I said, pasting on a neutral expression. "What's up?"
"The north pasture clearing." Wyatt stopped beside me, arms crossed, not looking at Jack in a way that was very deliberately not looking at Jack. "We're behind schedule."
"I know. I'm the one who set the schedule." I kept my voice even. "The equipment rental fell through last week. I've already sourced an alternative and adjusted the timeline."
"The irrigation is slipping."
"By four days. Which I've accounted for in the revised project plan."
"Which means Ivy's cattle expansion?—"
"Is still on track for the spring delivery window." I cut him off before he could finish. "I've been running the numbers, Wyatt. I know exactly where we stand. Did you come out here to check my work, or is there something else?"
"I just want to make sure we're prioritizing correctly," he said carefully.
"I've been prioritizing cattle for two years, Wyatt. I'm the one making the hard calls every single day about where our resources go." I could hear my voice rising and forced it back down. "So yes. We're prioritizing correctly."
Wyatt's expression shifted—surprise flickering through the frustration. Like it hadn't occurred to him that I might be tired of having my own decisions questioned.
"I know you are," he said, softer now. "I'm not trying to?—"
"When I mentioned bringing in a stallion," I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started, "you said 'one thing at a time.' That's what you said six months ago. And six months before that. I keep putting horses last because I know cattle have to come first. I'm the one making that call. But every time I try to talk about when it might be the horses' turn?—"
"Mags—"
"You act like I'm asking for something unreasonable instead of just wanting a timeline for my own damn dream."
The words came out sharper than I intended. Wyatt's expression flickered—surprise, then something that lookedalmost like guilt. Like he was seeing, maybe for the first time, how much I'd been carrying while he focused on the big picture.
"Mags... I didn't realize?—"
"Forget it." I held up a hand before he could finish whatever apology he was constructing. I didn't want an apology. I wanted a seat at the table when decisions got made, not just the job of implementing them. "You're not wrong that cattle comes first. I'm the one who made that call. I just—" I stopped, shook my head. "Never mind. We're done here."
Wyatt stood there for a long moment. I could feel him wanting to push, to fix, to make this better somehow. That was his way—bulldoze through problems until they stopped being problems.
But some problems couldn't be bulldozed. Some problems were about being seen, and valued, and trusted with more than just the execution.
"We'll talk later," he said finally, and walked away.
I stood at the fence and watched him go, gripping the wooden rail so hard my knuckles had gone white. My hands were trembling like leaves and my chest was tight. I wanted to break something or cry or both.
"The filly's doing better."
Jack's voice, quiet and close. I hadn't heard him approach. He was standing a few feet away, giving me space, not looking at me directly. Giving me the dignity of pretending he hadn't just witnessed my brother shut me down.
"Good," I managed. "That's good."
"You want to take a break? I can handle the rest of the morning if you?—"
"I'm fine." The words came out too sharp. I forced myself to loosen my grip on the fence and straighten my shoulders. "I'm fine. Let's keep moving."
Jack studied me for a moment. I braced for questions, for sympathy, for the kind of well-meaning concern that would shatter whatever composure I was barely holding together.
