"Ma'am." Clay snorted. "Listen to that. What's your secret, Remington? I've been trying to get Momma to like me for thirty-one years."
"Maybe try showing up on time instead of twenty minutes late with hay in your hair," Momma said mildly.
"That wasone time?—"
"It was last Sunday,” Liam pointed out.
The table erupted. Clay protesting, Sophia laughing, Ivy pointing out that Clay also had hay in his hair right now, which sent him into a frantic head-check while Hunter watched with the quiet amusement of a man who'd learned years ago that the best seat at a Blackwood dinner was the one where you just observed.
I smiled despite myself. This was what I loved about these dinners—the noise, the chaos, the way everyone talked over each other and gave each other grief and loved each other through all of it.
But I was watching from the outside again. Even sitting in the middle.
"So you've worked a few different operations," Wyatt said, steering the conversation back to ranch talk. "Cattle, horses, fencing, equipment?—"
"Whatever needs doing," Jack agreed. "That's the job."
"True enough." Wyatt leaned back in his chair. "Though Dad says you've got a real gift with the horses. That filly—Dancer—she's been a handful for months. You've got her following you around the paddock in ten days."
"She's got good instincts. She just needed someone to be patient enough to let her use them."
"Patience." Ivy smiled at her husband. "See? The man understands patience."
"I have patience," Wyatt said with a hint of frown just for Ivy.
"You have many wonderful qualities, baby. Patience isn't one of them."
They smiled at each other—that private smile couples had, the one that held a whole history. My chest tightened.
"Maggie runs a tight operation," Wyatt said, turning back to Jack. "If she says you're doing good work, that's high praise."
"I aim to earn it."
His eyes flicked to me. Just for a second. Our gazes caught and held—barely a beat, nothing anyone would notice—and then he looked away, turning his attention back to Daddy's question about cattle futures.
He gave nothing away. Not a flicker. Not a trace.
Which was exactly what I'd asked for.
So why did it feel like I was suffocating?
"Maggie." Hunter's voice, low and quiet beside me. "You're staring."
I jerked my attention back to my plate. "I'm not staring. I'm observing."
“Well, you've beenobservingthe same man for twenty minutes."
“Shut up!” I hissed under my breath.
Hunter made a sound that might have been a laugh, if Hunter ever actually laughed. "Okay." A long pull from his beer. "Just be careful, Mags."
My eyes narrowed at him. Did he know something I didn’t? "Careful of what?"
He didn't answer. Didn't have to. His silence said plenty—and from Hunter, silence was the loudest thing he had.
After dinner, Momma directed cleanup with the same authority she'd directed setup.
"Hunter and Clay, you're on dish duty. Stephanie and Liam, you're drying. And if I find a single plate in the wrong cabinet, you're both on breakfast duty for a month."
