Tonight, I had a creek edge to walk with Hunter and trail cameras to mount before dark. I whistled for Sully and headed for the equipment shed.
Work to do.
14
Maggie
The morning came early and cold.
I was up before the alarm, moving through my cabin in the dark, pulling on layers I hoped would be enough. Late autumn in Texas could fool you—warm sun by noon, but those pre-dawn hours carried a bite.
By the time I reached the main barn, I'd already run through my mental checklist twice. Radios charged. First-aid kit restocked—extra wraps, the good hemostatic gauze, not the cheap stuff from the feed store. Water canteens filled. Ammunition counted.
The barn was lit and busy when I walked through the doors. Not tense, exactly—just purposeful.
Clay was leaning against a stall door with his arms crossed, looking like he'd rolled out of bed approximately ninety seconds ago. His hat was on crooked. His shirt was buttoned wrong. He was holding a biscuit in one hand and appeared to be losing a staring contest with one of the barn cats.
"You look terrible," I told him.
"It's four forty-five in the morning, Maggie. Everyone looks terrible at four forty-five in the morning." He took a bite of thebiscuit. "Except you. You look like you've been up since three organizing something."
"Four. And I was organizing the first-aid supplies."
He scoffed once, amused but not surprised. “Of course you were."
Wyatt was near the tack room, checking rifles with the methodical focus that meant he'd been at it for a while. My brother processed worry as preparation—always had, even when we were kids.
Daddy was on his phone near the barn office, voice low. I caught fragments. "…bigger than we thought…" and "…appreciate the heads up, Dale." Comparing notes with the neighbors. The trail cameras had confirmed numbers overnight. He hung up and caught my eye, gave me a nod that said we'll go over it.
Hunter leaned against the far wall near his saddled horse, coffee in hand, expression quiet. He'd walked the creek edge with Jack yesterday evening and come back with nothing to say about it, which meant he'd seen plenty.
And Jack.
Jack was working near the back of the barn, checking his horse's hooves with practiced hands. Sully sat alert at his side, gaze tracking every movement in the barn.
Instead of reassuring me, the sight scraped against something raw. Because I couldn't look at Jack without my body remembering things it had no business remembering before sunrise. The way his hands felt sliding down my waist. The sound of my name in his mouth.
I didn't look at him longer than necessary. Today wasn't about whatever lived between us after dark. Today was about the ranch.
I busied myself with the saddlebags, rechecking supplies I'd already checked twice.
Get it together, Blackwood. You've got bigger problems than a man who makes you stupid.
"Coffee?" Momma appeared beside me with two thermoses and a cloth bag that smelled like fresh biscuits. Because of course she did.
“Thanks, Momma." I took the thermos. The metal was warm against my cold hands.
She didn't leave. She stood close enough that I could smell her perfume—vanilla and something floral, the same scent my entire life.
"You sure about riding out?"
I looked at her—really looked—and saw what she was actually asking.
"I'm sure," I said.
She nodded. Her gaze flicked once toward Jack. Then back to me.
I exhaled and nodded back.
