"I don't know." It was the most honest thing I'd said all morning. "But I think… I think I might be. Eventually."
He nodded, accepting that. Not needing more.
I bent to pick up the crutch—carefully, because my ankle was still furious with me—and when I straightened, Jack was watching me with a small smile.
"What?"
"Nothing." But the smile grew. "Just thinking you're beautiful when you're a mess."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
I didn't. That was the problem.
I turned and started hobbling back toward my cabin. I could feel Jack's eyes on my back—warm, patient. Not pushing. Just there.
Halfway across the yard, I stopped and looked back. He was still standing by the barn, Sully at his side, watching me go.
"Jack."
“Yeah, beautiful?"
"You're still in trouble for talking to my father without warning me."
His smile widened. "Fair enough."
"But…" I hesitated. "Thank you. For yesterday. For… all of it."
"Anytime, Maggie." His voice was soft. Sincere. "Anytime."
I turned and kept walking, and I didn't look back again. But I felt it—the shift between us. There was a door now where there used to be solid stone. And instead of feeling trapped, I felt free.
That night, lying in my cabin with my ankle elevated, I realized I hadn't pushed him away.
Someone had seen the full version of me and hadn't flinched. Had looked me straight in the eye and said I want the weight.
When I finally fell asleep, I didn't dream about tusks or gunfire or the crack of a .357 in a dry creek bed.
I dreamed about light.
17
Jack
The shift in Maggie was subtle—but I felt it immediately.
She was still sharp, still controlled. But the edges were different now. The walls had doors in them, and sometimes she walked through them on purpose.
She looked at me longer without catching herself. Smiled without the automatic shutdown. When I stepped into her space at the barn to check her ankle—still swollen, still bruised, still something she was stubbornly refusing to rest—she didn't flinch or deflect. She just let me look.
"It's fine," she said, while I crouched beside her and examined the purple-green bruising.
"Uh-huh." I rotated her foot gently, watching her face for signs of pain she'd never admit to. "And I'm sure you haven't been walking on it more than you should."
"I have a ranch to run."
I peered up at her. "You have an ankle that needs to heal."
