Liam looked at her with that expression I'd come to recognize—exasperated and completely in love. "You've already decided, haven't you?"
"Obviously." Stephanie leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Pack a bag, baby. We're going to find Maggie’s man."
"Okay," I said, and my voice was steadier than I expected. "Let's do this."
We spent the next hour planning.
Liam pulled up maps on his laptop, tracing potential routes north from Texas. Montana was a big state, but Jack's family land gave us a starting point. He made phone calls while Stephanie and I listened, his Ranger credentials opening doors that would have stayed closed for anyone else.
"Got a hit," he said after the third call. "Feed store in Amarillo remembers a guy matching Jack's description. Came through yesterday morning, paid cash for dog food. Heading north on 87."
"That's him." My heart lurched. Yesterday morning. He'd been in Amarillo while I was snapping at volunteers and falling apart in the office. "He's not that far ahead."
"A day, maybe less if he's stopping to work." Liam traced the route on his screen. "If he's heading for Montana, he'll probably take 87 through New Mexico, then cut up through Colorado. Lots of ranches along the way that might hire day labor."
"He'll work," I said with certainty. "He can't not work. It's who he is."
"That's good for us." Liam nodded. "Means he'll leave a trail. Someone will remember him."
He made two more calls—one to a buddy who worked for the Colorado State Patrol, another to a veteran's outreach organization that kept track of former Rangers. Both conversations were short, professional. By the time he hung up, Liam had three more leads: a ranch outside of Raton, New Mexico, that was known for hiring drifters; a truck stop in southern Colorado where veterans often passed through; and a contact in Montana who knew the area where Jack's family had owned land.
Stephanie handled logistics while Liam worked the phones. Route options, places to stay, snacks to pack. She moved through the planning with the same cheerful efficiency she brought to everything, making lists on her phone and texting someone—probably Ivy or my mother—to let them know what was happening.
"I'm telling them we're going on a girls' trip with Liam as our security detail," she said, grinning at my expression. "What? It's not a lie."
"The family will worry."
"The family will understand." Stephanie reached over and squeezed my hand. "Your mom already knows, I'm guessing. And the rest of them—Wyatt, Hunter, your dad—they'll hold down the ranch. That's what they do."
"Your family can handle a few days without you," she added. "This is more important."
By the time I left Liam's place, the plan was in motion.
We'd head out tomorrow morning—early, before sunrise. Liam would drive and work the phones. Stephanie would navigate and handle the human side of things—talking to locals, charming information out of gas station attendants and diner waitresses. And I would... be there. Ready to face Jack when we found him. Ready to say everything I should have said.
If we found him.
No. When.
I drove back to my cabin in the dark, the note still folded in my pocket. I'd read it so many times today that the creases were wearing thin, the paper soft from handling. But I didn't need to read it again. I had every word memorized.
I didn't go inside.
Instead, I sat on the porch steps, looking out at the ranch spread beneath the stars. The land I loved, the home I'd spent my whole life protecting. The horses were shadows in the far paddock. The barn was a hulking silhouette against the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote called to its pack.
This was Blackwood land. My birthright.
But it wasn't enough anymore.
I wanted more now. I wanted a partner to build something with. I wanted morning coffee I didn't have to make myself. I wanted arguments that ended in laughter. I wanted someone who knew all my sharp edges and loved me for them instead of despite them.
But it wasn't just about what I wanted to take anymore. It was about what I wanted to give.
I wanted to be the person he came home to. The one who noticed when the quiet got too heavy and knew how to sit with him in it. I wanted to learn the landscape of his grief and walk it beside him—not to fix it, but just to be there. I wanted to make him laugh, really laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look younger. I wanted to build him up the way he'd built me up. To see him the way he saw me—all of him, the broken parts and the strong parts and everything in between—and make damn sure he knew he was worth choosing.
I wanted to be his safe place. His soft landing. His home.
I wanted to come all the way.
