Page 101 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“I learned a long time ago,” I say, “that people usually talk faster when they don’t feel hunted.”

That gets a real look from her. Tired, puffy-eyed, still piercing as hell.

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“Absolutely. I’m basically a specialist.”

“In what?”

I lean back a little on the bucket and fold my arms. “Snacks, emotional support, strategic nonsense.”

A broken laugh slips out of her before she can stop it. Then her face crumples again, smaller this time, and she presses her lips together hard.

When she talks again, it comes out so soft I nearly miss it. “My brother called.”

Ah.

Well, that’s not what I expected.

“What happened?” I ask.

She lets out a huffed laugh. “He needs money.”

Oh. Okay, this is family stuff I don’t know if I should be a part of… but she is inviting me in.

“How much?” I ask carefully.

She says the number.

I startle. “Jeez.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s not ‘can you spot me for groceries’ money.”

“I’m aware.”

The dryness in her tone would almost be funny if her eyes weren’t full again.

“What kind of trouble?”

She shakes her head. “He wouldn’t tell me everything.”

My jaw tightens. “That’s irritating.”

“I know.”

“Do you know enough?”

“I know he sounded scared,” she says, and that’s the part that does it. That’s the knife in it. “Really scared.”

Well.

That makes it worse.

She rubs both palms over her jeans. “I said I’d help.”

“Of course you did.”