Page 133 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

She nods because that makes immediate sense.

“Oldest,” she says.

“Oldest,” I agree. “Which meant Vivian started leaning on him way too young and never really stopped. By the time Silas was eighteen, he already acted like the whole ranch lived or died on his shoulders.”

Annie goes very still beside me. “And Cody?”

I smile without humor. “Cody got precision. Schedules, lessons, expectations. He got praised for being exact until exact turned into the only place he knew how to live.”

Her gaze drops to the path. “And you.”

Ah.

Well.

I pop a piece of cinnamon roll into my mouth because chewing buys time and I’d rather not say she made me charming because charm is useful when you need people to stop looking at the cracks.

But Annie’s too smart for me to dodge that cleanly.

“She mostly wanted me pleasant,” I say. “Presentable. Easy. The one who could smooth things over, make guests comfortable, keep the room warm while everybody else handled the serious work.”

Annie looks up. “That’s bullshit.”

I laugh, softer this time. “Yeah, sweetheart. I know.”

“No, I mean…” She gestures with her coffee. “That isn’t softness. That’s labor. She made you into social glue and called it a personality.”

I stare at her. Then laugh again, because holy hell.

“There you are,” I say.

“What?”

“The part where you get mad on my behalf and accidentally say the smartest thing anybody’s said all week.”

A flush rises under her freckles, but she doesn’t look away. “I just mean… that’s ugly.”

“It was.” I shrug. “Still is sometimes. Ironwood’s gotten better now that we’re older. More ours than hers. But she still walks in and tries to stand her ground.”

Annie takes a sip of coffee and stares out toward the creek. “She told me I was temporary. Like it was an awful thing. Like I don’t belong.”

My face goes tight before I can help it. “She’s wrong.”

Annie laughs once, brittle and tired. “She’s not wrong that I’m temporary.”

“That’s not the part I meant.”

We walk a few more steps in silence.

The creek moves beside us over rocks. Somewhere back toward town, a truck door slams. The night is cold water, full of pine and cinnamon sugar from the bag I’m still carrying.

“I’m scared,” Annie says suddenly.

The honesty in it hits me harder than almost anything else could have.

I don’t rush to fill the space. “Yeah?”

She nods, eyes on the dark ribbon of water. “Of the money trail. Of what happens if we’re right. Of how much bigger this is starting to feel.” She wraps both hands around her cup. “Of whoever took my card, whoever’s been on the property, whoever keeps getting close enough to touch things and then step back before anyone can catch them.”