Page 158 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“I hate all of you,” I say.

Annie’s smile widens. “That’s not a no.”

“It was very clearly a no.”

But I still take the camera from her and hand it to Silas. Then I take her hand.

Duke cheers loudly. Several people nearby turn to look. I ignore them with considerable discipline.

Annie steps closer, eyes bright. “You’re very tense.”

“I’m aware.”

“You can relax.”

“I disagree.”

She laughs, and I move with her because, contrary to her assumptions, I do know how. Not showy, like Duke did. But enough. Controlled steps. Efficient rhythm. One hand at her waist, the other holding hers.

Her brows lift. “Cody Harlan.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“You can dance.”

“I can do many things.”

“That sounded accidentally filthy.”

“It wasn’t accidental.”

Her lips part.

There. Good.

For once, she’s the one without the immediate comeback.

The victory lasts exactly three seconds before she recovers. “I knew there was a menace under all that bookkeeping.”

“You have no idea.”

Her fingers tighten in mine.

The lights catch in her hair, turning the blue almost electric against the lowering sun. There’s dust on her boots, a smudge near her jaw, and a stubborn spark in her eyes that makes every rational part of me consider surrender and call it strategy.

The song changes into a faster tune. Duke whoops.

Someone pulls Silas into the edge of the dance floor, which should be impossible, but apparently Annie laughing at him makes him comply with things no sane man would attempt.

The day becomes noise.

A party spilling over itself with no plan or permission.

Annie dances with Duke until she’s breathless. Then with Silas, who holds her as if every person watching can go to hell if they have an opinion.

Then, somehow, with Dakota, because Dakota drags her in, laughing, while Sawyer claps along and Clint looks at them both with a grin.

I stand at the edge for a while, pretending I’m there because observation is useful.