Page 53 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

I blink. “That’s offensively perceptive.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Feed people long enough, you learn how they wear their feelings.”

“I don’t wear my feelings.”

He finally looks at me then, one quick sideways glance that says he knows exactly how false that is. “Sure you don’t.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

Because he’s right, unfortunately.

I’m not some open book wandering around announcing my inner life to strangers. But Duke sees things. Small things.

The shift of my shoulders. The way I tap my thumb against whatever’s in my hand when I’m thinking too hard. The way my mouth tightens before I say I’m fine when I absolutely am not.

It’s rude.

“And before you ask,” he adds, “you look good.”

I freeze.

He keeps driving like he didn’t just drop that into the truck between us like a lit match.

I look down at myself, because apparently I’ve forgotten what clothes are. Black jeans. Boots. Thin black sweater tucked into the waistband. Silver hoops in my ears and a couple more up the cartilage.

Blue hair half up, half down because I’d tried twice to get it into a bun and hated both attempts on sight. Mascara. Lip balm. The usual armor, just with better lighting.

“That wasn’t a thing I was going to ask,” I say after a second.

“No?”

“No.”

“Huh.” His mouth curves. “Felt like you were thinking it.”

“I was thinking about whether potluck attendance counts as a form of public risk.”

“That too.”

Hopeless.

Absolutely hopeless.

The church hall sits just off Main Street, a white painted building with a pitched roof and a parking lot already half full of trucks, SUVs, and at least one battered sedan that looks like it has survived several decades and one minor war.

Warm light beams through the windows. Even from outside, I can see movement inside. People. Tables. A lot of people.

Oh no.

“Duke.”

“You’re fine.”

“Have you considered that you say that in exactly the tone people use before releasing a horse into a parade route?”

He comes around to my side before I can juggle the pie and my dignity at the same time. Opens the door. Holds out a hand.

I look at it.