Page 6 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

I hold the cup out. “Here.”

She takes it and sips carefully, thumb drumming against the strap of her camera. Counting. Thinking. Processing. Already three steps ahead.

Interesting…

Maybe I need to know more about her.

I step toward the hallway. “So… what brings you to Colter Creek?”

“Well… the job.” She cocks a knowing brow. “I like temporary ranch work. It allows me to keep moving.”

“I see.”

I don’t see. Not really. I need stability. I can’t imagine a life without a solid base. But I guess what we need is a free spirit who knows her stuff because once we get Ironwood back on track, Cody can keep on top of things again.

We just need that stability once more.

“Well…” She glugs back the remainder of her coffee. “I need to get started. See you around, yeah?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say.

I watch her go, the soft clack of her boots on the polished floors fading into the buzz of early morning activity.

My jaw tightens. She’s the kind of person who notices everything, anticipates problems before they even surface. That’s useful.

Exactly what we need.

I shake my head and turn back to the day ahead. The ranch doesn’t wait for contemplations. Even if I have a new member of staff to think about.

I step outside, the morning breeze cool against my skin, and take a slow walk along the property lines.

I check fences, gates, and water troughs, making mental notes of what needs attention. The early hours are mine alone. A time when the ranch runs on instinct and muscle rather than conversation.

I walk past the barns, scanning for anything out of place. The smell of fresh hay and pine cleaner mingles with the faint tang of livestock.

It should feel ordinary, but Ironwood never is.

Not really.

A shipment dispute from yesterday nags at the back of my mind. I can’t let it fester. I make a note to cross reference the delivery logs later.

My father’s glove feels right in my hand… worn, familiar, a reminder of the responsibility I’ve inherited.

“Oh dear.” A voice shatters the silence of the morning, letting me know I’m finally not by myself. “Why on earth do you have that look on your face?”

“Benji.” My ranch hand always manages to make me smile. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says, though his eyes flick to the paddocks, noting the fences I’ve already inspected. “Morning chores are almost done, but you looked… intense out here.”

I nod, keeping my tone even. “Just checking everything. Nothing gets past me.”

He grins. “Of course not. But hey, I’ve got the feed trucks coming in today. You ready for another round with Jake?”

I don’t have to answer. He knows the look. The crease of my brow, the tight jaw, the subtle flare of patience wearing thin.

He knows I don’t tolerate incompetence… or excuses. And what has been happening with the shipments recently has been irritating to say the least.

By the time the first truck pulls up, I’ve already coordinated the unloading zones, checked the barn doors, and verified the inventory logs.