Page 72 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Annie eats fast. Cody barely tastes anything. Silas is distracted by the schedule and whatever new irritation Jake left in his path.

Sherry, poor woman, keeps trying to inject normal into the room and getting about as much traction as a deer on ice.

And underneath all of it, there’s this strange little current between Annie and Cody that would probably be invisible to anyone who doesn’t know exactly how both of them move.

I know.

That’s the problem.

Annie, who usually looks right at Cody when she’s needling him, barely meets his eyes.

Cody, who handles discomfort by turning into an expensive filing cabinet, keeps going too still every time she says anything at all.

I don’t like it.

Which is inconvenient, because I don’t exactly have a right to not like it.

I’m the one who got warned off.

Silas made that crystal clear after Annie spent the night in my room. Employees are off limits. Reputation matters. Complications spread.

The whole Harlan family cautionary sermon, just with more jaw tension and fewer direct mentions of our aunt.

And I listened.

Mostly.

I backed off. I gave Annie space. I stopped brushing too close in the kitchen and let breakfast become breakfast again instead of a game we were both trying too hard not to play.

Okay, so we went to the potluck, but we were clearly there as friends.

I did the smart thing, which is rare enough around here that I expected at least one medal and maybe pie.

What I didn’t expect was to sit at my own kitchen table and watch my brother go strange around the woman I still very much like.

That’s not a fun feeling.

It’s low and hot and stupid under the ribs.

Jealousy.

I hate it immediately.

By the time breakfast breaks, Annie’s up first, mug in hand. “I’ve got some things to go over.”

Annie slips out.

Cody stands at the same time in one smooth motion, collecting his mug and ledger, starring in a public service announcement about men who absolutely aren’t following women into hallways.

He stops. Just for a breath.

Long enough that I know he had to.

Then he turns the other way and heads for his office.

Silas either notices nothing or everything and says, “Feed delivery’s at ten. Jake has the revised list.”

“I heard him the first three times he said it yesterday,” I reply.