Page 89 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Same name, same formatting, even the billing code looks familiar.

A weird little pulse starts behind my ribs.

No.

No, maybe that’s good.

Maybe that’s all this is.

Maybe Barrow Agricultural Consulting is a real company that handles logistics or event planning or supply chain review or some other aggressively dull service people with money like to outsource so they can feel efficient.

Maybe seeing it here means the Ironwood charges are legitimate after all and I’ve been building ghosts out of columns and bad instincts.

Maybe.

But my gut goes still in the worst way.

“You okay?” Sammy snaps me back.

I look up too fast. “What?”

“You made a weird face.”

“A… face?”

He shrugs. “I ran this rodeo for twenty-three years. I know an accountant’s expression when she wants to kill a number.”

I huff out a breath and tap the invoice. “This company, Barrow Agricultural Consulting. What do they do for the rodeo?”

Sammy leans over, reading. Then he shrugs again. “Paperwork support, I think. Vendor coordination, maybe. Don’t quote me. That one came in through a recommendation.”

“From who?”

He flips back through his clipboard, muttering to himself. “Town committee… sponsorship review… no… here.” His finger lands on a note. “Tessa Grange flagged them as useful for event contract oversight couple seasons back. Said they’d streamline things.”

Tessa. The attorney. The same woman Silas met with over contract irregularities.

It could still mean nothing.

Small towns recycle professionals like gossip and casserole dishes. One attorney recommending one consulting company to multiple local operations isn’t exactly criminal mastermind territory.

But it sits wrong, and I don’t know why.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cody

I wait until after dinner.

During the day, the office is too exposed. Staff moving in and out. Phones. Deliveries. Sherry appearing in doorways with questions that should’ve been emails if this place functioned as a proper business instead of a legacy operation held together by routine and reputation.

At night, the ranch narrows.

Noise reduces, movement becomes trackable, interruptions become identifiable.

Which means if I’m going to let Annie Wright see this part of me, I need it contained.

I find her where I expected to: at her desk, still working.