Page 17 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“Welcome to ranch accounting.”

“No, this is extra vague.”

That gets a little laugh out of her, but she shakes her head. “Sorry. I really don’t know anything about that one.”

I nod, though her expression nags at me.

It’s genuine uncertainty layered over the fact that Ironwood’s systems are split across too many people for anyone but Cody and maybe Silas to see the full picture all at once.

Which is how things slip.

Which is how people steal.

Which is how you end up hiring an outsider with a caffeine problem and trust issues.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Anytime.” She hesitates. “Everything okay?”

“Probably.”

That answer satisfies neither of us.

Still, she returns to her desk and I go back to the records.

By late afternoon, I’ve found six consulting charges across three months, all tied to the same vendor family. All annoyingly neat, all just small enough to be waved off as operational overhead if no one’s paying attention.

I print them, highlight them, and make a note to cross check against contract dates and shipment cycles tomorrow.

Then I tuck the pages into a folder I label REVIEW in block letters because subtlety is for people who don’t expect madness.

When I finally look up, my neck aches and the office light has shifted gold.

The day has stilled around me in that strange Ironwood way, where work doesn’t stop so much as streamline itself into softer motion.

I should call it.

Instead, I stare at the screen until the numbers blur.

This is the problem with noticing things.

Once you start, it’s hard to stop.

By evening, I need air so badly it feels medical.

I grab my camera and slip out through the side door before anyone can ask if I’m still working, where I’m going, whether I need company, or whatever version of polite surveillance this ranch has mistaken for care.

The paddocks shine under the last stretch of daylight, everything brushed with that soft gold hour light photographers are legally obligated to get emotional about.

The world is cooler now, carrying the scent of pine and clean hay and horses, and finally, my shoulders drop.

This is what I love about ranch life. How beautifully peaceful it can be.

The camera in my hands. The click of settings adjusted by instinct. The world narrowing into light and shape and timing.

I lift the camera and frame the edge of a fence line against the sky. Click.

A horse turning its head, mane catching the light. Click.