Page 187 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Then there’s Jake.

I replay the conversation from this morning automatically, dissecting tone and phrasing the same way I dissect financial patterns.

Maybe your system has a problem.

He wanted the flaw to appear structural instead of personal, which means he understands exactly where the vulnerability exists.

My jaw tightens. I stand abruptly, pacing once across the office before stopping beside the window overlooking the ranch.

Outside, Ironwood looks normal.

That’s the disturbing part.

Ranch hands moving through paddocks, trucks crossing the gravel roads, horses shifting calmly beneath the fading afternoon light.

Structure. Routine. Trust.

All the things systems require to function.

And somewhere inside all of it someone is bleeding the ranch slowly enough to survive detection.

Not a stranger or some faceless outsider hacking into accounts from another state. Someone here, inside our walls. Someone who understands Ironwood intimately enough to weaponize its trust against itself.

Someone I’ve trusted.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Annie

The text comes at 11:12 on a Thursday morning.

Unknown Number: Vivian Harlan would like to meet with you this afternoon. The Silver Bit. Private dining room. 2 p.m. Simple conversation.

I stare at the screen long enough for it to dim in my hand.

Simple conversation.

Right.

Because people always summon accountants to private meetings through mysterious phone numbers when they want harmless small talk. Especially with everything that’s going on.

The last week has stretched the ranch too tight. Like a rope one hard pull away from snapping.

Silas barely sleeps. I know because I hear his boots outside at night sometimes, pacing the property lines with those worn leather gloves shoved into one fist like he’s trying to strangle control back into existence.

Cody’s worse.

He’s gone so deep into audits and access logs he barely remembers food exists unless Duke physically puts a plate in front of him.

The tension in him feels surgical now. Still, precise, dangerous.

And Duke…

Duke tries the hardest to make things feel normal, which just makes it more obvious how scared he is.

Nobody says the word “traitor” out loud anymore. But it lives here now anyway. In every silence, every glance, every locked door, overshadowing everything else completely.

I read the text again. Simple conversation. Bullshit. Still…