Page 5 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Evan: Good thing you never stay in one place for long…

CHAPTER TWO

Silas

“Sherry?”

The name dies in my throat. No one starts work before me. Ever. Not the staff, not the office crew, not anyone.

But the shadow in the hallway isn’t Sherry.

It’s her.

Annie Wright.

Electric blue hair twisted into a messy bun, a few strands loose around her face. Multiple piercings glint in the early light. Stormy gray eyes, intense, and calculating.

Petite, but with shoulders and thighs that betray long days of hiking. Oversized cardigan, black jeans, fitted tank. And a camera hanging from her neck as if she might defend herself with it if she had to.

I stop, study her. My instincts are on edge. She doesn’t really belong in Ironwood. Not at first glance.

The way she carries herself. It’s not the polished, predictable kind of presence I’m used to. Too many assumptions floating around that hair, those piercings. Everyone will see the armor before they see the person.

And yet…

I remember her resume. CPA, experience with mid-sized and corporate ranch operations. Meticulous, with a reputation for catching discrepancies others overlook. That’s the kind of skill I can’t ignore.

This is the reason I hired her, and let her know she can pretty much choose her own hours while she’s here… as long as the work gets done.

I shift my weight, one hand brushing the worn leather glove I always carry. My father’s.

I can’t afford to dismiss her. Not with the mess Ironwood has been silently bleeding through.

“Annie Wright,” I say. “First day. Early. I didn’t expect you yet.”

She blinks at me, expression carefully neutral. “I… I like to get a head start. Check the systems, make sure I’m not missing anything.”

Good. Competent. Confident. Too confident. Dangerous if she doesn’t know her limits.

I need to give her a chance, but I’ll keep my eye on her. Keep the boundaries clear.

“Do you… want a coffee?”

What am I doing? I barely make coffee for myself, let alone anyone else. I always have way too much on.

But she surprised me by being up early, and she shocks me even more by agreeing.

“Go on, then. Just a quick one. I do need to get started.”

I move toward the counter and grab the Thermos. Every step, every gesture, intentional and precise.

I pour the coffee. Black. No sugar, no cream. She tilts her head, just enough for me to notice the flicker of acknowledgment.

She knows how to read a room. Already sizing me up. Already counting the rhythm of the ranch.

“Same for you?”

She nods. “Black is perfect. Wakes me up.”