Page 50 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“Do you do this for all your staff?”

The answer should be yes.

It is yes.

It’s also not only that.

So all I can do is nod.

CHAPTER NINE

Annie

Well… it’s been weeks now.

Weeks since me and Duke… blew off some steam, and since he clearly isn’t mentioning it, neither will I.

It’s probably for the best. He’s my boss, after all.

So when he appears in my office doorway on Sunday morning looking unfairly good in a dark henley, worn jeans, and the kind of easy grin that should come with a warning, I try to ignore the way my pulse pounds.

“Hey, accountant,” he says, leaning one shoulder against the frame. “You busy?”

“Yes,” I say, because lying seems easier than meeting his eyes.

He glances at my desk.

I glance at my desk too, just to check whether it also wants to betray me.

There is, in fairness, actual work on it. Ledger printouts, vendor notes, a yellow legal pad covered in the kind of shorthand that would look deranged to anyone who doesn’t enjoy finding financial inconsistencies for fun.

My laptop is open to a spreadsheet. My highlighter is uncapped. I’m radiating productivity.

Duke folds his arms. “You’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes.”

I blink. “That feels made up.”

“It isn’t.” His mouth twitches. “You coming?”

My stomach does a weird, unpleasant little swoop that I refuse to examine too closely. “Coming where?”

He looks offended. “The monthly Sunday potluck. Church hall. Town gossip with side dishes. I told you about it.”

He did, technically.

A few days ago, while passing me a plate at breakfast like we were two perfectly normal people who hadn’t nearly combusted against each other in his room, he’d mentioned the potluck in the same tone someone might use to mention weather.

Casual, harmless, entirely free of the fact that his thumb had brushed mine when he handed over the toast and I’d nearly dropped the plate like a Victorian heroine with a weak constitution.

I made some noncommittal noise at the time and gone back to my iced coffee.

“I don’t know,” I say now, too carefully. “That sounds like a lot of… community.”

“That,” Duke says, “is the most suspicious way anyone’s ever said the word ‘community.’”

“I’m never in one place too long, so community always feels like a lot.”

He pushes off the doorway and comes into the room, all warm energy, broad shoulders, and complete refusal to let a person maintain emotional distance in peace.