Page 64 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

It’s not what I intended to say, and I know from the immediate narrowing of her eyes that she hears the flaw in it.

“Yes,” she says slowly. “Is everything okay?”

I exhale once through my nose. “Can I come in?”

She steps back.

The room is exactly as I’d expect it to be after a few weeks of occupancy by someone who travels often and settles strategically.

Camera on the bed. Notes stacked beside the lamp. Her boots aligned near the wall, though not with the kind of precision I would use.

The whole room carries the faint trace of vanilla, rain, and cold coffee. The same scent that follows her through the office and has, against my better judgment, become something I notice too quickly.

I stay near the door. That would suggest restraint if the circumstances themselves weren’t already evidence to the contrary.

“What’s this about?” she asks.

Direct. No cushioning. No attempt to smooth the interaction into something more comfortable than it is.

I appreciate that.

“I need to clarify something.”

Her brow lifts. “At night. In my room.”

“It wasn’t practical earlier.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It isn’t.”

She folds her arms and leans lightly against the edge of the dresser, watching me with that same infuriating composure she had in the office the first time I tested her. “Alright. Clarify.”

I should start with the cleanest version. Boundaries, perception, risk, structure. There are a dozen ways to phrase it and all of them are technically true.

What complicates them is that none of them are the only truth in the room anymore.

“The way things are moving around this house,” I say, choosing each word with more care than I feel, “is becoming unstable.”

“Because of the missing money?”

“That’s part of it.”

“And the rest?”

I look at her.

There it is again, the problem I keep reaching and retreating from. She doesn’t deflect or soften. She doesn’t make it easier for other people to stay vague in her presence.

If anything, she seems to regard vagueness as a challenge, which would be admirable if it weren’t currently making my life more difficult.

“The rest,” I say, “is you.”

She actually blinks at that, though only once. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re visible now.”

Her shoulders shift almost imperceptibly. “That’s not exactly news.”