Page 7 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“Two pallets here,” I call to the driver, “and have the third staged near the north barn. Don’t block the gates. Get Jake to check your paperwork and then bring it to me before you leave. Let’s move.”

The driver nods, a little flustered by the precision, but follows orders. Benji moves efficiently beside me, anticipating my directions before I even give them.

It isn’t long before Jake arrives, striding up in his usual self-assured way, tablet in hand.

“Silas. Everything’s fine. I’ve accounted for all deliveries. The last shipment⁠—”

“Jake,” I cut him off, “I need to double-check the logs. Like I said to the driver.”

“Why?”

I sense Benji stiffen beside me.

“Because we’ve had issues. You know this. We talked about it last week. You’re the operations manager, you need to deal with this.”

“And I’m dealing with it,” Jake says, as if that should be the end of it.

He holds the tablet out between us, confident that the numbers on that screen are enough to end the conversation. He thinks I’ll take his word and move on.

I don’t.

Jake Dorsey has always been efficient. Reliable. The kind of man who keeps things running without needing to be asked twice.

That’s why he’s here. That’s why I trusted him with operations in the first place.

But lately, there’s been something off. Just enough that I don’t let it slide.

“I didn’t ask if it was handled,” I say. “I asked to see it.”

There’s a flicker in his expression. Gone almost as soon as it appears.

Most people wouldn’t notice it.

I do.

Jake steps forward and hands over the tablet, smooth as ever. “Of course.”

I take it, scrolling through the logs. Dates, vendors, quantities, signatures. Everything lined up exactly where it should be.

Too exactly.

No delays. No corrections. No friction.

That’s not how real work looks. Not on a ranch this size, with this many moving parts.

My thumb taps once against the edge of the screen as I read, a habit I don’t bother breaking.

“Where’s the discrepancy from last week?” I ask.

“Resolved. Vendor miscommunication.”

“Which vendor?”

“Barrow Agricultural Consulting.”

I nod slowly, eyes still on the screen. “And the duplicate invoice?”

“Voided.”