Page 96 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“I know.” I chuckle. “And yet I still feel brand new.”

She laughs, then steps back, and that’s when I notice it.

The subtle curve beneath her sweater. The way her hand rests absently over her stomach like it already belongs there.

I blink.

“Oh!” She giggles as she sees my eyes. “Yep, I guess it’s starting to become obvious, huh? News doesn’t stay secret for too long in this town. But I’m so excited—I’m pregnant!”

“Wow, Dakota, that’s wild. So excited for you.”

I love the way her eyes light up, which causes the next question to stifle in my mouth. I don’t ask who the father is. If it’s Clint, Sawyer, or Reid.

I mean, it doesn’t matter, does it? They’re all a family, no matter what.

Just because I haven’t ever seen anything like it before doesn’t mean it isn’t real.

“I’m still wrapping my head around it a little,” she admits. “One minute I’m just trying to get through the day, and the next…” she gestures vaguely at herself, “this.”

“Wow, you’re amazing.”

She nudges my shoulder lightly. “You’re settling in okay? How is Ironwood treating you?”

“Define ‘okay.’”

She smiles knowingly. “That kind of okay.”

I huff out a laugh. “It’s… a lot.”

“Yeah, the Harlan brothers must be a lot to work for. But I mean, it’s only temporary, right?”

I nod. “All my work is.”

She cocks her head curiously to one side. “Is that hard? Never quite settling anywhere? Or is it more of an adventure?”

I part my lips, about to give the diplomatic answer I always do about finding life much easier when I don’t have the pressure of full time anywhere, when the shrill sound of my phone ringing interrupts us.

I glance at the screen. “Oh, it’s my brother. I’d better get that.”

Dakota smiles and nods. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you around anyway.”

I step outside, still smiling to myself as I hit the answer button. “Hey, Evan, I…”

“Annie.”

His voice is wrong.

Too tight. Too fast. Like he’s holding back and failing.

My grip on the phone tightens as ice-cold panic grabs hold of me. I hate it when he gets like this. “What happened?”

“I… I need help.”

Of course you do.

The thought’s immediate, automatic, followed just as quickly by the guilt that always comes with it.

“Okay,” I say. “Slow down. What’s going on?”