Page 103 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“To you.”

That stops me.

Money means something different on this ranch than it does in most places. Ironwood’s got the kind of generational wealth that makes practical people twitch.

But Annie doesn’t say it cruelly. She says it as fact.

Worse, she says it as a fact she’s embarrassed to point out.

I nod slowly. “Fair.”

“I’m not taking your money. I just needed someone to talk to.”

“You don’t have to say it like I offered you a kidney.”

Her mouth pulls tight. “Duke.”

“Alright. Alright.” I lift both hands. “I hear you.”

She watches me, waiting for the push. The argument. The whole let me fix this for you whether you like it or not act that men with resources and affection sometimes confuse for love.

I don’t give it to her.

Because her refusal isn’t rejection. Not really.

It’s information.

It tells me exactly where the edges of her panic live. Exactly what kind of help feels unbearable and what kind of shame she’s carrying around being the person everyone leans on.

So no, I’m not going to keep offering the one thing she just told me she can’t hold.

Instead, I nod once and say, “Okay.”

Suspicion flickers across her face. “Okay?”

“Okay. No money.”

I can practically see her recalculating. “You’re not going to fight me on it?”

“Nah.” I lean back a little. “Seems like you’re already fighting enough.”

That gets me a long look.

And under the sadness, under the stress and pride and fear, her expression loosens. Not because I fixed anything. Because I didn’t make it worse.

Good.

We sit there another minute. Then I glance at the tack room around us and decide I’m done letting her drown in here in her worries.

“Come on,” I say, standing.

She frowns up at me. “Where are we going?”

“Out.”

“At…” she checks her phone, “ten at night?”

“Best time for it.”