Page 105 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

She huffs a laugh. “Is there a diagnostic chart?”

“There should be.”

“Then… soup? Maybe?”

I point at her. “Excellent call. Soup is emotionally stabilizing.”

“That sounds made up.”

“It’s science.”

“You can’t just call things science.”

“Sure I can. Cody does it all the time.”

That gets a bigger laugh.

By the time the waitress comes over, Annie’s actually looking less ankle-deep in panic and more herself. Piercing, sarcastic, fueled by iced coffee and pure stubbornness.

We order tomato soup, grilled cheese, fries to share, and two coffees because I know she’ll say yes to coffee no matter what state she’s in.

For a little while, I keep things light.

I tell her about Willy accidentally volunteering himself to dress as a historical cowboy for a museum event and getting chased by a third grader with a fake lasso, and about Emmett trying to impress Red by riding a gelding with opinions and nearly getting launched into a manure spreader.

Then I tell her about the time Silas was sixteen and got bucked into a water trough in front of half the county fair and threatened everyone present with death if they ever spoke of it again.

Annie nearly chokes on her coffee laughing at that one.

“Silas?” she says, wiping at her eyes. “Mr. Reputation himself fell in a trough?”

“Like an angry brick.”

“Oh, wow.”

“He was furious.”

“I would’ve paid money to see that.”

“So would I. Still would, honestly.”

She shakes her head, smiling into her mug.

The food helps.

Halfway through the soup, Annie’s shoulders are down from around her ears. By the fries, she’s rolling her eyes at me properly. By the end of the grilled cheese, she’s telling me stories about Evan from when they were kids.

Not the current mess.

The before version.

The sweet troublemaker version. The one who built a ramp off their garage roof with a skateboard and two milk crates because he was “testing aerodynamics.”

The one who used to sneak stray cats into Annie’s room because their mother hated fur on the furniture and Annie, apparently, has been running an unauthorized sanctuary for hopeless things since birth.

I don’t say that last part out loud, mostly because I’m pretty sure she’d throw a fry at me.

But I think it.