Page 177 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

The assumption was always simple: eventually I would marry someone appropriate, produce heirs, stabilize the future of the ranch, and continue the line in a way that looked respectable from the outside.

As if human lives become safer once arranged correctly.

“She actually talks about heirs?” Annie asks carefully.

I look out across the dark pasture instead of at her. “Frequently.”

“That’s insane.”

“Not by Vivian’s standards.”

Her grip tightens around my hand. “Silas…”

I exhale slowly through my nose. “The thing about legacy is that people start treating your future like communal property long before you get a say in it.”

Annie goes still beside me.

I don’t know why I said that.

Or maybe I do. Because standing beside her feels dangerously close to wanting things I stopped allowing myself to imagine years ago.

“Well,” she says firmly, “for the record, Vivian terrifies me significantly less now that I understand she’s basically trying to run Ironwood like an haunted monarchy.”

Despite myself, I laugh softly.

Annie’s expression softens. The sound surprised her too. Then her face grows serious again. “There’s more.”

The shift in her tone pulls my attention back fully. “What?”

She hesitates. Which I dislike. Annie’s brave enough that hesitation from her usually means the subject matters.

“The legal overlaps in everything I’m researching,” she says carefully. “They keep tracing back toward Tessa’s firm.”

My chest tightens.

Tessa Grange?

No way. Tessa has been attached to Ironwood for decades.

She handled my father’s estate after the accident. Helped restructure debt loads during drought years. Negotiated land disputes. Protected water rights. Built contracts that kept developers from carving pieces off this ranch when everyone else thought we were vulnerable enough to pressure.

I trusted her.

My father trusted her.

“You think she’s involved,” I say finally.

“I think her firm keeps surfacing around entities tied to the fraud.” Annie’s voice stays measured. Careful. “That’s not the same thing.”

“No.”

“But it’s enough that I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The night goes very still around us.

I hate how defensive my first instinct feels. Not because Annie’s accusing recklessly, she isn’t. Because part of me wants the explanation to be innocent badly enough that I recognize the bias immediately.

That’s dangerous.