Page 2 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Ironwood Ranch through the decades. Men on horseback, women in pressed dresses, children standing stiffly beside prize-winning animals.

Legacy stares down at me from every angle.

“So,” Sherry continues, “you’ve worked ranch accounts before?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Mostly mid-sized operations. Some family run, some corporate adjacent.”

She nods approvingly. “Good. You’ll understand the rhythm here, then. Ironwood has… expectations.”

Sherry leads me down a hall lined with more photographs, each one whispering a story I’m not part of yet.

“And here are the Harlan boys,” she says, stopping in front of a giant portrait that I don’t even get a moment to really look at. “Silas, Cody, and Duke.” She winks and steps aside. “Come on, let me show you your new office.”

I follow her into a smaller room just off the main office. The desk is polished to a mirror shine, drawers perfectly aligned, a leather chair tucked in neatly.

Nothing is out of place. Not a single paper clip out of order.

I run my hand along the surface, half expecting it to squeak under my touch, but it’s smooth, flawless.

“You’ll have everything you need here,” Sherry continues. “If you ever need anything, just ask… though honestly, the Harlan boys aren’t fond of interruptions.”

I nod, forcing a smile, but my stomach twists. Interruptions? Okay, so I guess I need to blend into the background as much as I can.

Sherry steps fully into the room, setting her clipboard on the desk with a soft thud. “Okay, first things first. Your desk, see how it’s all labeled? Files, invoices, purchase orders. Everything has a place. If you don’t put it back exactly where it goes… well, let’s just say someone here notices. And not politely.”

She winks, but there’s a hint of seriousness in her tone.

I glance around. The files really are perfect. Even the pens are aligned by size and color.

“Printer and scanner are over here,” Sherry continues, pointing to a sleek little station in the corner. “High tech, but don’t panic if it jams. Just hit the button, and if that doesn’t work, come get me before you try to throw it out the window. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen.”

I snort a laugh. “Printers are the admin’s worst enemy, after all.”

“True,” she says, smiling. “I like someone who knows the danger of office equipment. Now, coffee… very important. Always stocked, always fresh. And snacks. Yes, we have snacks. Don’t ask questions. Just… respect the candy drawer. That’s a sacred space.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Candy drawer?”

“Exactly. Don’t mess with it.” She taps her temple knowingly. “Okay, now for the most important part: gossip.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

Sherry leans in, lowering her voice like she’s about to share the secrets of the universe. “This town—and yes, the ranch—runs on it. Half of what you hear is probably wrong. The other half… true enough to be dangerous. People love a new face, Annie. If you want to survive here, smile, do your job, and remember: a raised eyebrow in the wrong place can be a headline by lunchtime.”

I blink, trying to process it all. “So… don’t overthink it?”

“Exactly. Sort of,” she says, grinning. “Also, the Harlan boys… well, they’re family, and families have quirks. Silas is all business, Cody is… watchful, and Duke… well, he’s the one who keeps the whole circus from burning down. Learn their patterns, respect their space, and you’ll be fine. Mostly.”

I nod slowly. “Mostly.”

She claps her hands together. “Great! That’s the hard part done. You’ll get the rest in motion once you meet them properly. For now, just settle in, check the systems, and if anything looks weird, write it down, don’t panic. Oh, and your chair? Adjust it before you even touch a keyboard. Trust me, back health is underrated.”

I sink into the chair experimentally. It’s ridiculously comfortable.

Sherry glances at her watch. “Well, that’s all I can cram into one briefing without giving you whiplash. You’ll meet the boys properly in a minute. And Annie…” She pauses at the door, mock serious now, “if you hear something about a horse, a board meeting, or a late-night visitor that sounds insane… maybe don’t repeat it. Maybe don’t even believe it. Just smile and look busy.”

I grin. “Got it. Smile, look busy, survive the gossip.”

“Exactly!” She winks, then heads back into the hall, clipboard in hand.