Page 27 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Blankets, sheets, pillowcases yanked loose and thrown aside in escalating defeat. I check under the mattress like a woman in a deeply unhinged home invasion documentary.

Then under the bed, where all I find is one hair tie, a receipt from Larsen’s, and enough dust to insult the entire concept of polished ranch living.

Still nothing.

“Have you seen a memory card?” I ask the first ranch hand I pass in the hallway.

He blinks at me. “A what?”

“Small. Black. About this big.” I hold my fingers up with the desperate precision of someone who knows exactly how ridiculous she looks. “From a camera.”

“No, ma’am.”

“Right. Thanks.”

I move on.

Kitchen. Laundry room. Main sitting room I’ve never actually sat in because it feels like a magazine layout and I prefer furniture I can trust.

No card.

I ask another staff member. A woman from housekeeping whose name I still feel guilty for not fully catching my first day.

She shakes her head, sympathetic and wary all at once. “Sorry, honey. You lose something?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

I force a smile that probably belongs in a hostage video. “Just trying not to accuse the universe before I have evidence.”

She gives me a look that says the universe has probably earned it.

I check the office again. More thoroughly this time. Under the desk, behind the printer, inside the drawer twice, even though I know it isn’t there. I flip through files, as if an SD card could disguise itself as an invoice and live a second life in expense reports.

Sherry appears with a frown and helps me check anyway.

Nothing.

“Do you want me to ask around?” she says.

My stomach flips.

Ask around means people know.

People knowing means gossip.

Gossip means questions.

Questions mean eventually one of the brothers asks why the new accountant is losing things five minutes after being trusted with anything important.

“No,” I say too fast. Then, softer, “Not yet.”

Sherry leans against the doorframe. “Annie, if someone took it⁠—”

“Then I should’ve been more careful.”

Sherry’s mouth parts slightly, and I hate myself more than the situation because now she’s looking at me with that expression people get when they realize your bad jokes are built on bad foundations.