Page 57 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Cody stands there with the same cool, measured expression he wears in the office, just softened around the edges by the fact that he’s not currently surrounded by ledgers.

Silas is beside him, broader, darker, hands in his pockets, already scanning the room with that instinctive watchfulness that seems baked into his spine.

Oh.

They came too.

Of course they did. It’s a town event. They live here. They aren’t, in fact, decorative office furniture that ceases to exist when I’m not actively perceiving it.

Humiliating thing to need reminding of.

“Good,” Reid says cheerfully. “Now I can insult you to your face.”

“That has never once stopped you before,” Cody replies.

Dakota glances between them all with the patient amusement of someone who’s watched this exact pattern of male stupidity unfold repeatedly and survived.

“Me neither.” Clint introduces himself last. Serious face. Protective energy. The kind of man who probably looks carved out of responsibility and weather.

But when Charlie tugs at his hand, he glances down with such immediate tenderness it almost takes me out.

“Nice to meet you, Annie. You really do need all the luck in the world.”

I smile. “Thanks.”

Charlie peers at me from behind Clint’s leg, solemn and curious.

I smile a little. “Hi.”

He studies my hair for a long second, then says, very seriously, “You look like a superhero.”

My face goes warm.

“That,” I tell Charlie, “is the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all month.”

Dakota lays a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Charlie, sweetheart, want to help Sawyer with the rolls? I want to introduce Annie to Abilene as well. I think you two will get along…”

More people? Yeah, this is way too much community.

So why don’t I hate it?

Charlie goes without argument, apparently “rolls” outranks “new person,” and Dakota turns, scanning the room.

“Abi?” she calls. “Come here. I’ve found Annie.”

A woman detaches from a nearby cluster and makes her way over, carrying a casserole dish like it’s an extension of her hands.

She’s absolutely stunning as well. Pretty as a wildflower… not that I’ll say that aloud. Might sound a bit weird.

“Hey Annie.” She tips her head, noticing, I think, more than I would prefer. “First potluck?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Oh yeah. I had the same panicked look on my face when I first came. But having friends here is⁠—”

“Careful, hot…” a voice mutters, and I twist just in time to avoid becoming part of a beverage-based incident.

A man steps around me, broad and focused, carrying a tray of drinks like he’s defusing a bomb.