Page 65 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

“No,” I say. “But it matters more than you think it does.”

She lets out a short, disbelieving breath. “This is about the potluck.”

“This is about pattern.”

What am I even saying? Am I making sense? I don’t know how to express myself properly.

“This is about you showing up at ten at night to explain my own existence to me like I’m a filing error.”

My jaw tightens. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“It’s exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m telling you that you need to be more careful.”

“With what?”

“With who sees what. With where you are. With how⁠—”

She pushes off the dresser. “How I’m perceived?”

“Yes.”

“By the town?”

“By anyone.”

Her eyes narrow. “You mean by your family.”

I don’t answer immediately, which tells her more than an answer would.

“Right,” she says, whispering now, and somehow more cutting for it. “So this is about Duke.”

“It’s not only about Duke.”

“But it is about Duke.”

“It’s about the fact that you’re new, and this house doesn’t handle complication cleanly.”

Her mouth curves, but there’s no humor in it. “That may be the first honest thing you’ve said since you got here.”

I take a step toward her before I think better of it. “You think I’m being dishonest?”

“I think you’re being controlling.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” she agrees. “It’s worse.”

I adjust my watch, instantly annoyed at myself for doing it in front of her, because she notices everything and will absolutely file the gesture under pressure. “You’re part of a system whether you like it or not, Annie.”

“There it is.” She points at me once. “That. You do that thing where you turn people into systems because then you don’t have to admit they might do something you can’t anticipate.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“It is. You talk about variables and structures and patterns like that makes you objective, but half the time it just means you’re trying to force human beings into categories that make them easier to manage.”

“You’re being imprecise.”