Page 83 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Her back’s almost against the wall. She doesn’t retreat. Of course she doesn’t. Annie meets pressure by planting her feet.

The infuriating part is that I respect it.

The more infuriating part is that right now I’d prefer she make this easy.

“You found a note on your car,” I say. “You had property taken from your office. You’re telling me you can handle that.”

Her jaw sets. “Yes.”

I look at her for one long second.

“When you say ‘handle it,’” I ask, “what exactly do you mean?”

She hesitates. “I left the trail. I paid attention. I didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay, and…?”

Her glare flashes hot enough that under different circumstances I might have admired it. “I didn’t freeze, I didn’t fall apart, and I didn’t need rescuing.”

“No,” I say. “You needed backup.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

“I didn’t say babysitter.”

She rolls her eyes. “You implied it.”

“I implied that you’re one person and whoever is doing this is willing to push.”

“And I’m telling you I can handle myself.”

The conviction is immediate, bright, and almost enough to be persuasive.

Almost.

She looks away first, anger giving ground to a new rawness. The first crack in the argument where reality gets in. “I didn’t want to be looked at differently.”

That’s the first honest thing she has said that doesn’t come wrapped in teeth. “By who?”

“You.” She wraps her arms tighter around herself. I think she hates that she’s admitted even that much. “I’m here to work. I’m good at what I do. I finally started finding things that matter, and I didn’t want any of that to get buried under everyone deciding I was suddenly too delicate to be useful.”

I start to realize Annie’s pride isn’t decorative. It’s structural. One of the load-bearing beams.

Ask her for softness too early and she’ll hand you steel instead. Threaten her independence and she hears erasure, not comfort.

“Listen to me.” Her gaze returns to mine, wary as I continue. “You telling me doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you incapable or fragile. It means I have the information I need to stop this before it escalates.”

Her mouth opens, then closes.

Good.

I step back, giving the room air again. “Where’s the note?”

“Desk drawer.”

“Show me.”

She hesitates a beat, then crosses to the small desk by the window and pulls the folded paper from the top drawer. She holds it out.