Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Duke
I know something’s wrong before Annie even turns around.
That’s the thing about learning people properly. You stop needing words after a while. Bodies start talking first.
Annie’s body is barely holding the line.
She’s standing outside Old Mill Café with both hands braced against the railing beside the creek, shoulders tight beneath her jacket, chest rising too fast. The late afternoon wind lifts loose strands of electric blue hair around her face, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Which means whatever happened was bad.
Really bad.
I kill the truck engine and sit there for half a second, watching her through the windshield.
The town moves around her as usual.
A couple tourists wandering past with shopping bags. Someone laughing outside Larsen’s. The bakery two doors down letting cinnamon and sugar drift.
I climb out and shut the door. “Hey, trouble.”
Annie jumps anyway.
Hell.
She turns fast, gray eyes wide and glass bright in a way that makes an ugliness move in my chest. “You stalking me now?”
The sarcasm lands thin. Frayed around the edges.
“I prefer the term emotionally invested cowboy. And no, I’ve just been to the store.”
That gets me the smallest exhale through her nose.
Tiny. But I’ll take it.
I walk closer slowly, same way I would with a spooked horse. Calm, easy, no sudden movements. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Mm.” I lean beside her against the railing. “You look like somebody just informed you tax fraud is contagious.”
That almost gets a smile.
Almost.
The creek rushes below us, loud from snowmelt, water breaking white against rocks. It smells damp and cold and faintly of coffee drifting out every time the café door opens behind us.
Annie stares straight ahead “She invited me to a meeting.”
I go still. “Who?”
She laughs once, brittle as cracked glass. “Guess.”
Well. Shit.
My jaw tightens before I can stop it. “Vivian?”
“And Tessa.”
That second name lands as a bruise.
I look at Annie fully now.
She’s pale beneath her freckles. Angry too, though; I can see it tucked under the adrenaline. That stubborn little spark she gets right before she decides fighting is preferable to retreat.
I like that about her more every day.
“What did they say?”
Her fingers tighten around the wooden railing. “At first? Polite rich people nonsense.”
“Ah.” I nod solemnly. “One of the deadliest dialects.”
“They offered me money.”
I blink. “What?”
“To leave.” She finally looks at me, disbelief still burning in her expression. “Actual money. Like I’m some kind of problem employee they can quietly phase out before quarterly reviews.”
Heat flashes hard and immediate through me. “What kind of money?”
Annie stares at me. “What?”
“I’m just checking whether we should feel insulted or deeply insulted.”
Her mouth opens. Then, despite everything, she laughs. “Duke.”
“Sorry.” I hold up both hands. “Inappropriate coping mechanism. Continue.”
She shakes her head once, but some of the panic leaves her shoulders. “She said Ironwood belongs to the Harlan name.” Annie swallows hard. “Not to you. Not to Silas or Cody. The name.”
“And?” I ask.
Annie watches me carefully now. “And she said names survive by removing threats.”
There it is.
“You’re doing that thing,” she says.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you go really calm and somehow that’s worse.”
I breathe out slowly through my nose. “That’s because I’m trying very hard not to drive my truck directly through The Silver Bit.”
“That seems excessive.”
“Baby, I’m actually underselling my emotional journey right now.”
That gets another tiny laugh from her. But it fades quickly. “She hates me.”
The words come out smaller than everything else she’s said. And damn if that doesn’t hurt to hear.
I turn toward her fully. “No, Vivian doesn’t hate people.” Annie frowns. “She categorizes them.”
The wind catches her hair again.
I reach out before thinking too hard about it, smoothing one bright blue strand away from her mouth.
She lets me.
“She decides whether somebody is useful, manageable, or dangerous,” I continue. “And once she picks a category, she treats it as fact.”
Annie studies my face. “You sound like you know from experience.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
The café door opens behind us again, warm music drifting briefly into the cold before the door swings shut.
I rest my elbows against the railing beside her. “You know what’s funny?”
“I doubt this story ends funny.”
“No, definitely not.” I glance sideways at her. “But when we were kids, Silas wanted to play football for exactly one semester.”
Annie blinks at the subject change. “What?”
“Middle school.” I smile faintly at the memory. “He liked it, too. Which was rare enough on its own because Silas came outta the womb acting forty-two and burdened by taxes.”
The corner of Annie’s mouth twitches.
“But Vivian found out practice conflicted with her charity work.” I shrug lightly. “Next day, suddenly football was ‘beneath the Harlan image.’”
Annie’s expression changes slowly. “She made him quit?”
“Oh yeah.” I stare out toward the street again. “And Cody wanted to go to college in Seattle for a while.”
“What happened?”
“Vivian happened.” I rub a hand over the back of my neck. “She picked our schools. Our schedules. Our clothes at one point. Hell, she used to approve our friends.”
Annie turns toward me fully now. “She what?”
“If she thought somebody wasn’t useful? They stopped getting invited around.” My smile turns thin. “And if we pushed back too hard, she’d remind us how much Ironwood cost to maintain. How much sacrifice legacy required.”
The word “legacy” tastes bitter now.
Always has a little.
“Silas was eighteen when our dad died,” I say. “Vivian stepped in because somebody had to. And for a while… maybe we even needed her.”
Annie’s eyes soften.
“But somewhere along the way,” I continue, “help turned into ownership.”
The creek rushes loud below us. Cold air presses against my face, and suddenly I’m tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
“Ironwood made us rich,” I admit softly. “But it also made us prisoners.”
Annie goes very still beside me. Then her hand slides slowly across the railing until her fingers touch mine. I lace my fingers through hers automatically.
“You need to understand something,” I say. Annie watches me. “If you stay, this never stops.” I force myself to hold her gaze. “Vivian doesn’t let go of things she thinks belong to her. And Ironwood…” I exhale slowly. “Ironwood is the center of everything around here.”
She doesn’t interrupt. So I keep going.
“You become part of us, you become part of the target too. Forever.” My thumb brushes unconsciously against her hand. “Gossip, pressure, power games. People watching your every move waiting for weakness.” I swallow once. “You still have time to walk away from that.”
The words hurt to say, which is how I know they’re true. Because damn, I want her to stay. Want it in that dangerous, wholehearted way that sneaks up on you before you realize your life rearranged itself around somebody else’s existence.
But wanting someone isn’t the same thing as protecting them. And Annie deserves honesty more than she deserves fantasy.
She just looks at me, wind in her hair, gray eyes tired and brave. Then she lifts her chin, and says the single most terrifyingly beautiful thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Then I’ll stop running.”