"You two work well together," he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Shadow's beside me instantly, protective even in this. "Grace grew up doing this. She knows her way around a fence line."
Spur looks at me. "Your daddy know you're out here working with Shadow?"
My stomach tightens. "I'm helping with ranch work. That's all."
Spur studies us both for a long moment, then nods slowly. "If you say so, Doc."
He walks away, but I know he doesn't believe me.
And I know he's going to tell my father.
"He knows," I whisper to Shadow.
"Yeah." Shadow's jaw is tight. "He knows."
We get back to work.
By mid-afternoon, my arms are screaming, my shirt is soaked through with sweat, and I'm pretty sure I have blisters forming on my palms despite the gloves.
Shadow stripped his shirt off an hour ago—so did most of the guys, the heat unbearable.
I'm trying very hard not to stare at the way sweat runs down his chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every line of ink.
I fail spectacularly.
Shadow catches me looking and grins. "Like what you see?"
"Shut up and get back to work," I mutter, my cheeks flushing.
His laugh is low and dirty, and I want to kiss him right here in front of everyone.
But I don't.
We finish the fence line as the sun starts to dip toward the horizon.
Everyone's exhausted, covered in dirt, but everyone seems pleased.
The kind that comes from hard work and visible results.
The ranch foreman surveys the new fence, then nods. "Good work, everyone. Drinks on the ranch tonight."
The crew starts packing up, heading back to the main house where cold beer is waiting.
Shadow and I lag behind, loading tools into the side-by-side. Charlie's still on the bench seat, tail wagging when she sees us.
"Good girl," I murmur, scratching her head. "You behaved all day."
When everyone else is gone, it's just us and the fence we built together.
I look at the straight line of posts, the tight wire, the work of our hands.
"I forgot how good this feels," I say softly. "Building something."
Shadow comes up behind me, his hands settling on my hips. "Yeah. It does."
We're both filthy and exhausted, but standing here with him, looking at what we created together, feels right in a way I can't quite explain.
