The pull of his muscles against his jeans made her body come alive. He stepped up in front of her. “You done already?”
“Early shift today.” She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “I thought I’d…hang around, if that’s okay.”
His mouth curved. “You can shadow me all afternoon if you want.”
She nodded, warmth unfurling in her chest, and followed him as he worked. She handed out water bottles when the guys took a break, listening to their teasing and banter—and learning from those who didn’t say as much too.
She stayed close to Crew but didn’t cling, and he didn’t hover. He just existed beside her, solid and steady, his presence a quiet constant…one she could get used to.
Later, they headed toward the pens to check on the animals. Fern loved this part of the ranch—the rustle of leather on the horses, the earthy smells, the rhythm of caring for them.
Crew moved with easy confidence, checking gates and feed, speaking softly to the animals like they understood every word.
Navy whipped around the corner of the barn with Rhae at her side, short legs churning faster than her body seemed to be able to keep up.
“Cwewww!”
“Hey, little one.” He scooped her up in one arm and listened to her jabber in baby talk about the neigh-neighs.
Rhae beamed at Fern. “Hi, Fern. Looks like you’re an official part of the Black Heart now.”
Fern’s cheeks heated knowing that others saw what was happening between her and Crew, and was the one thing they were dancing around. “I love it here.”
Crew’s hand brushed the small of her back, sending a heated shiver through her. They all talked a minute, then Navy squirmed to be put down, and she immediately took off for the pasture.
“Gotta run!” Rhae chuckled and took off after her offspring.
Afterward, Crew ducked into the barn to make a few minor repairs. Fern followed him inside the dim and cool space, watching dust motes drifting in the slanted light. He climbed partway up a ladder, assessing a loose board, and held his hand out without looking.
“Hammer,” he said.
She placed it in his palm, their fingers grazing. The contact lingered longer than necessary.
They fell into an easy rhythm after that. He worked. She passed him nails and tools. Sometimes he explained what he was fixing, sometimes they worked in companionable silence. Fern leaned against a post, watching the way his body moved—efficient, sure, every motion purposeful.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his muscled arms.
“You haven’t told me about the new tattoo.”
He went still for a beat. Then he fit another new board into the spot where he removed the old. “It’s not finished. It still needs shading.”
She studied the lines. “A wolf.”
“It was my call sign. In the Navy.”
She didn’t know if she should say more, so remained silent and let him decide whether he wanted to speak. After a long minute, he went on. “The bear in the constellation represents my copilot. I was Wolf and he was Bear.”
“And the mountain and trees? Is that just artistic license?”
“I suppose it means something to me, the same way the ranch does.”
She stepped closer, gaze snagging on the smaller details. Then she saw it. The unmistakable lines of…
A fern.
Her breath stopped.
When she looked up, his gaze was on her face, intense.
