SHADOWS IN THE LIGHT

HIS TOUCH, HER FIRE🔥

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Chapter Three

Shadows in the Light

By midday, Evelyn was knee-deep in the far pasture, boots caked with mud and sweat sliding down her spine beneath the thin cotton of her tank top. The early May sun blazed high, unforgiving, and every muscle in her body ached from the morning’s work. The fencing on the west ridge had collapsed again—likely due to the storm last week—and her herd had been curious enough to start testing boundaries. Rebellion ran through her cattle like it ran through her blood.

“Damn it, Diesel, get back!” she shouted, swinging her hat at the bull as he lumbered toward the broken section, nostrils flaring. “I swear, you’ve got more stubborn pride than I do.”

“You talk to them like they understand you,” came a teasing voice behind her, warm and familiar.

Evelyn turned to find her best friend, Marla, striding across the field in denim overalls, a feed bucket in one hand and a grin that had known her since second grade. Marla’s short curls were tucked beneath a baseball cap, and her tan skin glistened with effort and sunshine.

“They do understand,” Evelyn muttered. “They just don’t care.”

Marla set the bucket down and leaned on the fence post. “That bull’s got a crush on you. Stares at you like you’re the only one who ever fed him anything sweeter than hay.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes but laughed, the sound a rare and fleeting thing lately. “Please don’t compare my love life to a thousand-pound animal who licks his own nose.”

“Girl, have you seen some of the men in town?”

They both burst into laughter, the kind that shook off the heavy layer of grit and duty that usually sat thick on Evelyn’s shoulders. Marla had a gift for that. For reminding her that even warriors needed softness sometimes. Needed to laugh, even if just for a moment.

But the lightness dimmed as soon as Evelyn caught sight of the hill road that led into town—where a sleek black car moved too slowly, too deliberately, like a shark circling.

He was watching again.

“Is that—?” Marla followed her gaze. “That’s not another bank rep, is it?”

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. “It’s him.”

Marla’s face darkened. “The city billionaire? The Romanov or Romano or whatever?”

“Romano,” Evelyn said, spitting the name like a curse. “And he’s made it his personal mission to drive me out of my mind.”

Marla stepped closer. “Is he threatening you?”

“No. That’s the problem. He’s—he’s suggesting, flirting, smirking, offering deals with fine print and staring at me like I’m his next goddamn trophy.” Evelyn threw the hammer into the tool bucket hard enough that it clanged. “I don’t trust him, and I don’t trust how he makes me feel.”

Marla raised a brow. “Feel? Oh-ho, now that’s new. Evie Mae, are you catching feelings for the enemy?”

“No! I’m catching... heat. Confusion. Frustration. The man talks like a storm, and my brain goes static.”

Marla grinned wide. “Sounds like you’re either gonna kiss him or punch him.”

“Both,” Evelyn muttered. “Probably at the same time.”

They worked in silence for a while, resetting posts, reattaching wire, breathing through the effort. Evelyn’s ranch had been in her family for three generations, passed from weathered hands to weathered hands. But this was the first time it rested solely on hers, and some days it felt like the land was a living thing—testing her strength, waiting to see if she’d break. She couldn’t afford to break. Not with her younger brother Jason still in college, not with the last of the inheritance tied up in debts she hadn’t even known existed until the day after her father’s funeral.

Around four, she took a break and headed back toward the main house. The ranch house was old but proud—two stories, faded red shutters, wide porch with creaking swings, and a chimney that hadn’t worked in years. Inside, the kitchen smelled of sun tea and old pine. Her aunt Delilah sat at the table, sorting through a pile of bills and coupons with her usual steely focus. Delilah had practically raised Evelyn after her mother left, and though her hands were soft now and her back curved from years of bending over sewing machines, her mind remained sharp as barbed wire.

“Any luck with the north fence?” Delilah asked without looking up.

“Held up for now,” Evelyn said, grabbing a jar of water from the fridge. “But the storm did more damage than I thought.”

Delilah slid a bill across the table. “So did your father’s generosity. This one’s from the feed supplier. Final notice.”

Evelyn stared at the number, felt it sink into her chest like a stone. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”

“You can’t keep patching holes, baby girl,” Delilah said softly. “At some point, you gotta decide whether this ship’s sinking or whether you’re gonna swim for it.”

“I can’t leave.”

“I didn’t say leave. I said decide.”

The back door slammed open, and Evelyn turned to see her brother, Jason, kicking off his muddy boots. Tall, sunburned, full of ideas and mischief, Jason was two semesters away from a degree in Agricultural Management, and he spent every weekend back home trying to keep the ranch breathing.

“I saw that fancy car again,” he said as he entered. “Same guy?”

“Same nightmare,” Evelyn muttered.

Jason frowned. “You want me to talk to him? I can make it clear he’s not welcome.”

“No,” Evelyn said. “That’s what he wants. To get a reaction.”

Jason grabbed an apple and flopped into a chair. “Then ignore him. Rich boys get bored easy.”

But Evelyn wasn’t sure Damien Romano got bored. If anything, he seemed like the kind of man who thrived on resistance. And she hated how her own resistance was weakening.

That night, after chores were done and dinner was cleaned up, Marla convinced her to drive into town for drinks. “You need a night off,” she insisted. “One hour, no land talk, no bank stress, just music, drinks, and maybe a dance or two.”

Evelyn hesitated, then relented. The bar in town—Rusty’s—was dimly lit, smelling of whiskey and wood polish, with a jukebox in the corner and old couples line dancing beside flirty twenty-somethings in boots and crop tops. Evelyn wore her favorite jeans, the ones that hugged her hips just right, and a black tank top that clung to her curves like a secret. For once, she let her hair down, wild around her shoulders. She felt... different. Lighter.

Until she saw him.

Damien stood at the bar like he owned it—button-down shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled, whiskey glass in hand. His silver eyes caught her instantly. And for a breathless second, the room shrank to nothing but him and her and the thunder that lived between them.

Marla whistled low. “Damn. He followed you here?”

Evelyn’s jaw clenched. “Or I walked into his trap.”

Before she could turn away, he moved. Smooth, confident, closing the space between them with a look that made her thighs clench in spite of herself. “Evening, Evelyn,” he said, voice a velvet rasp.

“This is my bar,” she said. “You slumming it tonight?”

He smirked. “I go where the whiskey’s good... and the company better.”

Her breath hitched.

He stepped closer, whispering near her ear. “You look like fire in that shirt. Do you always wear black when you plan to kill a man?”

“Only when he deserves it.”

“I do,” he murmured. “But not tonight.”

Then he offered his hand. “Dance?”

She hated that her heart screamed yes. Hated how badly her body craved his heat. But she took it. Just for one dance.

One spark.

One slow, sinful burn.

And it was more dangerous than anything she’d ever known.

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