Chapter Three

‎The morning air smelled crisp and sharp, carrying the bitter tang of wood shavings and autumn pine. By eight o'clock, Adeline’s heavy-duty red truck was already parked near the sagging barn, its bed loaded with thick timber planks, iron jacks, and leather tool belts.

‎"We need to raise the main crossbeam three inches before we can even think about replacing the rotted cedar post," Adeline declared, slapping a dusty hand against the massive, decaying wood pillar inside the dim barn. She adjusted her leather apron, her vibrant red hair pulled up into a tight, messy knot. "If we don't brace it properly first, this entire section comes down on our heads."

‎Kat wiped a streak of sweat from her forehead, her work gloves already stained with dark grease. "Tell me what to lift, Adeline. I'm ready."

‎Adeline let out a rich, approving laugh, tossing Kat a heavy iron hydraulic jack. "That's what I like to hear, city girl. Grab those cedar blocks from the bed. We're building a cribbing tower."

‎For three grueling hours, the two women worked in seamless tandem. Kat hauled heavy oak ties, drove iron wedges into shifting seams, and pumped the hydraulic lever until her shoulders burned and her hands trembled inside her gloves. Adeline supervised with eagle-eyed precision, shouting commands over the loud metallic clank-clank-clank of the jacks lifting thousands of pounds of old timber.

‎Inch by inch, the sagging roof beam creaked, groaning in protest against the force, until it settled with a deep, heavy sigh onto the temporary timber stack.

‎"That's it!" Adeline wiped her brow, looking up at the freshly secured support with an expert smile. "Now we just need to cut the notched joint on the replacement beam. I've got the circular saw in the truck."

‎Kat leaned against a wooden pillar, panting heavily, her heart racing from pure adrenaline. "I'll go get the measuring tape from the porch."

‎Kat stepped out of the dim barn into the bright morning sunlight—and froze mid-step.

‎A black flatbed truck was idling quietly near her garden plot. Standing beside it, tossing a heavy leather tool bag over his broad shoulder, was Azriel. He wore a dark grey thermal shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, revealing corded muscle dusted with wood shavings and dark soil.

‎His icy eyes locked onto hers the moment she emerged, taking in her disheveled braid, her dirt-smudged cheeks, and the dust covering her flannel shirt.

‎"What are you doing here, Azriel?" Kat asked, her voice instantly dropping into a defensive, guarded tone.

‎Azriel didn't answer right away. He walked toward the barn with slow, heavy strides, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. "My mother mentioned she was lifting a main support beam today. I came to make sure she didn't blow her back out helping a rookie."

‎"I'm handling my weight just fine, thank you," Kat snapped, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

‎Adeline stepped out of the barn door, wiping her hands on a rag, and let out an exasperated sigh. "Azriel Vance, I explicitly told you I didn't need your help today. Kat and I have everything under control."

‎Azriel didn't look at his mother. His gaze stayed fixed on Kat, dark and unreadable. "The crossbeam joint needs a double lap notch, Mom. You can't cut that angle alone while holding a seventy-pound beam in place." He dropped his heavy tool bag onto the grass with a thud. "I'm cutting the timber."

‎"I can hold the timber," Kat insisted, stepping directly into his path, her eyes flashing with defiance. "I've been holding my own all morning."

‎Azriel stopped inches from her. The scent of pine resin, cold steel, and subtle leather washed over her. He looked down at her with that maddening, unbothered calm, his dark eyes trailing down to her trembling, gloved hands.

‎"Your hands are shaking, Katrina," Azriel said quietly, his deep voice carrying a low, dangerous vibration. "You've been cranking a ten-ton jack for three hours. If your grip slips while I'm running a twelve-inch blade through cured oak, one of us loses a finger. Move."

‎Kat’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. She wanted to argue, to scream at his arrogance, but deep down she knew he was right—her forearms were completely spent. With a sharp exhale, she stepped aside, holding his intense stare.

‎"Fine," Kat spat out. "Cut the timber. But don't you dare act like you're doing me a favor."

‎A faint, razor-thin smirk tugged at the corner of Azriel’s lips. "I'm doing my mother a favor. You just happen to own the barn."

‎For the next hour, the dynamic inside the barn shifted into something intensely electric.

‎Azriel moved with practiced, effortless authority. He measured the raw cedar log, marked the angles with a carpenter's pencil, and fired up the heavy circular saw. Whiteness and gold wood dust spewed into the air, settling on his dark hair and broad shoulders.

‎Kat refused to retreat to the porch. Instead, she stood right beside him, handing him iron bolts, steadying the opposite end of the heavy beam, and matching his silent, rigorous pace step for step.

‎When it came time to guide the massive timber into the tight structural notch, Azriel stepped behind her to align the top edge. His chest brushed against her back, his large, warm hands coming down over hers on the rough wood to force the beam into place.

‎Kat’s breath caught in her throat. The heat radiating off him was overwhelming in the chilly barn air. She could feel every breath he took against her shoulder, the hard line of his chest pressing against her spine as they applied pressure together.

‎"On three," Azriel murmured right beside her ear, his deep voice sending a sudden, sharp shiver straight down her spine. "Push."

‎"One... two... three!" Kat grunted.

‎With a heavy, resonant THUNK, the massive cedar beam seated perfectly into the iron bracket.

‎They stood there for a long, frozen second, neither moving away. Kat’s heart hammered frantically against her ribs. She turned her head slightly, her lips only inches from his sharp jawline. Azriel’s dark eyes dipped down to her mouth, his breath warm against her skin, before sliding back up to meet her gaze. The cold arrogance in his eyes was gone, replaced by a dark, simmering heat that made the air feel paper-thin.

‎Adeline’s footsteps echoed against the floorboards as she walked over, breaking the spell. "Ha! Perfect fit!"

‎Azriel instantly stepped back, his face smoothing into a blank, unreadable mask as he wiped his dusty hands on his jeans. "It's secured. It'll hold through the winter freeze."

‎Kat took a ragged breath, stepping away to clear her head, her face burning. "Thank you, Adeline. It... looks incredible."

‎"Don't thank me, thank my stubborn son," Adeline smiled, giving Azriel a pat on the shoulder, though her sharp eyes darted between the two of them with quiet curiosity. "I'm heading back to the shop to finish up a order. Azriel, make sure the jack pressure is released slowly."

‎"I will," Azriel replied flatly.

‎Once Adeline’s truck rumbled down the driveway, silence descended over the barn once again.

‎Kat picked up a broom, aggressively sweeping wood shavings into a pile just to give her hands something to do. "You can go now, Azriel. I can release the hydraulic valves myself."

‎Azriel walked over to his tool bag, zip-tying his saw cord. He didn't leave. Instead, he stood near the open barn door, watching her sweep with a quiet, heavy intensity.

‎"You didn't back down today," Azriel said suddenly, his voice low and grounded.

‎Kat paused, resting her hands on the broom handle, looking across the dusty light at him. "I told you I wouldn't."

‎Azriel picked up his tool bag, stepping into the doorway. He looked back at her over his shoulder, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a look that felt dangerously close to respect.

‎"The north fence line is down near the creek," Azriel said quietly. "If you don't patch it by Friday, the wild deer will eat what's left of your winter cover crop."

‎Before Kat could ask why he was telling her this, Azriel turned and walked out to his truck.

‎

‎Kat stood in the center of her newly braced barn, her chest rising and falling, watching his truck disappear into the timberline. Her mind was racing, her body aching, but one thing was undeniably clear: Azriel Vance was still trying to push her away—but the walls between them were finally starting to crack.

‎​She wiped a streak of wood dust from her forehead, letting out a long, shaky breath. He had noticed the north fence line. A cold, distant man who claimed he didn't care whether her farm survived or crumbled had taken the time to scout her property line.

‎​Refusing to let the electric memory of his hands over hers linger any longer, Kat grabbed a roll of heavy barbed wire, a pair of wire cutters, and a box of steel staples from the tool bench. If Azriel thought giving her a tip meant she was going to ask him for help fixing it, he was dead wrong.

‎​The trek down to the north creek took twenty minutes. The afternoon sun was beginning its descent behind the craggy peaks, painting the pine forest in shades of amber and dark gold.

‎​When Kat reached the edge of the creek, she found the damage. A massive dead pine tree had collapsed straight across the wooden fence, snapping two main posts and flattening thirty feet of heavy wire into the mud.

‎​"Right on cue," Kat muttered, dropping her armful of supplies onto the damp grass.

‎​She set to work immediately. Using an old bow saw from her grandfather’s shed, she began chopping away the thick, rotted branches resting on the wire. The work was grueling, each pull of the rusty blade sending sharp shocks of exhaustion through her already burning shoulders. The memory of Azriel’s voice from earlier—Your hands are shaking, Katrina—echoed in her mind, driving her to work twice as hard.

‎​After nearly an hour of sawing, she managed to clear the heavy timber. But as she bent down to haul the heavy rusted wire back up to the remaining wooden post, her boot slipped on the wet river rocks.

‎​"Woah—!"

‎​Kat tumbled backward, her arm catching sharply on a jagged strand of old, unspooled barbed wire. Pain seared through her forearm as the rusted metal sliced right through her flannel shirt.

‎​"Damn it!" Kat gasped, dropping to her knees on the grass and clutching her left arm.

‎​Blood leaked quickly through the torn fabric, dark and crimson against her sleeve. She gritted her teeth, tearing a strip of cloth from her shirt tail with her teeth and tying it tightly above the deep scratch to stanch the bleeding. Her head throbbed, exhaustion finally catching up to her all at once.

‎​I just need to finish this section, she thought stubbornly, trying to push herself back up. Just one post.

‎​"Are you completely out of your mind?"

‎​The sharp, furious voice cut through the quiet rush of the creek.

‎​Kat snapped her head up. Azriel was striding out of the dense timberline, his dark eyes wide with a terrifying mixture of anger and raw alarm. He had a heavy leather tool belt slung over his shoulder and a sledgehammer in his hand.

‎​"What are you doing back here?" Kat panted, squeezing her bleeding arm tightly against her ribs.

‎Azriel stopped dead in his tracks two paces away, his gaze locking onto the blood soaking through her sleeve. His jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.

‎For a second, a flash of genuine alarm broke through his usual impassive wall, but he caught himself instantly. The cold, unbothered mask slammed back into place.

‎"You're bleeding," Azriel said, his deep voice deadpan, though carrying a sharp edge.

‎"It's just a graze," Kat panted, squeezing her arm tighter to stop the sting. She tried to push herself up onto her feet, but her knees trembled from hours of brutal labor, and she stumbled slightly against the damp bank.

‎Azriel didn't leap to scoop her up. Instead, he unclipped a clean, folded bandana from his belt loop, stepped forward, and tossed it into her lap.

‎"Press that against it," he commanded, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He didn't offer a hand to pull her up, maintaining a deliberate, frustrating boundary between them. "Rusted barbed wire isn't something you play around with, Katrina. You need Harlan to clean that out and give you a tetanus shot before it gets infected."

‎Kat grabbed the bandana, pressing it firmly over the cut with a quiet wince. She held his icy stare, determined not to show an ounce of weakness. "I have a first-aid kit at the house. I can clean it myself."

‎Azriel let out a low, disbelieving scoff, looking up at the canopy of pine trees before bringing his dark eyes back down to her. "You can barely stand up. You've been cranking a hydraulic jack all morning and sawing deadfall all afternoon. You're stubborn, but you're not invincible."

‎He turned, gesturing with his head toward the dirt trail leading out of the woods.

‎"Walk," Azriel ordered flatly, keeping his distance. "My truck is parked at the edge of the north clearing. I'm driving you to Harlan's clinic."

‎"I don't need a chauffeur, Azriel—"

‎"I'm not being a chauffeur," he interrupted smoothly, his tone laced with that familiar, maddening calm. "If you get blood poisoning and pass out on Arthur's property, my mother will never let me hear the end of it. So move your feet, or I'm calling Harlan out here myself."

‎Kat glared at him, her chest heaving with irritation. She hated that he was right about the tetanus risk, and she hated even more that he refused to let her handle it completely alone.

‎Pressing the cloth hard against her arm, Kat pushed through the fatigue, stood up on her own two feet, and brushed past his shoulder onto the trail. "Fine. But I'm paying for the gas."

‎A razor-thin, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of Azriel’s sharp jaw as he fell into step three paces behind her, keeping a careful, watchful eye on her unsteady footing through the dark trees.

‎"Save your money, city girl," Azriel murmured quietly into the mountain draft. "You're going to need it."

‎