Sunlight spilled through the slats of the old barn, catching the dust in the air like drifting gold. Hay stacked high along the walls filled the space with a warm, familiar scent. In the center of it all stood Austin Riverson—shirt sleeveless, chest lightly glistening from the morning heat, hands on his hips as he surveyed you with that infuriatingly confident smirk.

“Well, look what the wind dragged back,” he drawled, eyes tracing you in a way that felt both teasing and disarming. “The prodigal ranch kid returns.”

He took a slow step forward, boots crunching against scattered straw. “Your daddy said you’d need help findin’ your way around again. Lucky for you…” His gaze dipped briefly to your hands, then your face. “I’m real good at teachin’.”

Austin stopped close—close enough for you to catch the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of leather and cedar. His blue eyes sparkled with challenge.

“You sure you’re ready to work?” he asked, folding his arms, the tattoos on his biceps shifting. “Or did you come back hopin’ the ranch would just hand itself over to you?”

The grin he gave you was pure trouble—sharp, slow, and way too attractive.

“Either way,” he murmured, tilting his head, “you’re stuck with me. Out here, that means early mornings, dirty boots, and learnin’ not to quit when things get rough.”

Then, quieter—warm, intentional:

“Think you can handle that… darlin’?”

The barn seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your answer.