Jenna

Jenna wiped the sweat from her brow, looking up at the skeleton of the barn rising against the bright blue sky. The orchard was alive with people—residents of Silver Falls working together, hammering, sawing, laughing. The scent of fresh-cut wood mixed with the crisp autumn air, carrying the faintest hint of cider and burning leaves.

It had been Flint’s idea to rebuild the barn the old-fashioned way, a community event to mark a new beginning.

At first, she had resisted. She hadn’t wanted people making a big deal out of it. But looking around now, seeing the town come together after everything they’d been through—after everything McVey and Calloway had tried to take—she was glad she’d given in.

“Hey, Hartford,” Wes called, strolling up with a two-by-four slung over his shoulder. “You supervising, or are you actually gonna get your hands dirty?”

Jenna smirked and wiped her already filthy hands down the front of her jeans. “I am dirty, dumbass.”

Wes let out a low whistle. “Careful. Pretty sure Flint doesn’t like other men hearing you say things like that.”

“Your brother doesn’t own me.”

A familiar growl rumbled behind her. “The hell I don’t.”

Jenna turned just as Flint stepped up behind her, shirtless, muscles gleaming with sweat, a hammer tucked into his tool belt. The man looked like a damn fantasy come to life—like every rough, dominant cowboy from every romance novel ever written.

Her mouth went dry.

Wes snickered, backing away slowly. “And that’s my cue to not be here.”

Jenna barely noticed him go. Flint stepped in close, his body brushing against hers. “Tell me again how I don’t own you,” he murmured, voice low.

She tilted her chin up. “You don’t.”

Flint’s grin was wicked as he reached out, wiping a smudge of dirt from her cheek with his thumb. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you want me to haul you upstairs to our room and make you scream my name?”

Heat flooded her face, but she refused to let him win. “Because I want that,” she said boldly, leaning in until her lips almost brushed his. “But you’ve got work to do first, Mercer.”

His hands flexed at his sides, and she saw the war raging inside him—finish the damn barn or throw her over his shoulder and claim her in front of the whole damn town.

Jenna smirked. “What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t keep up with me?”

Flint growled. “I wouldn’t keep testing me if I were you.”

She winked and turned away, sauntering toward the cider table where Sybil and Ember were pouring drinks for the crew. “Lucky for you, you aren’t me,” she called back over her shoulder.

She felt his eyes on her, burning, promising things that had her pulse racing.

But before he could follow, she heard Wes clap a hand on his shoulder and say. “Come on, lover boy. We’ve got a barn to build before you go off building something else.”

Flint let out a slow, deep breath and cracked his neck. “I hate you.”

Wes just laughed and tossed him a set of nails.

The afternoon stretched on with the sounds of progress—hammers striking wood, men and women calling for supplies, the occasional curse when someone missed a nail and hit their thumb instead. Jenna worked alongside the others, feeling the energy of the town, the camaraderie.

They were healing.

By sunset, the framework of the barn stood tall, casting long shadows across the orchard. The finishing touches would take time, but the bones were there, solid and strong. Just like them.

As they put away the last of the tools, someone lit a fire in the center of the clearing, the townspeople gathering around with cider, homemade pies, and roasted meats. Someone strummed a guitar, Ember and Ridge bickering over who was the better dancer. Wes had stolen a pie straight off the table, and Sybil was already plotting revenge.

Jenna felt a familiar presence at her back.

Flint’s arms slid around her waist, pulling her against him. “Told you we’d get it done,” he murmured against her ear.

She melted into him, letting his warmth wrap around her. “Yeah, you did.”

Flint turned her in his arms, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him. His eyes were dark with something deeper than just attraction, something that made her heart pound.

“You happy?” he asked, his voice gruff.

Jenna swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

His lips brushed against hers, soft and teasing, before he pulled back, his gaze locking onto hers. “Then so am I.”

The music played on, the town celebrating, the orchard standing tall behind them.