** He rode through the forest, rain soaking his shirt and plastering it to his skin. Droplets hissed off the brim of his hat as he muttered to the sky, “Soak me all you want, clouds. Just keep her porch dry—girl’s got enough fire to warm me later.”

In the distance, the cabin came into view—small, tucked between trees like a secret. She lived there

Zayne was a bounty hunter, rough around the edges, always on the move. She found him once—bloodied and half-conscious—and patched him up without asking questions. Gave him shelter. In return, he taught her how to shoot, how to hold her ground. The chemistry had been there from the start, thick as smoke in a saloon. He tried to stay away, but she kept pulling him back. And hell—she made it real easy to stay.