Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Grace
"Tell me about your family."
The words come out before I can stop them.
We're at Shadow's cabin, cleaning up after dinner, and the question has been burning in my mind for days.
Shadow pauses, dish towel in hand, and looks at me. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything. Everything." I lean against the counter, watching him. "I know you. Trust you. But I don't know much about where you come from. Your family."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I think maybe I've pushed too far.
Asked for something he's not ready to give.
Then he sets down the towel and turns to face me fully.
"I grew up on a small farm. My grandfather's place, about two hours north of here." His voice is careful, measured. "My dad left when I was five. Mom raised me best she could, but it was hard. She worked two jobs just to keep food on the table."
I move closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Where is she now?"
Shadow's jaw tightens. "Nursing home in Austin. Memory care unit."
My heart clenches. "Memory care?"
"Alzheimer's." The word comes out rough. "Started about five years ago. Little things at first—forgetting names, losing her keys. Then it got worse. Now she's..." He trails off, looking away.
I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah. Me too." He looks down at our joined hands. "I visit when I can. Every few weeks. Sometimes she knows me. Sometimes she thinks I'm my grandfather. Sometimes she doesn't know me at all."
The pain in his voice makes my chest ache. "That must be so hard."
"It is." He meets my eyes. "But she's my mom. I'm all she's got. Can't just... abandon her because it's hard to watch her forget me."
I pull him closer, wrapping my arms around him.
He resists for a second, then melts into the embrace, his forehead resting against mine.
"Thank you for telling me," I whisper.
"You asked." His hands settle on my hips. "I don't talk about it much, but you deserve to know."
We stand there for a moment, just holding each other. "Do you have siblings? Other family?"
"No siblings. My grandfather died years ago. It's just me and my mom." He pauses. "Well. And you now."
The words hit me square in the chest.
And you now.
I'm his family. He's mine.
The weight of that settles between us, warm and terrifying and right.
"What about you?" Shadow asks, pulling back to look at me. "I know about your dad, Dakota, Shiver. But yours showing up still doesn’t make sense to me."
"Jolene." I smile slightly. "You know she and Dad divorced when I was around sixteen, but she never really left. Still shows up for Sunday dinners. Still acts like an ol’ lady even though she's not wearing the patch anymore. It's... complicated."
"Complicated family," Shadow says.
"Aren't they all?"
He grins, and the heaviness of the conversation lifts slightly. "Fair point."
We finish the dishes in silence, and when we finally head to bed, I fall asleep in his arms feeling like I know him in a way I didn't before.
Not just the enforcer. Not just the dangerous man who claims me.
But the son who visits his sick mother. The man who carries his pain quietly. The person beneath the leather and ink.
And I think I might be falling in love with all of him.
Shadow's phone rings at eight in the morning, pulling us both from sleep.
He groans, reaching for it on the nightstand. "Yeah?"
I can't hear the other side of the conversation, but Shadow's expression shifts from sleepy to alert in seconds.
"Yeah, I'll be there. Give me an hour." He hangs up, looks at me. "Ranch work. They're installing new fencing in the south pasture today. Need all hands."
I sit up, the sheet pooling around my waist. "I'll help."
Shadow raises an eyebrow. "You don't have to—"
"I want to." I swing my legs out of bed. "Besides, you'll be watching me all day anyway. Might as well be useful."
His grin is slow and wicked. "Can't argue with that logic."
We get dressed—jeans, boots, tank tops.
I tie a bandana around my neck to hide the marks he left, and Shadow watches me with dark, appreciative eyes.
"You look good in ranch wear, darlin'."
"I grew up on this ranch, remember?" I pull on my work gloves. "I can work fences."
"Never doubted it."
Charlie's at my feet, tail wagging despite the cone still around her neck.
I hesitate, looking down at her. "She's still recovering..."
Shadow crouches, scratching behind Charlie's ears. "Bring her. She can sit in the side-by-side. Better than leaving her cooped up inside."
My heart does something complicated in my chest.
He's thinking about my dog.
Making sure she's comfortable.
Being thoughtful in ways that shouldn't surprise me anymore but still do.
"Okay," I say softly. "She'd like that."
We load Charlie into Shadow's side-by-side and drive to the south pasture.
The morning sun is already heating up the day, promising the kind of brutal Texas heat that makes ranch work miserable by noon.
The crew is already there when we arrive—ranch hands, a couple prospects, and Spur.
Old fence posts are stacked to the side, new ones waiting to go in.
It's going to be a long, hard day of physical labor.
Shadow parks the side-by-side in the shade of a massive oak tree and helps Charlie up onto the bench seat.
She settles immediately, tongue lolling, clearly happy to be outside.
"You stay here, girl," I tell her, making sure her water bowl is full. "We'll check on you."
Charlie's tail thumps once, and I scratch her head before joining Shadow at the fence line.
The work is exactly as brutal as I expected.
Digging post holes in hard-packed Texas soil.
Driving new posts with the post driver, the impact jarring up through my arms.
Stringing barbed wire, careful not to cut myself on the sharp barbs.
Securing everything with tension and precision.
Shadow and I work side by side.
I hold posts while he drives them in, his muscles flexing with each strike.
He strings wire while I secure it, our movements coordinated like we've done this together for years instead of hours.
The crew notices.
I catch the ranch hands exchanging looks.
See the way the prospects whisper to each other.
Feel Spur's eyes on us more than once, but no one says anything.
Not until the water break.
Spur approaches as I'm chugging from my water bottle, sweat soaking through my tank top.
"You two work well together," he says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Shadow's beside me instantly, protective even in this. "Grace grew up doing this. She knows her way around a fence line."
Spur looks at me. "Your daddy know you're out here working with Shadow?"
My stomach tightens. "I'm helping with ranch work. That's all."
Spur studies us both for a long moment, then nods slowly. "If you say so, Doc."
He walks away, but I know he doesn't believe me.
And I know he's going to tell my father.
"He knows," I whisper to Shadow.
"Yeah." Shadow's jaw is tight. "He knows."
We get back to work.
By mid-afternoon, my arms are screaming, my shirt is soaked through with sweat, and I'm pretty sure I have blisters forming on my palms despite the gloves.
Shadow stripped his shirt off an hour ago—so did most of the guys, the heat unbearable.
I'm trying very hard not to stare at the way sweat runs down his chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every line of ink.
I fail spectacularly.
Shadow catches me looking and grins. "Like what you see?"
"Shut up and get back to work," I mutter, my cheeks flushing.
His laugh is low and dirty, and I want to kiss him right here in front of everyone.
But I don't.
We finish the fence line as the sun starts to dip toward the horizon.
Everyone's exhausted, covered in dirt, but everyone seems pleased.
The kind that comes from hard work and visible results.
The ranch foreman surveys the new fence, then nods. "Good work, everyone. Drinks on the ranch tonight."
The crew starts packing up, heading back to the main house where cold beer is waiting.
Shadow and I lag behind, loading tools into the side-by-side. Charlie's still on the bench seat, tail wagging when she sees us.
"Good girl," I murmur, scratching her head. "You behaved all day."
When everyone else is gone, it's just us and the fence we built together.
I look at the straight line of posts, the tight wire, the work of our hands.
"I forgot how good this feels," I say softly. "Building something."
Shadow comes up behind me, his hands settling on my hips. "Yeah. It does."
We're both filthy and exhausted, but standing here with him, looking at what we created together, feels right in a way I can't quite explain.
I lean back against his chest. "Thank you for letting me help."
"Always, darlin'." His voice is low, intimate. "You and me, we're a team."
A team.
The word settles into my bones like a promise.
We drive the side-by-side back to the main house as the sun sets, Charlie happy between us.
The crew is already gathered on the porch, beers in hand, laughing about the day's work.
My father's waiting.
He's on the porch, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he watches us pull up.
My stomach drops.
"Grace. Shadow." His voice is calm. Too calm. "Need to talk to you both."
We follow him inside to his office, and I'm acutely aware of how dirty we are, how we probably smell like sweat and dirt, how we look like we've been working together all day.
Because we have.
Phantom closes the door behind us. "The meet with Copperhead Kings is tonight. Eight o'clock at the clubhouse."
I nod, my throat tight.
"I want you at your cabin," he continues, looking at me. "Not here. Not anywhere near the clubhouse."
"Dad—"
"This isn't negotiable." His voice is firm. "These are dangerous men. I need you safe."
Shadow's silent beside me, but I can feel the tension radiating off him.
"Shadow would normally be with you," Phantom says, turning to him. "But I need you at the meet."
Shadow nods. "Understood."