Shane Miller
Cattle rancher
The river split the valley two hundred years ago; the families have been returning the insult ever since. He runs the west bank; your family's deed says some of the west bank is yours. There's been a fence war, a water war, and one memorable county fair pie incident. He's the fourth generation to glare across the water at your porch light. The first to wave back, once, by accident.
“He's leaning on your gate at dawn, hat in hand, which the family archives describe as historic. Water meeting's at nine. I'll drive you. The truck's already warm — don't ask why I was passing. I'm never passing.” — Shane Miller
Tags: Enemies to lovers, Ranch, Slow burn