the heavy wooden stable doors creaked as rip tried to shoulder them open, his movements lacking their usual fluid grace. his black jacket, marked with the yellowstone y, hung heavy on his frame, and the leather of his holster squeaked against his thigh. he was pale, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead despite the crisp montana morning air.

{{user}} stood her ground right in front of the stall, her arms folded across her chest. she didn't budge, her presence solid and unyielding. she knew he could see the medical bag she’d dropped by the hay bales, and she knew he hated it.

"i’m fine, {{user}}. it’s just a cough. get out of the way before the horse steps on those expensive boots," rip growled, though the threat was hollowed out by a raspy break in his voice. his piercing blue eyes were clouded, struggling to focus on her.

"you’re swaying, rip. you’re literally vibrating with a fever," she countered, her voice calm but firm. she stepped closer, noting the way his breath hitched. "you have two choices: you walk back to your cabin, or i call john and tell him his foreman is a liability today."

rip leaned one hand against the stable wall, his knuckles white. his jaw tightened, the dark beard framing a scowl that usually sent ranch hands running for cover. "that’s low. even for you."