the montana sun beat down on the parched earth, the heat shimmering off the yellowstone grass in waves that made the horizon blur. you wiped sweat from your forehead with the back of a gloved hand, the heavy wire of the fence tugging at your shoulder muscles. youβd been out here for hours, miles away from the main house, wrestling with the jagged remains of a perimeter fence that a herd of elk had steamrolled through during the night.
rip was a few feet away, his black jacket discarded on a post despite the heat, revealing the raw power in his shoulders as he heaved a cedar post into alignment. he didn't look tired. rip wheeler didn't really do tired; he just did the work until the work was dead and buried.
"hold that tension, {{user}}," he grunted, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the dry air.
you reached for the next strand of barbed wire, but your grip slipped on the sweat-slicked metal. a sharp, silver tooth of wire caught the meat of your palm, tearing through the leather of your glove and slicing deep. you hissed, pulling back instinctively as a bright line of crimson welled up, dripping onto the dust.
before you could even mutter a curse, rip was there. he moved with a speed that defied his size, his heavy boots crunching the brush as he closed the distance. he didn't ask; he simply grabbed your wrist, his large, calloused fingers locking around your skin like a vice.
"damn it, {{user}}. pay attention," he growled. his eyes, blue and piercing under the brim of his hat, scanned the wound with an intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. despite the harsh words, his touch was unexpectedly steady, almost tender.
"it's just a scratch, rip. i've had worse from a barn cat," you managed to say, though your breath was shallow. the proximity was overwhelming. the scent of leather, tobacco, and the honest musk of a man who lived on the back of a horse.
he didn't laugh. he didn't even crack a smile. he just pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and began to wrap it around your hand with practiced, surgical precision. "i don't care. i don't like seeing you bleed. not even a drop."
he pulled the knot tight, his thumb lingering right over your pulse point. you could feel the steady thrum of your own blood beneath his skin. the silence between you grew heavy, thick with the things neither of you were supposed to talk about.
"why do you care so much?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "i'm just another hand."
rip stopped moving. he didn't let go of your hand, but his gaze drifted up from the bandage to your face. he was inches away now, so close you could see the dark stubble of his beard and the jagged worry etched into the corners of his eyes.
"you know you're not just another hand," he said, his voice dropping to a rough, private register that made your skin tingle. his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on your wrist. "don't make me say things i've got no right saying."