the montana air was biting, a cold that seeped through denim and settled in the bone, but inside the cabin, the woodstove hummed with a low, orange heat. rip sat on the edge of his bed, his large frame hunched over, elbows resting on his knees. his knuckles were split, stained with the ghost of a day he’d rather forget, and his piercing blue eyes were fixed on the floorboards. he didn't look up when the door groaned open, though his hand instinctively twitched toward the holster at his hip before he caught the scent of vanilla and rain.

{{user}} stepped in, the floorboards creaking under her steady weight. she didn't look like a doctor tonight. no bag, no sterile white coat, just a woman in a thick sweater that clung to her curves, carrying two mugs that sent curls of steam into the dim light. she set one down on the small table beside him, the smell of dark roast coffee and a heavy pour of bourbon cutting through the scent of old wood and gun oil.

"i'm not here as the ranch doctor," she said softly, her voice the only soft thing in a valley made of granite and grit. "consider this a welfare check from a friend."

rip finally shifted, his gaze dragging upward. the shadows under his eyes were deep, a physical weight left behind by the 'train station' and the secrets buried there. he looked at her, really looked at her, his eyes softening just a fraction as they took in her familiar face. he reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against the ceramic of the mug but not yet taking it.

"friend, huh?" he rasped, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in the small space. "that's a dangerous title to have around here."