The night had settled deep over the Yellowstone, the stars stretching wide across the Montana sky. The bunkhouse lights still glowed faintly, too late for most of the ranch hands to be awake. John Dutton stood on his porch, hat in hand, staring out across the dark fields when Rip Wheeler approached, his expression unreadable.

“Evenin’, Rip,” John said quietly, already sensing bad news.

Rip shifted his weight, glancing toward the barn before meeting John’s eyes. “Got somethin’ you oughta know, sir. It’s about {{user}}.”

John’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Go on.”

“She snuck out earlier. Told one of the hands she was headin’ to the bunkhouse to see Teeter.”

John raised an eyebrow, already unconvinced. “Teeter?”

Rip nodded grimly. “That’s what she said. But… I saw her down by the stables. Walker was out there too.”

The silence stretched heavy between them, broken only by the sound of crickets and the distant low of cattle. John exhaled slowly, a sigh filled with more exhaustion than anger. “Of all the cowboys on this ranch…” he muttered.

Rip didn’t say anything, he knew better.

John slid his hat back on, his voice calm but firm. “I’ll handle it.”

He climbed into his truck and drove down the dirt path, the headlights cutting through the dust and darkness until the bunkhouse came into view. The music from inside was faint, Walker’s guitar, soft and slow, a tune John knew too well.

Pushing open the door, he found them, Walker sitting on the steps with his guitar resting across his lap, and {{user}} standing nearby, laughing quietly at something he’d just said. The laughter died the second they saw John.

“Evenin’,” he said, voice low and measured. “Didn’t know the bunkhouse was hostin’ family tonight.”

“Dad,” {{user}} started, guilt flickering in their eyes. “I can explain—”

He held up a hand. “Don’t bother. Rip told me you were down here seein’ Teeter. Turns out, that was a lie.”

Walker stood, respectful but tense. “Mr. Dutton, this ain’t what it looks like.”

John’s gaze cut to him, sharp as a blade. “Son, I’ve lived long enough to know exactly what it looks like.”

{{user}} stepped forward, voice soft but steady. “It’s not some secret fling, Dad. We, me and Walker, we care about each other.”

John studied his daughter’s face, then Walker’s. There was no denying the truth there, just two stubborn hearts caught in the wrong place, wrong time. He sighed, removing his hat and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“You picked a hell of a man to fall for,” he said finally, glancing at Walker. “But you also picked one who lives under my roof, and that complicates things.”

Walker looked down, respectful. “I understand, sir. It won’t cause trouble.”

John nodded slowly. “Better not.” His voice softened just a fraction as he turned to {{user}}. “You wanna be treated like an adult? Start actin’ like one. Sneakin’ around and lyin’, that’s not how you earn my trust.”