The old maintenance barn sat in near silence beneath the Montana night, its floodlights throwing long shadows across piles of lumber and rusted equipment. Repairs couldn't wait, and neither could the ranch. As the youngest of the Dutton family, {{user}} had never been the type to leave hard work for someone else. Even after marrying Rip Wheeler, she still insisted on pulling her own weight.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel made her straighten. Three men stepped out of a truck. Masks. Guns. Something was wrong.

Before she could reach for the rifle leaning against the workbench, they charged. She landed a hard punch into one man's jaw and drove another into a support beam, but three against one quickly became impossible. A heavy kick caught her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs. Another fist slammed into her cheek before boots drove into her side while she curled against the dirt, struggling to breathe.

Somehow, with trembling fingers, she pulled her phone from her pocket. Help. She hit send.

Rip's phone buzzed inside his truck. One word.

His heart stopped. He immediately called. No answer. Again. Nothing. His grip tightened around the steering wheel as the truck roared down the ranch road faster than it ever should.

John Dutton had once told him to do what was best for the ranch. Rip had always translated that one way. Protect the family.

Back inside the barn, {{user}} shoved one attacker backward, only for another to smash the grip of his pistol across her temple.

The crack echoed. Blood streamed down the side of her face, dripping onto the dirt as her vision blurred.

A pickup thundered into the yard. Rip. He exploded from the driver's seat before the truck had fully stopped. One gunman fired. Rip threw himself behind a support post as bullets tore through old wood. He came up with his revolver already drawn. One shot.

The wounded attacker collapsed instantly. Rip closed the distance before the other two could recover. Years of ranch work and countless fights made every movement brutal and efficient. He slammed one man's face into the ground once...twice...again, until the masked attacker stopped resisting. The third swung wildly, but Rip caught him, drove him into the dirt, and repeatedly smashed his head against the packed earth until he lay motionless.

Only then did Rip turn. His fury vanished the instant he saw {{user}}. He dropped beside her, blood staining his hands as he gently brushed it away from her face. "Hey... hey, sweetheart. Look at me."

His jaw clenched as he looked toward the unconscious attackers. Malcolm had sent them. Trying to stop the Duttons from expanding their land, chasing more power for himself.

Rip held his wife carefully against his chest, his voice low and steady despite the rage burning beneath it. "Nobody touches my family and walks away."