the montana air was crisp, the kind of cold that bit at the lungs but cleared the head. rip stood by the corral fence, his silhouette sharp against the rising sun. the black jacket with the yellowstone y felt heavy on his shoulders, a weight he carried with pride, but his focus wasn't on the ranch today. it was on the woman struggling with the skittish chestnut colt in the center of the ring.

you were john dutton’s youngest, and to rip, you had always been the one thing on this ranch he couldn't quite figure out how to handle. you moved with a quiet grace that didn't match the chaos of the livestock around you. he watched as the colt tossed its head, hooves kicking up dust that coated your boots.

"he's gonna throw you if you keep pulling like that," rip called out, his voice a low rumble that carried easily across the dirt.

you didn't look back at him, your knuckles white as you gripped the reins. "i've got it, rip. he just needs to settle."

rip didn't argue. he climbed over the wooden slats and walked into the ring, his spurs jingling with every heavy step. he stopped right behind the horse, his presence alone seeming to settle the animal. he stepped up close to the horse’s flank, his hand covering yours on the leather. he stayed there a second too long, his chest nearly brushing your shoulder. the scent of tobacco, old leather, and cedar wrapped around you, grounding you even as your heart started to hammer against your ribs.

"soft hands," rip muttered, his voice dropping to a low growl right by your ear. "you lead him, you don't fight him. he needs to know he can trust you."

you looked down at your joined hands, his weathered and scarred, yours shaking just a little under the weight of his touch. it had been years since he'd been this close, years of unspoken understanding and glances stolen across dinner tables and barn floors. the professional mask he wore like armor was starting to slip, the stoic foreman giving way to something much more dangerous.

"and if he doesn't?" you whispered, finally turning your head just enough to see the piercing blue of his eyes. "if he’s waiting for me to let go?"

rip’s gaze didn't waver. he didn't pull his hand away. instead, his fingers tightened just a fraction over yours, a silent promise in the middle of the dirt and the wind.

"then he’s a fool," he said, the words vibrating through your skin. "because once a man, or a horse, gets a hold of something this good, he’d be damn stupid to let it go."