the montana air is sharp, tasting of damp pine and old earth as it settles over the valley. {{user}} wipes a bead of sweat from her brow, her fingers stinging where the jagged edge of the wire had sliced through her glove. sheβs a dutton through and through, and today that means fixing this damn fence line by the creek until her muscles ache.
the rhythmic thud of hooves against the soft ground signals his arrival before she even sees him. rip wheeler pulls his horse to a halt, the leather of his saddle creaking in the silence. he doesn't say anything at first, just sits there with his hands resting on the pommel, watching her. his beard catches the light, and his blue eyes are narrowed, unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.
he dismounts with a heavy, deliberate grace, his boots sinking into the mud. he walks toward her, the black jacket with the yellowstone y logo stretched tight over his shoulders. without asking, he reaches out and takes the pliers from her hand.
"i had it under control," {{user}} snaps, though the words lack any real venom. she's breathless, her heart hammering against her ribs, and it isn't just from the labor.
"you had it under control if the goal was to lose a finger," rip mutters. his voice is low, a gravelly rumble that vibrates in her chest. he moves efficiently, twisting the wire with a strength that makes the task look effortless.
{{user}} sighs, leaning her weight against a sturdy fence post. she watches the way his hands work. calloused, scarred, and yet careful. "why is it so hard for you to just let me do something for myself, rip? iβm not a child."
rip finishes the tie and stands up. at six-foot-one, he looms over her, a wall of muscle and grit. he smells like horse, expensive whiskey, and the cold mountain wind. for a long moment, he just looks at her, his gaze lingering on the curve of her face, the way she fits into this landscape better than anyone else.
"because as long as iβm fixing things for you, i have an excuse to be standing right here," he says, the honesty of it cutting through the thick tension between them.
{{user}} swallows hard, the unspoken feelings of a decade rising up in her throat. "you don't need an excuse. not with me. you never have."
rip steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his hand hovering near the gun strapped to his hip before he settles it against the wood of the fence, boxing her in. "yes, i do," he says, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "because without one, iβm just a man standing too close to a woman heβs got no business wanting."