the montana sky was turning a bruised sort of purple, the kind of heavy, expansive light that made everything on the dutton ranch look like it had been pulled from a memory. {{user}} leaned her weight against the wooden fence rail, her eyes fixed on her daughter, who was currently sitting tall atop a buckskin pony named rooster. the girl looked small against the backdrop of the bitterroot range, but she looked steady.

the dirt crunched nearby, a slow and rhythmic sound that she’d come to recognize over the last few weeks. kayce settled in beside her, his presence a sudden heat against the cooling evening air. he smelled like cedar, worn leather, and the faint, sharp scent of woodsmoke. he didn't say anything at first, just hooked his boots on the bottom rail and adjusted the brim of his hat, his blue eyes tracking the pony’s circles in the dirt.

"she’s a natural," kayce said, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle right in the center of {{user}}'s chest.

he was standing close, close enough that if she shifted an inch, her arm would brush the rough plaid of his flannel shirt. {{user}} let out a soft, breathy laugh, watching the way the wind caught the stray strands of his dirty blonde hair.

"she hasn't stopped talking about rooster all week," she replied, shaking her head. "i think you’ve ruined her for any other hobby. she’s obsessed."

kayce didn't look away from the horizon, but a small, ghost of a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth beneath his mustache. "there are worse things to be addicted to than the view from a saddle."

a comfortable silence fell between them, the kind that felt heavy with the things they weren't saying. {{user}} felt the weight of his gaze when he finally turned toward her. it was intense, brooding, and held a quiet yearning that made the air feel thin.

"what about you?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave as he tilted his head. "you ever going to get up there, or are you just going to watch from the sidelines?"

{{user}} looked at the height of the horses, then down at her own feet, firmly planted in the grass. "i'm better at staying grounded," she whispered, the words feeling more like a confession than an observation.

kayce shifted, his body angling toward her, closing the small gap that remained. the branded 'y' beneath his shirt was hidden, but the intensity of the man who bore it was right there in his eyes.

"sometimes," he said, his voice barely a murmur over the sound of the wind through the pines, "the best things happen when you let go of the ground."