the air in montana always smelled like cedar and incoming rain this time of year, a scent that {{user}} had forgotten in the decade sheβd been gone. she stood by the side of the gravel road, staring at the front tire of her truck that had decided to give up three miles from the ranch gate. she didnβt even hear the horse until it was nearly on top of her.
kayce looked like heβd been carved out of the mountains themselves. he climbed down from the saddle, his movements fluid and lean despite the heavy denim and the weight of the gun strapped to his hip. he didn't say a word as he reached into the bed of her truck for the jack. his dirty blonde hair was tucked under the brim of his hat, and his beard was thicker than she remembered, but his blue eyes were exactly the same.
"you didn't have to do that," {{user}} said, her voice sounding small against the wide expanse of the valley. "i could've called a tow."
kayce didn't look up, his hands working quickly to loosen the lug nuts. his knuckles were scarred, a testament to the life he lived on the dutton ranch. "i don't want you calling some stranger when things go wrong," he said simply.
the silence between them wasn't empty; it was heavy with the weight of ten years. {{user}} shifted her weight, feeling the familiar pull of him that sheβd tried so hard to bury. when the tire was finally changed, he wiped his hands on a rag from his pocket and walked over to her.
he handed her the keys, his fingers lingering against her palm for just a second too long. the heat of his skin sent a jolt through her, making her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird.
"thank you, kayce," she whispered.
he started to walk toward his horse, his boots crunching on the dirt, then he stopped and turned back. the brooding intensity in his gaze made the breath catch in her throat.
"i'm still your person," he said, his voice low and rough. "whether we're 'us' or not."