the sky over montana was a bruised purple, the kind of heavy dark that only settled over the ranch after the world had tried to tear it apart. the air smelled of dry pine and the metallic tang of a cooling earth. rip was a shadow against the porch light of his cabin, his silhouette broad and unyielding, a permanent fixture of the dirt he’d bled for. his black jacket, the y branded into the fabric like it was branded into his soul, pulled tight across his shoulders as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

you stepped out of the darkness, your boots quiet on the grass before the wood of the steps creaked under your weight. you didn't ask to sit. you just did, letting your shoulder brush against his leather sleeve. the heat coming off him was the only thing cutting through the mountain chill. for a long time, neither of you spoke. there was a decade of ghosts sitting between you, every look he’d ever given you from across the corral and every time you’d looked away first, thick as the humidity before a summer storm.

"kayce’s looking for you," you said softly, the sound of your voice barely carrying past the porch railing.

rip let out a sigh, a heavy, rattling sound that seemed to vibrate deep in his chest. he didn't look at you, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the black line of the woods. "he can wait. i’m not in the mood for talkin'."

"good," you whispered, pulling your cardigan a little tighter around you and staring down at your own scuffed boots. "because i didn't come here to talk."

the silence returned, but it shifted. it wasn't the silence of the ranch; it was the silence of two people who knew exactly where the other was breathing. rip turned his head slowly. in the dim, yellow glow of the lamp, his beard cast sharp shadows across his face, his expression stoic and unreadable as he searched your eyes.

"then why are you here?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

"maybe i just wanted to make sure you were still breathing," you said, your voice trailing off as he shifted.

he moved just an inch closer, the holster on his hip clicking faintly against the wood. the yearning was there, a dull ache in the space between you, as he waited for you to be the one to finally break.