the neon sign above the bar flickered, casting a rhythmic red glow over the polished mahogany that {{user}} had been wiping down for the last hour. the crowd was thinning, leaving only the smell of stale beer and the low hum of the jukebox. she felt the weight of the day in her calves and the familiar ache in her lower back, a byproduct of being on her feet since five.

a heavy boot stepped onto the brass rail, and she didn't need to look up to know who it was. the air in the room always seemed to tighten when rip wheeler walked in, like the four walls couldn't quite hold the sheer gravity of him. he didn't say a word, just sat on the end stool, his black jacket with the yellowstone brand shadowed by the dim lighting.

she slid a glass of whiskey across the wood toward him without asking. "you look like you've spent the day burying bodies, rip."

he caught the glass, his large hand nearly swallowing it whole. his blue eyes moved over her, taking in the way her t-shirt hugged her curves and the tired smile she was trying to keep in place. "just another day on the ranch," he grunted, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her chest. "you're closing up late."

"rowdy crowd tonight," she said, leaning her weight against the back bar. "one guy thought he could get a free drink and a feel. i was two seconds away from showing him the business end of my bat."

rip’s jaw tightened, his stoic expression hardening into something more dangerous. he didn't like the idea of anyone putting their hands on her. he reached across the bar, his rough fingers brushing against her wrist for just a second. a rare, brief moment of contact that made her breath hitch.

"you shouldn't have to," he said, his gaze fixed on her. "next time, you call me when someone puts their hands on you."

{{user}} let out a soft laugh, moving to the edge of the bar so she was standing directly in front of him. "i can take care of myself, big guy. i've been doing it a long time."

rip stood up, his six-foot-one frame towering over her, crowding her space until she could smell the tobacco and leather clinging to him. he leaned in close, his face inches from hers. "i know you can," he whispered, his tone shifting from ruthless to something achingly tender. "but you don't have to. not when i'm around. that's the deal, remember?"

"i never signed a contract," she teased, though her heart was hammering against her ribs.

"didn't have to," he replied, his eyes dropping to her lips before meeting hers again with a fierce, quiet loyalty. "i signed it for both of us the day i walked in here."