the air in montana always felt sharper at night, like it was trying to cut right through you. {{user}} sat on the top rail of the paddock fence, her thighs pressing against the cold wood as she watched the silhouette of a man moving in the center of the ring. the horse he was working snorted, a rhythmic sound that pulsed through the quiet dark. rip didn't look up, but she knew he felt her there. he always knew.

he moved with a heavy, deliberate grace, his shoulders broad under the black jacket with the yellowstone brand. even from a distance, she could feel the heat of him. when he finally clicked his tongue and let the horse go, he turned toward her. he didn't smile. rip wheeler wasn't a man for smiles, especially not for the woman who had disappeared into the dust years ago.

he approached the fence, leaning his weight against the rail right next to her knee. he smelled like leather, expensive whiskey, and the cold mountain wind. his blue eyes were piercing, even in the shadows.

"i saw the way you look at beth. it's different," {{user}} whispered, the words puffing out in a white cloud of breath. she felt small under his gaze, but she didn't look away.

"life's different," rip said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "i found a place where i belong. a place that doesn't run when things get heavy."