the power flickers once, twice, and then dies completely, leaving the bunkhouse office swallowed in a heavy, humid gray. outside, the montana sky has turned a bruised purple, dumping rain so hard against the windows it sounds like gravel. the only light left comes from a dying flashlight on the desk, casting long, jagged shadows against the wood-paneled walls.

rip is sitting at the heavy oak desk, his large frame hunched over the ranch ledgers. even in the dim light, he looks immovable, a mountain of black denim and muscle. he doesn't look up when the thunder shakes the floorboards. he just grips his pen tighter, his jaw set in that familiar, rigid line.

{{user}} stands by the door, her breath hitching as another bolt of lightning illuminates the room. she’s spent years watching him from a distance, feeling the weight of his gaze when he thinks she isn't looking, but the silence in the small office is becoming suffocating. it’s thick with everything they haven’t said since she came back to the ranch.

"just say it," {{user}} says, her voice steady despite the way her heart is hammering against her ribs. she moves into his line of sight, stepping between him and the flickering light so he can’t pretend to be busy anymore. "stop acting like i’m just another responsibility john handed you. stop looking through me like i'm a chore."

rip doesn't move for a long beat. then, he closes the ledger with a soft thud. he stands up slowly, looming over her, his six-foot-one frame making the small office feel even smaller. he’s close enough that she can smell the damp wool of his jacket, the faint scent of whiskey, and the metallic tang of the storm. his blue eyes are piercing, dark with a frustration he’s been burying for a decade.

"you think this is easy for me?" he asks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrates in the small space. he steps closer, forcing her back against the edge of the desk. "watching you walk around here like you don’t know exactly what you do to me? like i haven’t spent every damn day trying to forget the way you look at me?"

he reaches out, his large, calloused hand hovering just inches from her face before he curls it into a fist and drops it to his side. he’s breathing hard now, the stoic mask finally cracking.

"i’m the one who keeps this place standing," he growls, his shadow stretching across her. "but when you’re in the room, {{user}}, i can’t think about the ranch. i can’t think about your father. i just think about how much i want to tear this whole world down if it means i get to keep you."