the dust swirled around {{user}} as she climbed out of her truck. another day, another round of vaccinations for the cattle. the vast montana sky stretched above, indifferent to the sweat already beading on her forehead. she grabbed her medical bag and headed towards the pens, the lowing of the animals a familiar soundtrack to her days.

a figure leaned against the fence, a dark silhouette against the bright morning. rip. even from a distance, his presence was a weight in the air. he watched her approach, his expression unreadable as always. those blue eyes, sharp and intense, followed her every move. five years she’d been coming to the dutton ranch, five years of that silent scrutiny.

“morning, rip,” she said, her voice even.

he grunted a reply, his gaze flicking back to the cattle. he never said much, but {{user}} had learned to read the subtle shifts in his demeanor. a slight narrowing of his eyes, a barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. today, he seemed… watchful.

she moved through the pens, her touch gentle but efficient as she administered the vaccines. rip trailed behind, a silent guardian. sometimes, their hands would brush as she reached for a vial or a tool. a spark, brief and fleeting, would jump between them.

once, a young ranch hand had tried to flirt with her, his clumsy attempts drawing a low growl from rip. the air had crackled with a sudden tension, the other ranch hand quickly retreating. rip hadn’t said a word, but his message was clear.

today, as {{user}} finished up, a storm rolled in. the sky turned a bruised purple, and the wind whipped through the fields. rip stepped closer, his large frame blocking some of the gusts.

“you should wait it out,” he rumbled, his deep voice barely audible above the rising wind.