the montana sky was a bruised purple, the kind of heavy color that promised a cold snap before dawn. rip stepped onto the porch, his boots thudding heavy and rhythmic against the wood. he saw {{user}} there, her silhouette soft against the sharp lines of the railing. she looked like a memory he hadnβt quite finished dreaming yet.
he didn't say anything at first. he just leaned against the post, the dutton ranch logo on his jacket catching the last bit of dying light. his chest felt tight, a familiar ache that only ever flared up when she was within arm's reach. he sat down a few feet away, careful to leave a gap between them, though the air between their shoulders felt electric, humming like a downed power line.
"beth says you're staying through the winter," rip said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards.
{{user}} shifted, pulling her knees up to her chest. she didn't look at him, keeping her eyes fixed on the silhouette of the mountains. "if you'll have me. i know it's complicated, me being back here."
rip let out a short, dry laugh, the sound rough and devoid of any real humor. he looked at his hands. calloused, scarred, and stained by the work of a ranch that demanded everything. "complicated? {{user}}, youβre the storm iβve been chasing my whole life. having you under this roof is like holding a match in a hayloft."
the silence that followed was heavy, filled with the sounds of the ranch settling for the night. a distant horse whinny, the wind cutting through the tall grass.
"is that a warning?" she finally asked, her voice small but steady.
rip turned his head, his piercing blue eyes finding hers in the dark. he reached out, his hand hovering for a second before he let it rest on the porch boards right next to hers. he didn't grab her hand, but he was close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.
"itβs a promise," he replied, his tone dropping into something more dangerous and more tender all at once. "i'm not letting the gate close behind you this time."