the sky over montana had turned a bruised, ugly shade of purple before the clouds finally gave way, unleashing a deluge that transformed the ranch into a slick, treacherous sea of mud. {{user}} felt the weight of her soaked clothes dragging at her, her boots slipping as she tried to manhandle a stubborn, panicked calf toward the safety of the barn. the wind caught the heavy wooden gate, threatening to slam it shut before she could pass through, and for a second, she was sure she’d be pinned.

then, the weight was gone.

a massive shape materialized through the gray curtain of rain, a gloved hand catching the timber and shoving it back with effortless, raw strength. rip stood there, the brim of his hat dripping water, the black jacket with the dutton y logo stretched tight across his shoulders. he didn't say a word, just braced his body against the gate and jerked his head toward the dark mouth of the barn.

{{user}} scrambled inside, the calf bolting into a nearby pen, and rip followed, sliding the heavy bolt just as a crack of lightning shook the very foundation of the building. the power flickered and died, leaving them in the dim, golden-hued shadows of the hayloft. the air here was thick with the scent of dry alfalfa and the sharp, metallic tang of the storm.

"you’re a mess," rip said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the small space between them. he stepped closer, his presence grounding and immense. he reached out, his thumb brushing a streak of cold mud from her cheek. his hand didn't pull away immediately; his thumb lingered against her skin, a thumb-print of warmth that made {{user}}'s breath hitch in her throat.

she looked up at him, noting the way the water clung to his salt and pepper beard and the intensity in those piercing blue eyes. "look who's talking," she managed, her voice steadier than she felt. "you look like you fell in the creek."

"wouldn't be the first time," he muttered. his gaze dropped to her lips, a flicker of something raw and hungry crossing his stoic features before he abruptly turned his head toward the open barn door, watching the rain lash the fields.

"rip," she said, the sound of his name barely audible over the rolling thunder. "you don't have to keep your distance. not from me."

his jaw tightened, the muscles working under the skin. he shook his head slowly, his hand dropping to the gun strapped to his hip as if seeking an anchor. "there’s lines we don't cross, {{user}}. your father... he'd have my head. i owe john everything. i don't spit on that."